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Category Archives: Chinatown

A Fictional Dialogue

Battleground America:

Breakfast At Champions


R.E. Prindle

Clip 2.



You haven’t heard it because our thought is controlled.  Only the correct opinion is allowed to be published.  In the first place the notion of being politically correct comes from the Stalinist era of the Show Trials of the thirties.  No deviant opinion was allowed; all opinion had to be politically correct according to Stalin’s guidelines.

Therefore before anyone dared express an opinion they first had to check with their Commissar for the correct slant.  Earl Browder, the head of the American Communist Party served that purpose in the US.  Reds had to ask ‘What does Earl Say?’ before they dared to express their opinion and then it was always the same as Browder’s.  Therefore, as you say you are PC you have to check all your opinions against a central authority.  Hence you are not free to think as you like; hence you are a slave to another’s authority.  I can’t do that; I’ve got to be free.  Freedom of conscience is everything to me.  But then, different strokes for different folks as they used to say.  You need the security of knowing you’re right.


(makes growling noises as the truth of the statement sinks in)  That…that’s not…entirely…true.


Sure it is, Craig.  Or else it isn’t possible for you to be sure of being politically correct.  But, let’s get back to the Irish Catholic, John F. Kennedy.


Racial motives can’t possible enter into the Kennedys.  Besides Dewey it has been scientifically proven that race doesn’t exist.  Do you know that ninety-nine point six percent of the genes of every living human being are the same.  What do you have to say about that?


Well, for starters, ninety-nine point six is not the same as one hundred percent.  What you have just told me is that four tenths of one percent of our genes determines race.

That’s an inane argument since we all come from the same source along with rocks and trees and birds and bees.  The genetic makeup of everything comes from the same source.


We’re gentically one with rocks?  Puff away, Dewey.


Craig, we took geology together.  The Earth has a molten core. Everything that is on the crust which is dried molten core is identical with the core.  Life as we know it arose from the ‘living’ water that exuded from that core and continues to exude  to the present day.

The water is so strong in life giving propensities that even though photo-synthesis isn’t possible at present depths chemical life forms are created.

If you believe in evolution then according to its proponents all life proceeded from a single celled organism.  All genes have arisen from this organism.  That they have differentiated along the way is self-evident.  Even so the majority of genes must be shared by all organisms, even rocks.

Therefore you can prove that species don’t exist either because all life is genetically identical.  Therefore the elephant is not a different species of being.  It’s just a human with a different configuration.

If you are going to to be politically correct then you should insist that your Commissars think these things out before they speak.

In addition your objection to race is that if race exists then other races are inferior to your own.  This is the universal premise behind the genocide which is being practiced by every race in existence.  I don’t think one race is inferior or superior I just accept that they are different and have developed separate racial approaches to managing reality.  I’m sure that even the politically correct will admit that there are different approaches to reality and they are not equal or else how could you be politically correct?

The question then is are all approaches equally productive?  That’s the question not physical identity.

So, the Celts have their characteristic way of looking at reality that is different from the Anglo-Saxon.

For instance, the Irish speaking of Ireland refer to it as the Old Sod while they refer to the United States as the New Island.  Language and words are very important indicators of feeling.  New Island can only be an extension of the Old Sod thus both localities are Ireland in the Irish mind.

The Irish have always used the New Island to carry on the war on the Old Sod against the Anglo-Saxon Protestants.

Actions speak louder than words.   Joe Kennedy not only supplied arms to the IRA but as I said he openly sided with the Nazis while Ireland itself remained neutral in the conflict which in the circumstances was a very bold move.

Jack was in office for three years but one of the first things he did on an official trip to Europe was to snub America’s premier ally- England.


I don’t remember that.


Sure you do.  He went to the European capitals first, which in itself was considered a snub of England, then on the way back he spent a few hours in London but three whole days in Ireland.

I mean no  unkindness to the Irish but Ireland was, is and always will be an inconsequential backwater of civilization.  There can have been no political reason for that visit except to show the Irish they  had come into their own.  The Old Sod and New Island were one.  The Once and Future King had returned.

Indeed, in those three short years Camelot was reinstituted on American soil with John F. Kennedy as the reincarnation of the Celtic monarch Arthur.  Jackie was no Guinever but then if she had been replaced by Marilyn what a double cheeseburger that would have been, hey?


Marilyn Monroe?  There wasn’t any question of Jack Kennedy divorcing Jackie to marry Marilyn Monroe.


Don’t lose your sense of humor, Craig.  It’s one of those historical what ifs.  Besides you aren’t considering Marilyn’s motives.  I think she thought it was possible.  But that’s neither here nor there.  I’m sorry I brought it up.

Anyway, I think it’s pretty clear that old Eire-land is in the saddle having captured America from the Anglo-Saxons.

Words and symbols, Craig, they’re dead giveaways.  Think of what Jack Kennedy did in those incredibly action packed three years.  A lot of fantasticks thing that Jack Kennedy was going to wind down the Viet Nam war.  I don’t know what they’re smoking.  South Viet Nam had been fairly well Catholicized under the French.  The Church had a pretty good toe hold which it would lose if the Communists gained control.

The campaign against Communism in the United States was directed in large measure from the Vatican.  Had the Communists gained control of Europe all three major churches- Russian and Greek Orthodox and Roman Catholic would have been eliminated not to mention their parent Judaism.  The Roman Catholic Church was fighting Communism for its very existence.

All of the really important anti-Communists were Irish Catholics- Father Coughlin, Parnell Thomas, McCarthy, all of them.


Richard Nixon wasn’t Irish.


It depends on who you call important but OK, I exaggerate for effect.  Anyway Nixon wasn’t destroyed by the Reds, at least until the seventies, so they couldn’t have taken him very seriously.  Martin Dies wasn’t Irish either but he was destroyed.

The Kennedys themselves were ardent anti-Communists and Catholics.  Bobby served on McCarthy’s committee and Joe Kennedy had Joe McCarthy up for dinner.

So you want to tell me that Jack was going to be soft on Communism in Viet Nam?  I don’t believe it.  Another first thing he did was create an elite Army Corps called the Green Berets.  Remember them?

Symbols, Craig.  Don’t you ever ask yourself why green?  Green is the color of the Emerald Isle me bhoy.  Celtism forever.  Remember in ‘Kim’, Kipling’s book, ‘Kim’, his father tells him to look for a red bull on a field of green and they will make his fortune for him.

The Red Bull of Cooley on a field of green was the flag of his dad’s old Irish regiment.  Kim was Irish if you remember.  Jack just took off the Red Bull of Cooley; but, if you look closely you’ll probably find a little bull in there.

So scratch cooling off Viet Nam.

By the way, the Army changed the color from green to black after Jack died.  I recently saw where the entire Army was assigned black berets and the Special Army Corps objected so they assigned tan berets to them.  Know what the nickname of the British troops occupying Ireland was?  The Black and Tans.  Coincidence?  Probably, but isn’t it amazing how those coincidences add up?

Now, by sixty-three it was clear that the neo-king of Camelot was as shoo-in for the sixty-four election.  He’d had such perfect press coverage he would have taken at least sixty percent of the vote even if Jackie had divorced him and she did threaten to do that if he  didn’t stop seeing Marilyn.

After Jack Bobby would have been a shoo-in for eight more years of the Kennedys with Teddy in the wings there were eight more.  Who knows who would have been next but that was a twenty-five year dynasty of Irish Catholics in Camelot.

After twenty-five years of Celtish rule who can tell what the country would be like except that the Anglo-Saxons had lost their inheritance.  They’d not only lost it but their good will had been betrayed.  They had offered a helping hand to the starving Irish during the potato famine and now rather than combining with their benefactors the Irish robbed them.

Don’t get me wrong, Craig, I don’t dislike the Irish as people.  They’re great company, but their racial motivations have to be discussed under a separate heading.  The Irish are essentially ingrates.  They not only came here during the famine but they also flooded England where they disrupted the wage scale by providing cheaper labor impoverishing English laborers for decades.  The English gave them employment in the English Army.  If a helping hand hadn’t been extended the Irish would have starved in their millions.

What gratitude did they show?  They burned down the queen’s chief residence.  They robbed the Anglo-Saxons of their own country.  These are just facts; there’s nothing you can do about them.

Now, Craig, let me ask you, why do you thing John F. Kennedy was shot?

Because he left us no choice.


Wait a minute, wait a minute.  In the first place I believe that Oswald was the lone assassin who killed Kennedy for his own reasons but now Sam Giancana and the Mafia are claiming responsibility.


Oh right, Craig.  C’mon, the question is who is manipulating who.  We may never know, but then that’s the purpose of conspiring.  The chief conspirators are so hidden nobody can find them if they’re any good.  The lone assassin thing didn’t hold up; everybody, except you obviously, easily saw through that.  In their hurry they botched up the Warren Report.

So, nearly forty years later it gets out that Giancana thought he was being double-crossed by the Kennedys because they were reneging on what he thought he was due for helping get them elected.  And it was substantial help.  Get that, the Mafia got him elected. So Giancana orders a hit on Kennedy in Dallas by a nut.  Did you ever ask yourself what was in it for Oswald.  Nothing.

Bill Bonano of the New York Mafia even claims that Johnny Roselli was the real trigger man who fired the actual shot that did Kennedy in while he was standing on a rung down in a sewer when the car drove by.  How’s that for military precision?

All I can say is that if the Mafia was involved then Lee Harvey Oswald may have been the patsy but the Mafia was the Fall Guy of Plan B.  If history is any guide when Plan B fails they’ll fall back on Plan C, the Scapegoat.  By that time it will be ancient history, everyone concerned will be dead and no one will really care.

The assassination was cleverly handled but the real reason Kennedy bought it was because the Irish Catholics had captured the US government from the Anglo-Saxons and weren’t about to return it.  I repeat, he left us no choice.


OK, OK. I’m not saying I’m going for this racial crap about Celts and Anglo-Saxons but where does his being Catholic enter in?


Viet Nam for one.  Ok.  So I got a wedge in on the racial theory.  I’m really trying to demonstrate to you how Madison Grant’s studies apply before I get to the big swindle with the Chinese, known of old as The Yellow Peril.

The Catholic influence.  Well, Craig, you have to ask yourself what it means to be Catholic. It must mean something or why call yourself one.  It’s all in the education.  It’s like being Jewish.  If there is no Jewish agenda or program then it is meaningless to say you’re Jewish.  Jews have this special education; I had mine as a Protestant Methodist which colors every opinion I have whether I will or no.  The Catholics have theirs.

A Catholic must think of Catholicism as the true religion.  So on the face of it the Church is and must be intolerant of every other religion and secular belief system.  You may object, but I saw William F. Buckley of the National Review representing the Catholic viewpoint on a panel discussion and he said out loud that his religion as the true church forbade his admitting the validity of any other viewpoint.

You know of the Catholic Index of Proscribed Books.  It therefore follows that freedom of conscience is not a tenet of the Catholic Church.  You are either religiously correct or a heretic.  Sounds a lot like your politically correct credo doesn’t it?

Now, if you are brought up to believe that your church and hence yourself is the only possessor of the truth and all other beliefs are lies it follows that you will probably think you are in possession of the truth and your opponents are devils who are willfully trying to thwart you.

That is essentially what Kennedy thought.  You probably don’t remember General Walker, Edwin Walker, but I was scandalized by his treatment.

I don’t know what General Walker’s beliefs were but he was scathing in his evaluation of Kennedy.  Kennedy’s response was religiously or politically correct in the negative sense.  He didn’t try to refute General Walker or tolerate his difference he declared the man insane for disagreeing with him.  Jack Kennedy had General Walker, a man with a distinguished military record in the Army of the United States, committed to an insane asylum.

An insane asylum!

Shades of Soviet Russia.  I immediately recognized Kennedy for the irresponsible bigot that he was.  I disliked Kennedy from the beginning but I despised and hated him from that day forward.

I’m really surprised that nobody remembers what I’m going to say next but I was terrified by the plan.  Kennedy’s idea was to discharge all the mental patients in America.  As I remember it they were to have subsidized housing in every neighborhood in America.  Then the mentally ill were to report to the block house on every street.  Some person was to be designated as block big brother.

If anyone was denounced as crazy as in the case of General Walker they were to be placed on the list of the mentally ill being required to check in with the block big brother for indoctrination regularly.  In that very Catholic manner there would never be a chance of the Presidency ever passing into Anglo-Saxon hands again.  Any who dared to challenge the orthodoxy of the Celt ascendancy would immediately be declared mentally ill and neutralized.  Or in religious terms they would be heretics, infidels, anti-Semites or politically incorrect.

Well, you know, along with every other Anglo-Saxon Republican I was opposed to the Once And Furture King Of Camelot.  I’m sure all but die-hards like me would have converted to Democrats the day the plan was passed.  I lived in actual fear that Kennedy’s plan would be realized.

So you see, when I heard he was shot my question was is he dead?  When I heard that news I danced and sang.

Kennedy’s approach to political opposition was precisely the result of his Church education about orthodoxy.  I felt that General Walker was avenged when Kennedy was killed.  I don’t have to tell you that General Walker lived in Dallas.


You think that General Walker killed Kennedy then?


No.  I don’t have any idea who the actual conspirators were other than a general sense of direction but, remember, Kennedy was told not to go to Dallas.  Jackie publicly begged him not to go.  It was common knowledge that an attempt would be made on his life if he did.  I knew that it would happen and I was an absolute nobody who read only the papers, Time and Newsweek.


I don’t remember that at all.


I seem to be the only one who does.  So, anyway, his Irish Catholicism was negating everything that Anglo-Saxon Protestantism stood for.  And then the Negro revolt was heating up pretty strong.  I can’t imagine that his handling of the Negro problem had anything to do with it but it is possible that he was thought to be making untimely or unnecessary concessions to them.


Well, it would go without saying that the conservatives were opposed to Negro rights.


Yes.  I suppose.  But remember the most important decisions in Civil Rights were made under the conservative Eisenhower.  Brown versus the Board Of Education in fifty-four and Central High in Little Rock in fifty-seven were real milestones.  All of the initial events had already taken place when Kennedy was elected.  It is true that J. Edgar Hoover was a real enemy of Mike King but would he go so far?


Who is Mike King?


Martin Luther King before he changed his name.


King changed his name?


Sure.  He was born Michael King.  Changed his name but didn’t drop the Junior so his father was Mike King and there wasn’t any Senior.  Although after he and Bobby were shot down in sixty-eight the whole atmosphere changed.  There was a kind of relaxation, a certain tenseness went out of the air although the Black rebellion continued unabated.  It was more like with Nixon in the White House things were back under  control.

Then, somewhere in there the Blacks began their separatist program.


You mean to say you think that Africa-Americans are trying to separate into their own country within the United States?


I think so.  They ethnically cleanse every neighborhood they move into; they will almost certainly demand the status of an autonomous people.  Everything depends on how you look at it but they have already staked out certain economic areas as well while territorially they seem to be packing an area in Illinois and Indiana.  They are active in cleansing certain areas in Mississippi for instance.  They will almost certainly take over Chicago as a starter.


Take over Chicago! How are they going to do that?


Are you kidding?  You Liberals get incensed because Hitler used the democratic process to establish an authoritarian government and you don’t know how the process works.  Or is it that you don’t think it can happen here, or if it does, it will be just.  The end purpose of both Hitler and Kennedy was alike.  If Kennedy had gotten his mentally ill program thorugh he would have executed the same type of  coup as Hitler did.

It’s easier than you think.  You just don’t have any respect for the rules, that’s all.  You make a new game or, as you Liberals now say, a new paradigm.  Every city in America is governed by a board of elected councilors.  They call it the City Council.  I don’t know how many Chicago has but all the Blacks need is half of it to control the city.  They may even be able to come up with more than half and then Chicago is theirs.  Gary, Indiana  and East St. Louis belong to them already.

The laws were all written in such a way and social realities are such that in housing Blacks are favored over Whites.


You know, Dewey, we must see things very differently because the way I see it the housing laws are written to provide equality not preference for anybody.


Once again, Craig, it all depends on your perspective.

I don’t deny that was the intent but the intent of the Constitution of the United States was not to provide a way to establish a dictatorship and yet it does so for anyone so inclined.  Whether you’re willing to see things in the round or as a perspective of your intent in the problem you’re facing in understanding is what I’m saying.

There is no question that the laws as they were written intended to make housing open to all.  But, in practice, there are very few White people who have any desire to move into solid Black neighborhoods.  Nor would I advise it because Blacks are going to be much less tolerant of Whites than vice versa.

Watch your TV set very closely, Craig, you can see what I’m talking about happening before your eyes if you will only open them.  In certain real life situations filmed in integrated neighborhoods you will see colored kids, meaning Blacks, Mexicans and whatever crowding to the front while the White Kid or kids cringe back.  If you think in an integrated neighborhood a White minority is going to get fair treatment, Craig, you’re the one smoking those funny little cigarettes.

Hence, as in Chicago, an influx of Blacks will displace Whites from the city.  In the old days they called it the Flight to the Suburbs.  An influx of a few thousand Black families and Chicago is part of the Black Autonomous Republic.

On the economic front they have appropriated Basketball and Football as their profit centers.  If you watch TV, I mean look at it, Blacks have appropriated at least half of the acting jobs in shows and movies and at least half of the opportunities in commercials.  In all three areas they have displaced Whites from lucrative jobs which require nothing in the way of education.  Real lumpenproletariat functions but remunerative.

In Madison Grant’s terms they have flushed their racial competitors out of those areas.  This stuff is really interesting to observe if you can get rid of your prejudices and see things as they are.  You’re watching Grant’s Great Race commit suicide.


So you think there will be an African-American Autonomous Republic and an Irish Autonomous People.  What else?


I didn’t say anything about an Autonomous Irish People but as the process develops anything is possible.  You know, the Pope has ordered changes in the parochial school system to bring instruction more in line with Catholic doctrine rather than American methods.  He is able to do that because the tremendous influx of Catholics into the country has either given the Church a majority or will soon.

So as the ‘Nativist bigots’ feared the country is being increasingly governed by Rome.


Catholic influx:  Well that’s a new one on me.  Where is this Catholic influx coming from?


Aw, Craig, c’mon, man.  You’re a really smart guy.  What do you think all these Mexicans or Hispanics are?  Catholic to the man.  They just keep coming.

They’re really dangerous too.  Almost as much as the Yellow Peril.


How can some impoverished poor people seeking a better life in our prosperous country be a threat.  Don’t you think they just want to be like us?


If I weren’t more aware of racial and psychological realities I might.  I just have a harder time adopting the Bwana attitude than you do.  The machine gun makes us all equal, Craig.  Those Columbian dope runners who fight pitched battles on American territory don’t strike me as poor inoffensive campesinos trying to milk their big rich Whtie Northern neighbors out of a few meals.

I see them for what they are:  aggressive all-male bravos fully as capable as any White man in equal combat, machine gun to machine gun.  That Bwana mentality you enjoy is real hard for me to grasp.  I don’t see oppressed African Americans, poor Hispanics or little yellow Chinamen.  I see a fully armed and dangerous group of peoples out to smash the White hegemony established in the Seven Years War.  And it is racial my old friend.  Our colored brothers are quite conscious of their racial identity.

Taking advantage of our legal system and goodwill the Mexicans are invading the Southwest to ‘reclaim’ what they think is their birthright.  You Liberals should try to deal with historical realities rather than this sappy Bwana superior attitude.

Number one, the Mexicans have never gotten over the shame of being conquered by fifty or sixty White guys in armor on horses.  This defeat is a livid scar on their psyches.

Secondly, the Spaniards after having conquered the Aztec Empire centered on the Valley Of Mexico then claimed in the name of Spain, not Mexico, the whole lower half of North America from the Oregon border in the West to Florida in the East.

When the Mexicans revolted against Spanish authority they claimed all the lands that nominally belonged to Spain.  The Mexicans had no real claim to Texas, California and the Southwest.  The citizens of those areas who revolted against their new overlords, the Mexicans, had every right to do so just as the Mexicans had the right to revolt against Spain or the United States to revolt against England.  If you want to talk prior rights Mexico then still belongs to Spain and the United States to England.  Don’t do things by halves.  Restore the former order or shut up.

If those new States then chose to align themselves with the United States instead of Mexico, and who wouldn’t, they had every right to do so.  The Mexicans have no claim to those areas but they believe they do.

The indigenous Indian tribes get rubbished every way.  What used to be Apacheria is totally disregarded.

So all these Mexicans flooding in are not looking for a higher standard of living by sucking off us big bad Norte Americanos as you say but they are merely occupying the land in the time honored method.  We are being invaded.  They will force the Whites out in the time honored racial manner described by Madison Grant.

I don’t think they will be successful, mainly because of the Chinese but like the Blacks they are going to be able to establish autonomous areas where Anglos won’t be welcome.  That means you and me.


Are we going to get to the ‘Yellow Peril’ now?


Not just yet.  First we have to deal with that very touchy subject, the yeast or leaven.


The yeast or leaven?  We’re going to talk about bread now?


No.  We’re going to talk about the most important and sensitive element of the racial mix of the United States: The Jews.


The Jews?  Why yeast or leaven?


Well, if you have studied Jewish history at all and bear in mind nearly no one else has, even among the Jews, except for a few odd balls like me and some half-crazed Rabbis, and I don’t know anyone else but me who has looked into the subject.

I’ve even talked to a few rabbis in town and except for following the party line and being defensive they don’t know much.

First off, Craig, let me say that historically all the modern trends that began in the French or Great Revolution as the Reds call it have now established easily followed patterns.  This is no longer the nineteenth century when all these incipient movements were gestating or even the first half of the twentieth century when enough of the web had been woven so that the complete picture could be formed by the mind.  All you need is the desire to see things as they are and not project your fantasy of how you would like them to be on reality.

So, apart from denials and obfuscations the Semitist game is clear.


You haven’t become an anti-Semite have you Dewey?


There’s the issue Craig.  That’s an obfuscation, turning immediately to the ad hominem.  There is no clear definition of what constitutes an anti-Semite.  As a point of fact the ADL- Anti-Defamation League of B’nai B’rith- a private organization maintains files on three milion, what they term, ‘known’ anti-Semites, in America.

As you can see the notion reeks of paranoia.  If they believe there are three million known anti-Semites how many ‘secret’ anti-Semites are there?  Are we only looking at the tip of the iceberg or is it possible that every American is a ‘secret’ anti-Semite?  Are we all out to get the Jews?  Hmm?  Think about it.

Did you ever see the movie ‘Men In Black?’  Well, it’s kind of a metaphor explaining the role of ADL in society.  Speilberg directed it.  It’s the Men In Black’s job to seek out and destroy those concealed anti-Semites that only they can recognize.  They don’t turn them into the authorities because the anti-Semites haven’t committed any crimes they are only waiting patiently for the opportunity.

Apart from the paranoia one might ask how these anti-Semites are known.  There are no objective criteria for determining the status.  The rest of society doesn’t really care.  In fact a known anti-Semite is whoever anyone in the ADL says is an anti-Semite.  Someone could turn you in and you’d never know.  Just all of a sudden friends would start turning their backs on you; you’d come under scrutiny at work and little difficulties would start cropping up on a regular basis.  God would have unblessed you because you weren’t blessing the Jews.


What kind of things?


Well, in my case I was arrested on trumped up charges and had to defend myself to the tune of thirteen thousand dollars.  That was fun.


What did you do?  They couldn’t arrest you without good evidence.


Let me add to your education Craig.  Sure they can.  They can do anything they want with impunity.  If they haven’t captured the DAs office then they have enough people in it to do what they want.


The Jews?


In conjunction with the Liberal Coalition, you know, the Women’s Movement, NOW, the Homosexual Movement and those so-called holy groups.

Not only can they do what they want but furthermore they have complete immunity.  You have no recourse.  They are above the law.


Surely you jest, Dewey.


Surely I don’t; this is no joke, I’ve learned the hard way.  That’s the only way otherwise you would never believe it.  I’d seen it on TV dozens of times and always sided with the law but now I know better.  I consider the law my enemy.


(softly) That’s really strong Dewey.


Well, as they told me, we’ll just have to let the chips fall where they may.  The fact is that the DAs office can commit any crime with impunity.  They have absolute immunity.  Understand the power we have given to these people.  They can be irresponsible and get away with it.

I was arrested on no more than the uncorroborated sayso of a woman on no greater charge than I had offended her sensibilities.  That was the whole charge, no crime had been committed or claimed.


(emphatically. laughing.)  Aw, c’mon Dewey.  You’re stepping off the ledge.


Life is obviously more complicated than you think.  You knew me in California, Craig, but you don’t know who I am in Oregon.  You may not believe it but I am more of a somebody than you see.  If you remember I came up here to get a Masters at the UofO in Eugene.  jFor various reasons that became an impossibility so as you know I opened a poster store, couldn’t sell enough posters so I turned to records.  I was born to sell records so my store prospered accordingly.  I was hip, long hair and all that so people really wanted to buy records from me.

In the social climate of the times everyone thought that record stores were just covers for dope operations to it therefore followed that I was a dope dealer.


You never used dope when I knew you.  When did you start?


Ay, there’s the rub, Craig.  I didn’t start.  I didn’t have anything to do with drugs.  But the truth doesn’t matter in situations like these.  They thought I was quite literally the biggest dope dealer on the West Coast if not a mastermind for the world drug trade.  They thought that I had Swiss bank accounts bulging with illicitly gained money; they still do.

I was under twenty-four hour surveillance, my house was gone through on a regular basis as well as my car or van when I wasn’t in it.  They couldn’t find anything because there wasn’t anything to find.  There was absolutely no evidence that I even so much as smoked a joint but that merely showed them how clever I was.  I mean, you know, they ran a mail drop on me, my phone was tapped, they opened my merchandise shipments and inspected them before they delivered them to me.  Finally I decided to go down to UPS and pick them up myself.

One time UPS had a box sitting in the middle of the floor with all four sides laying flat and the records exposed.


You complained about that loudly, I suppose.


It was against the rules for me to complain.  Sure I was loud but so what.  I was told that was the way it was and if I didn’t like it I could kiss their ass.

I found the proposed alternative unpalatable so I realized that the law meant nothing to them and they had no intention of observing any laws where I was concerned.  I am only thankful that they at least didn’t plant evidence when they were in my house or car.  But that’s the way Oregonians are.  They have no self-respect and no sense of decency.  The only way they look at the law is as a protection for themselves.


I can understand why you’re a little sore at them, Dewey, but you do seem a little extreme.


Well, he was no favorite of mine but as Barry Goldwater said:  Extremism in the defense of liberty is no offence.  Besides look at what they did to Diane Downs.


Is that the woman who shot her kids?


Whether she shot her kids is open to question but they’ve had her in jail for decades for a crime she almost certainly didn’t commit.


I’m not too familiar with the case, Dewey, but they must have had some evidence.


No, they didn’t have any evidence, they just didn’t have any other explanation and they wanted to put her in prison.  There was more than reasonable doubt.  Her story made a lot of sense to me.


How did her story make sense to you when it didn’t make sense to the jury?


You’re not familiar with the Eugene-Springfield area.   Those people are really hard on people from out of state, especially people from California.  They’re rabid and, man, I mean rabid.  Diane Downs was new to the area having come up from California.  Apparently she thought she could screw her way into acceptance because as I understand it she was hard at work.

Anyway, I am familiar with the place at which she stopped when her kids were shot.  It’s a little bridge over this small creek that might be called the Marcola, I forget.  Anyway the area is called Marcola.  It’s real small.  The road runs up through a narrow valley.  In the very late sixties this place was a haunt for revolutionaries.  They built concrete bunkers up in the hills where they stored guns and ammunition, radios and the like for the coming Revolution which they thought was imminent.

They even had mobile radio units ready for operation.  They knew about triangulation and all that so they were prepared to move from place to place to avoid detection.  They dressed very colorfully in French Resistance outfits.  I did you not.

In addition to that Marcola was a recreation area which was haunted by criminal types.  Marijuana was everywhere.  One time there were a group of campers by the creek when these idiots stood in the flood light asking What as they were shot down with deer rifles from a truck.  This Marcola was mean do-wrong daddy kind of place.

I knew this guy who lived in Marcola and Jeannie and I visited him and his girl friend one night.  Round about midnight he jumps up and says we have to leave immediately.  We were driving back toward the highway when we came to this bridge over the creek.  As we drove up this literal shaggy haired man came up from under the bridge obviously under the influence of something and stood in the middle of the road waving his arms for us to stop.

Believe me I wasn’t going to stop.  There was room to drive around him so I did.  You know, these guys are all crazy so he’s shouting obscenities at us as I drive slowly on looking back.  I see this other big round guy come up from under the bridge waving a hand gun.  I stopped looking back and stepped on it and left them in the dust.

Now, here’s the kicker.  I don’t know the exact distance to the highway from the bridge but it’s not more than a mile.  If you’re not familiar with Springfield it’s really hard to know which way to turn in the dark so, just like Diane Downs, in my excitement I turned left into the mountains.  You can’t tell which way you’re going until the McKenzie Bridge.  The McKenzie river runs down from the mountains through Springfield.  Once there you know you’re going the wrong way so you turn around and go back.  That’s exactly what Diane Downs said she did.  She had an injured child in the back seat who had been shot by a madman so I think she had plenty of reason to become confused.

The Eugene-Springfield DA had to know the reputation of the Marcola area but in their eagerness to convict a Californian they put her away for life just to please their prejudices.


Well, wasn’t she kind of ditso, didn’t she turn the trial into a media event?


Being ditso is not a punishable offence, as yet, and it was not in her power to turn any judges courtroom into a media event.  Only the DA could have engineered or prevented it.  Since it was allowed to go on I can only assume that the DA thought it discredited his victim and so he used it to help convict her.

The only evidence against here was the ad hominem one of being a ditso.  I suppose if the jury didn’t have a shadow of doubt in their minds there was no shadow of doube in their minds but I think the State of Oregon owes at least a commutation of sentence to Downs if not a full pardon for all the difference that would make in her ruined life.

Nowadays because of cable TV we have a handy method to study the characters of lawyers, judges, police and DAs.  Cable networks are at a loss for programming so they fall back on a lot of true crime.  We get to see a lot of real life court procedures as well as the police and DAs in action and in interview.

Just as the FBI can provide profiles on the type of person who may have committed a crime we can prepare profiles on types of lawyers, judges, cops and DAs.

Always remember that these self-righteous guys were once a next door neighbor who you may not have thought well of.  None of these people come from an hereditary occupational class, they are all self-selected for their jobs.

The DAs all seem to be attracted to the job ecause they think the the job will confer virtuousness on them.  I dare say you and I can’t think of anyone we went to high school with that we thought was that virtuous.

Since they think the job confers virtuous conduct on them they become extremely self-righteous.

As virtue is conferred on them anything they do is necessarily done for a virtuous reason.  Hence they all ‘fight crime with crime.’  Lie to liars, whether the other guy is a liar or not.  They become criminals in the name of the law.  They also fear failure so that if a crime is committed they must have the instant gratification of seeing someone, anyone, in jail.

All DAs are lawyers.  Now, being a lawyer does not mean you are intelligent, goodwilled, honest or anything else, it merely means you have memorized a ton of casework and law and were admitted to the bar.  I hae dealt with numerous lawyers and judges and have been impressed neither with their intelligence or understanding and much less with their integrity.

In the first place Diane Downs didn’t have to be indicted.  There was no threat to society.  She had an unusual story that couldn’t be checked out but was plausible given the circumstances I outlined. Heck, they even checked her hands for powder burns and found none which she would have had to had if she had recently fired a handgun. 

Besides the Da must have had complaints about those guys under the bridge  if they operated that way for years which they evidently did.  He knew that Fall Creek was a high crime area.

It was not necessary to indict her at that time.  The case could have been put on a back burner.

So why did the DA think it was so necessary to make a media circus out of the trial.  I certainly don’t know but the DA is the one who stood to benefit the most.

Very likely he had a crime and an unusual story so in his self-righteousness he adopted an attitude and then presented innumerable ad hominem arguments against her since he didn’t have the necessary evidence to convict.

The DA did exactly the same thing against me.  Even though he had no evidene to connect me with drug salses or even use he was convinced that since I ran a record store I must be doing dope.

So that’s the substratum of the reason why Barry Schunch had me arrested.

The proximate background of the reason to arrest me was, I think, this.

After the Stonewall riot in nineteen sixty-nine the homosexual community became very aggressive in practicing their ways.  Being the record business I had a huge increase in the number of sexually explicit covers.  Since homosexuality is sado-masochistic in nature and since the object of their distaste is women a large number of those sexually explicit covers involved the sado-masochistic treatment of women.  If you remember there were some real shockers as the envelope of pornography was burst asunder by the homosexuals.

Now, the Lesbian part of the homosexual community took offence at these covers.  They, of course, being mentally and emotionally disturbed blamed the emphasis on sado-masochistic sex portrayal on the heterosexual male rather than the homosexual male out of perverted solidarity.

Rather than attack the producers of the porn they decided to attack me who only stocked the records as the man who could stop the covers if I wanted.  All I could do was shake my head in wonder.  I was too young and inexperienced to deal adequately with psychotic behavior of this type.,  Besides who took the situation that seriously?  My detractors looked at me shaking their heads and saying:  This too shall pass so those covers would pass too and they did.  But that’s neither here nor there.

I wouldn’t voluntarily take hit records off the shelf.  The first act of the Lebians was to boycott my store.  One beautiful Saturday morning I am driving to work when a homosexual radio DJ announces that there will be a demonstration at my store beginning at twelve o’ clock.  Perhaps the intent was to get me to capitulate, get rid of the records and get them to call the demonstration off.  If so, the notion didn’t occur to me.

I was pretty prominent at the time running thousands of dollars of radio and TV commercials a month so I guess they thought they would get pretty good media coverage.  They didn’t know that I was being given the silent treatment by the media.  It was forbidden to mention my name in the Daily Assassin while all pictures of my street used on TV were closely cropped to eliminate the showing of my store.  So no reporters and TV cameras showed up.

So then they decided to creat a riot.  They invaded my store screaming and shouting, standing up on the racks waving red flags and the whole works.  I was pretty slow.  I should have had my head someplace where there was better light.  Actually the customers all thought this idiotic demonstration was just a publicity stunt of mine.  If I had kept my cool and stood back laughing uproariously everyone woud have thought it was just a good joke.

Of course, the demonstrators would have torn my store apart but that’s another consideration.  I called the cops.  Remember when I quoted Dylan:  The cops don’t need you and man, they expect the same?  That’s how it was.  The cops were not very enthusiastic about quelling these lesbian creeps but when nothing seemed to be soming of it they wound down and left.  Damn them all to hell.

But, the covers were still there.  Next they came into the store and slashed about a hundred covers with knives.  Well, I’d gotten used to treatment of this sort over the years both in Eugene and Portland so I didn’t think too much of it in the press of events.  I merely sent the records back as defects.

That wasn’t the response the Lesbians wanted so they published a story in their newsletter taking credit for the deed.  The next thing I hear is some cop on the phone saying they had read this story and while they didn’t care how ‘we people’ treated each other they thought this was going too far.  They offered to press charges against the Lesbians.

In fact, I’d completely forgotten about the slashed covers and if the cops wanted to extend a helping rather than a hurting hand I was immediately suspicious so I told him that the think had never happened.

Thus I thwarted, quite unintentionally, the Lesbian intent of creating a scene.

There last attempt to creat a scene was when they got a television crew of Lesbians affiliated with the same radio station which had announced the riot to attempt to how the ‘artistic value’ of record covers.  I told them they could photograph whatever they liked.  They thought they had me in their trap.  They immediately went to this particular record cover and asked me to come over and explain its artistic merits.  I refused to appear in their ‘video essay’ so they packed up and left.

I thought that was the end of it until I was arrested, Christ, you know, twenty years later.

So that’s the background of why DA Schunch would arrest me without adequate cause.

The whole legal operation was conducted without my knowledge because the DA didn’t give me a chance to defend myself at a hearing against patently absurd charges.

The Office fabricated an arrest record for me.  I was never even spoken to but there is apparently a file that shows that I was arrested, brought in and released on my own cognizance.  Next it was there duty to give me a hearing to determine probable cause of arrest.  They scheduled the hearing within ten days of the time they say they arrested me but somehow forget to notify me so it looked like I refused to appear for the hearing.

The charge I had been arrested on was some incredibly lame City Ordinance that said that if, this is how the mighty legal brain of Portland works, a person thought that someone had it in mind to commit an act against either their person or their belongings they could have them arrested.  So this complainant who I’ll give the improbable name of Virginia Woolf, said only that she thought that I intended to, I’m embarrassed for she, she said that in the middle of the Esplanade I got down on my knees and tried to thrust my hand between her legs so I could have finger intercourse with her.  She did admit that I never established contact with her person and there were no witnesses.  DA Schunch decided to prosecute this psychotic woman’s complaint.

At the hearing since I wasn’t there to defend myself, nothing like shooting fish in a barrel, hey? they escalated the charge to menacing. Now menacing is a fairly serious offense.  You have to be waving a gun or holding a knife on someone or something really serious to menace someone.

Well, the judge issued a bench warrant and I went blissfully about my business unaware of what was hanging over my head.

Two days before Christmas I found out when at one o’ clock in the morning there was a prodigious noise on my front door and it wasn’t Santa Claus, it was the Sheriff.  He wanted me to take a ride downtown with him.


I know you wouldn’t lie to me, Dewey, but what you’re saying is so incredible.  I believe you but still I can’t believe it.


Like I say, until it happens to you.  Jeannie and I watched many of these stories on TV and found them incredible and unbelievable too but these DAs are out of control.  They are irresponsible monsters.  Once they got it in their head that I was a major dope dealer way back in the sixties with millions in Swiss bank accouants they were determined that I wouldn’t get away with it.  Like I say they ran mail drops on both incoming and outgoing mail, tapped my phones and had me under twenty-four surveillance, ransacked my house and car regularly, found not one shred of evidence that could connect me to dope in any way but still they took the position that I must be guilty because they thought I was guilty.  Hurts ’em to be wrong.

How can they interfere with you?  Oh, lots of little ways.  The ADL works in complete secrecty.  Most people don’t even know there’s alist let alone whether they’re on it.


How do you know there’s a list?


Like I said I study Jewish history and affairs.  This guy J.J. Goldberg has this  book titled: Jewish Power: Inside The American Jewish Establishment, sounds near autonomous doesn’t it?  He mentions the ADL files quite proudly for instance.  It all comes together.

This is how race, sect, religion or whatever they’ll admit to being operates.

Now, they view all societies as an inert mass of dough without zest or flavor until acting as a yeast or leaven the Jews enter their society to show them how to live.


That sounds kind of anti-Semitic, Dewey.


Tell me.  Heresy, infidelity, anti-Semitic, I can’t help but be me because I am not of the faith.  Further as I accept a scientific explanation of reality rather than a supernatural one I can only condescend to those trapped in what is an earlier consciousness.  The truth is anti-Semitic and the truth is that inferior forms of consciousness must give way before superior ones.  They may go screaming and kicking into the night but into the night they must go.  Call it anti-Semitism, I don’t care.

Understand Craig, that I do not talk out of the back of my neck or off the top of my head, I am not shooting from the hip, I say nothing that cannot be demonstrted or is unsubstantiated.  If you haven’t studied the history you can’t know and we aren’t talking about secret histories or hard to find arcane volumes we’re talking histories published by every leading publisher in the country.  Brandeis University Press, you name it.

So anyway, this yeast entered the United States, in numbers, beginning in about eighteen-seventy and continuing unabated officially until nineteen-twenty.

Now this is what the Honky Cat was talking about when he was so loudly booed away from the lectern.  That Cat was one courageous guy even if he did cower behind the lectern.

When there was finally a reaction against unrestricted immigration after the Great War the Nativists who had observed attitudes and sabotage during the war wanted to eliminate Eastern and Southern Europeans entirely.

You have to study the War years to really understand what the various immigrant groups were doing.  The Intalians, for instance had remained loyal to Italy which they were to do until after World War Two when they finally accepted that they weren’t going back to Italy.

History is full of interesting little oddities.  Did you know that the Italians issued a call to Italians living in the United States to return to fight for Italy and a great many went.  Wait, that’s not the interesting part.  After the War Mussolini wanted to return injured veterans to the United States for medical treatment.  That’s just one of the way foreign nationals view the inexplicable US immigration policy.

The Irish had actually helped the cause of the Central Powers with sabotage in the United States on the princible that a friend of England was an enemy of theirs and an enemy of England was a friend of theirs.  The most famous incident being the explosion at the Black Tom pier in New Jersey.  Of course, in the interests of racial peace in the United States the investigation was never pursured and athe explosion is listed as an accident.  There are accounts in which the Irish take credit.

The Jews were an interesting case.  They professed to hate Russia and the Czar who they have turned into  one of the greatest demons of all time.  So long as Russia was an ally of the United States the Jews were pro-German.  After the overthrow of Russia by the Bolsheviks, which is to say, the Jews, they became pro-Ally and of course they were always one hundred percent Americans.

The  Austro-Hungarians in the United States were suspected of being saboteurs and there are incidents of sabotage by Austro-Hungarians.

And of course the indignities the German-Americans were subjected to during the War years were unparalleled until the Japanese and numbers of German and Italians were interned during World War Two.

In the wake of the War the Nativists wanted to eliminate Southern, Central and Eastern Europeans altogether.  The best they could obtain was a quota based on demographics existing in about eighteen-ninety.  As Italian immigration only began in earnest after that date that virtually eliminated legal Italian immigration.

Believe it or not the Jews were in the process of transferring the entire Eastern European population to the United States when the war intervened.  In order to relieve the strain on New York City and the other Eastern ports while concealing their numbers channels had been established in New Orleans and Galveston to receive the bulk of these Jewish immigrants.

They were packed and ready to go in Europe when the restrictive new immigration law was passed in nineteen-twenty.  The Jewish plans were thwarted.  In addition as the Jews were a stateless people so entry visas had to be issued under the quota of another State.  The Jews may be temporarily stymied but they are not so easily defeated.

They set about conditioning public opinion in America to reverse the immigration act.  They got around the laws pretty easily in the aftermath of  World War Two.  For some reason unknown to me the Americans accepted racial guilt for what the Nazis had done.  I never have, not for the Nazis, not for the Blacks, not for Hiroshima, not for nothin’.  I didn’t do it and I don’t know anyone who did.

But in nineteen forty-eight the Jewish State Of Israel was established.  There was only one flaw in that plan.  Asiatics were fully excluded from immigration and Israel was on the West coast of Asia.  That meant dual citizenship was limited from West to East.

The Jews were unable to change the law in nineteen-fifty when a revision was made but they were successful in nineteen-sixty-five when the new immigration law was written.  Now, what do you think the most significant historical event has been since the end of the Seven Years War?


I don’t think it was this immigration act if that’s what you’re leading up to.


That’s not what I’m leading up to.  But it fits hand and glove.  The second most influential fact of the last three or four hundred years was the Cultural Revolution begun in China in nineteen sixty-six by our good friend, the lunatic, Chairman Mao Ze Dong.

The two facts were not coordinated in advance of course but the coincidence is a remarkable fact.  At the very time Mao was leading the charge of the worldwide Red offensive the door of America was thrown open rendering the country nearly defenseless.  This at the height of the Viet Nam War and the Negro Rebellion too.  Is it any wonder we were psychologically and intellectually overwhelmed?  That refer to me and you too, Craig.

That more or less brings us up to the Chinese situation but I haven’t finished with the Jews yet so I’ll have more to say about their influence.

Americans are extremely myopic not to mention that we are capable of seeing only what we want to see.  They see only the the Chinese want to come here.  Oddly enough, that flatters them.  They do not look for ulterior motives or, indeed, underlying causes.  In fact, Americans, which always means White Americans in my scheme of things, are stupid.

We have been warned about  the Yellow Peril for some time but we prefer to put a different construction on things and ignore realities.  The fear of the Mongol hordes has been on Europe for centuries.  Strangely, modern White academic scholars take the side of the Mongols against White Europe.  They actually ridicule the Europeans while cheering the Mongols and lamenting their retreat.  The self-hatred is one of the consequences of the unmitigated success of the British in the era of European world conquest.

The East was always a source of dnage for Europe.  Celts, Germans and Slavs and Mongols all came from the East but the racial difference, which is to say cultural difference was a real terror.

Attila the Hun who entered Europe in the fifth century has always been a byword of terror although in recent years his reputation is being refurbished as some kind of farseeing leader.  You see White self-loathing at work.

Then in the thirteenth century the hordes of Genghis Khan penetrated deep into Central Europe before they retired.  they weren’t actually defeated they just withdrew back into the steppes while retaining hegemony over the Slavs of Russia.

So a very real fear was implanted in the Europeans.


That was a long time ago, Dewey, that has no relevance now.


That’s where you’re wrong, Craig.  Historical memories have relevance over immense spans of centuries.  Here’s on e you daren’t disagree with.  Twenty-five hundred years ago the Jews suffered some indignities at the hands of this cat named Haman.  Every year they commemorate the horrors of this guy.  What he did then influences thier attitude toward others today.

As to the Chinese I am led to believe that Kaiser Wilhelm was the first to originate the term, Yellow Peril.  W.R. Hearst picked it up from him to illustrate the dangers of Chinese immigrtion into California.  And of course Hitler imbibed the fear of the Yellow Peril into his very genes.  All three of the men are execrated today but Wilhelm, Hearst and Hitler were right.

     Oddly enough the abominable racial pride of the English is the proximate cause of the Chinese Diaspora.

We are all familiar with the Jewish Diaspora but there have been several others.  The European Diaspora is prominent but the Chinese Disaspora is virtually unrecognized in the United States.  It will never be taught in the public schools.

Somewhere about eighteen twenty or so the British began moving Chinese into Singapore and other areas because they were thought to be more industrious than the aborigines.  If the British had had the population surplus of China they might have brought English out but since they didn’t have a big enough population for their purposes they pressed the Indians and Chinese into service.

This of course distributed Indians and Chinese into places they would never have gone on their own.  Once jump started the Chinese, who had never left China before began their great Diaspora of which the California immigrants were only a small part.  It’s not like they loved America best, as our Liberals like to believe or that they wanted to tap into our bounty specifically but that California was only one of many locations all around the Pacific Rim.  The Chinese were not helpless little yellow men seeking the aid of Bwana White Man but they had an agenda of their own.

The Australians sensed the danger quickly passing laws to keep them out.  Thus they temporarily avoided becoming a province of China.  Doesn’t bother people like the Liberals because they have no actual racial identity or pride.  At least, they don’t think they do.

Dennis Kearny and a number of farseeing men who are now termed intolerable bigots sensed the obvious danger of losing California and the West Coast to China so they pushed the Chinese Exclusion Act through Congress in eighteen eighty-two.  So the problem was minimized until the Jews undid their work in nineteen sixty-five.


Wait a minute, Dewey, wait a minute.  You’re not saying that the Chinese are inferior because they’re of a different race are you?


You don’t believe in the concept of race, Craig, besides as I already told you I don’t have that Bwana attitude that you and your Liberal friends have.  You don’t put it in those terms but in your hearts you feel superior to them or you probably put it like you’re more advanced than they are but they’ll catch up in time.  You Liberals have euphemisms for everything.

They’re to to catch up and run over you sooner than you think , too.

So, in nineteen sixty-six the Chinese were no longer a backward trampled empire.  Under Chairman Mao they were the vanguard of the Red Revolution having displaced the Russians during the war in Korea.

In one act Mao sinicized the peoples of the world.  Marshall McLuhan picked up on it during the Great Leap forward or possibly earlier.

Within two years, or by nineteen sixty-eight the Chinese Red influence was apparent on every campus in the United States.  I still have two copies of the Little Red Book I picked up from Honky Reds from the UofO.

OK.  Talking of historica timelags.  Mao had a deep abiding hatred of the West because of its exploitation of China in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.  Remember all those Chinese artifacts in European and American possession were literally stolen, looted, from the Imperial Palace but even more important was the forcible introduction of opium into China by the British in the first half of the nineteenth century.

If you want to know what the legalization of drugs in America will be like the place to study is China.  The country was completely debilitated by the forceful legalization of opium by the British.  Mao remembered.

I can’t believe that idiot could have so little respect for his country’s heritage that he would smash and burn and try to efface all memory of the past but that is what he did.  But then, perhaps, he thought that as the old China had failed inn its imperial mission everything had to be destroyed and built up in victory anew.  I really haven’t studied Mao’s psychology at all.


It would be almost impossible for a Westerner to penetrate the Eastern mind.


That’s an example of the Liberal racism I’m talking about.  It isn’t difficult at all.  If Freud and Jung proved anything at all it is the universality of psychology.  Hey, we’ve all got ninety-nine point six the same genes, right?  There are only so many psychological types no matter within which racial configuration and the response to the natural world is universally the same no matter in what symbols it is expressed.

What good does it do us to have acquired this tremendous scientific knowledge if we don’t apply it.  That is the question.

At the same time as the Cultural Revolution within China the Chinese colonization of the world began in earnest.  Numbers of colonies have been established in South Americ while colonies in Vancouver, Toronto, London, Paris, New York, San Francisco, LA and other points in the world are being increased on a daily basis.  The invasion of Africa has begun in earnest.

The Chinese will not have the manpower shortage that the English had because they have a reservoir of a billion and a half people.  If they sent a hundred million people each to Europe, America, South America and Africa today they wouldn’t even begin to release the population pressure in China.  But they woud effectively politically dominate the entire world.

Let’s go back to Madison Grant and his theory of racial exclusion.  You have these local exclusions going on in Africa and Sebia as well actually as China.  The Chinese are systematically exterminating racial minorities within China.  Yu have a national exclusion going on in South Africa where the Whites are being ejected by the Bantus while Americans Black and White, cheer.

And you actively have a global struggle for dominance going on which is being won and probably will be won by the Chinese.

Now, let’s go back to the Honky Cat in San Francisco at the Gate of Wine.

In his analysis of the probable results of the Immigration Act of sixty-five the Chinese were the big problem.

I don’t remember if he considered the effect of Moslem and Hindu immigration but what results we’ve had there.  You Liberals and Reds really achieved one there.


(testily)  How’s that?


Well, we conservatives were moving along pretty well in getting the Shah of Iran to bring his country into the twentieth century.  He was soing a good job of eliminating idiotic antiquated Moslem notions.  Women had made good progress; education was on a modern basis.  However there was the usual and to be expected reactionary religious backlash.

The Ayatollah working of that haven of bloodthirsty criminal politicians, Paris…


Hold it, hold it.  You aren’t going to defame  Paris, the City of Light, are you?


I don’t defame anyone, Craig.  I deal in facts.  Paris was the birthplace of the Jacobins of Ninety-three who lived on blood puddings and in recent years the Ayatollah.  Ho Chi Mihn and Pol Pot amongst others had asylum there for years.  They have all been notoriously murderous or genocidal.  For what it’s worth Pol Pot who murdered a huge percentage of his own countrymen has never been apprehended and punished. He lives in luxury in his own country.  This worse than Hitler is living in luxury in his own country.  The Shah was denied asylum anywhere and allowed to be murdered by Moslem fanatics.  They wouldn’t even let him come to the New York that harbored Leon Trotsky, another huge genocidist.  I hear no outcries from Liberals.

Whether it is the Parisian inheritance of Ninety-three or indigenous to the Communist type you can take your choice but I opt for both.  I mean, how stupid can you be, American Liberals rail at the Chinese for violations of human rights.  By whose standard?  The Chinese government is Red.  It follows the party line to the letter.  The same thing will happen here if we let the Reds take over.  They have their own program.

At any the Ayatollah working out of Paris with the incomprehensible aid of American Liberals and Reds set out to overthrow the Shah.  Now think about that.  Liberals aiding the revolution of a reactionary religious leader.  Reds doing the same.  Liberals negating the Shah’s revisions which they will practically kill for in the United States.  What is wrong with this picture?

The Shah, who was a very good and decent man was willfully and criminally vilified by you Liberals and Reds.

Iranians flooded into our country with the immigration bars gone where they turned our universities and streets into bedlam in support of this insane reactionary fanatic.  Nobody examined the facts they just accepted ad hominem insults.

I will never forgive you Liberals for what you did.

In a shameful reversal of policy our elected representatives cowardly withdrew support from its own creature, the Shah, going so far as to refuse him safe asylum Leon Trotsky was allowed, not to mention the religious nut, the Dalai Lama, and John Lennon but the Shah was exposed to his vile ante-diluvian enemies who slaughtered him like on of their so-called unclean pigs.

I have my head in shame for my country.

  Then when that fundamentalis idiot the Ayatollah turned Iran into a reactionary hell you so-called Liberals disowned the situation by saying:  We only help them get their freedom; what they do with it is their business.  Fie!  You Liberals should be ashamed of yourselves; you betray your own principles then laugh at them.

So now because of the Jewish sponsorship of the sixty-five immigration law we’re saddle by a large and growing Moslem population not to mention the stultified Hindus.  I don’t have to remind you what happened when Britain left India.


You may have forgotten this little fact, Dewey, the Constitution of these United States of America guarantees freedom of religion so I don’t know where you get off being so hard on Moslems nd Hindus.


The Constitution forbids the establishment of a State sponsored religion that’s all.  The government is forbidden to pass laws benefiting any specific religion.  That notion has been violated by these Loser or so-called Hate laws which give legal protection to certain faiths.

 Besides as usual you Liberals willfully misunderstand and exaggerate.  No one is denying anyone the right to practice any religion no matter how stupid.  I even defended Jim Jones’ right to make his adherents commit suicide on the basis of freedom of religion.

Just because you have a right to practice a belief system doesn’t place that belief system above criticism.  All religions are primitive in relation to Science.  A Scientific Consciousness is superior to any superstitious Religious Consciousness.


I wouldn’t say that a religion is superstition.


You’ve got to be kidding, Craig.  You used to.  When you were in college you equated religion with superstition.  What’s the matter?  The Grim Reaper got you scared or are you turning superstitious.


I have reasons for beliving in eternal life.


Good.  I don’t.  Anyway importing millions more superstitious idiots has nothing to do with me accepting them as anything else but.  All religions are intlerant, especially the Moslem, so all we’re doing is creating problems for ourselves down the road.

But to get back to the Honky Cat.

If you remember he said the legalizing of Chinese immigration would increase dramatically the number of illegal Chinese immigrants.  All you have to do is watch the news to see he’s right.

He predicted that in fifty years San Francisco would be a Chinese city.  He was right.  Oakland too, he missed that.  They’ll probably change Kearny Street to Mao Ze Dong Promenade.  Union Square will be new Tianenmen Square.


I think there are more Chinese in San Francisco than there used to be but I don’t see them taking over the city.


There’s still a decade or so to go Craig.  When I was there the Chinese were all in Chinatown but now they’ve also taken over the Sunset.  That’s a huge territorial expansion.

Now, San Francisco’s population is limited to about seven hundred fifty thousand because of its small land area.  If the Chinese land only fifteen thousand illegals a year, in fifteen years that would be two hundred twenty-five thousand additional people.  When you add illegals and natural growth which will be huge bucause they come here, so they say, because they can have large families, you’re looking at three to four hundred thousand Chinese in addition to the two or three hundred thousand already there.

If even more illegals come in you’re looking at an additional half million or more.  That’s enough to force everyone, White, Black or Hispanic out of San Francisco.

You don’t think they didn’t have a good reason for claiming the Sunset for expansion do you?


What good reason?


The Sunset gives them a coastline.  Transports don’t actually have to land.  Lighters in the form of cruisers or yachts under White ownership can take them off in parties of twenty, thirty or sixty or more and land them unobtrusively.  Given a thousand dollars or so per each the Chinese build up protection from White profiteers.

Once in possession of San Francisco there will be no way to stop them from landing Chinese at will.

Now, these are all Red Chinese.

They will have to be involved in the American political system.  So, in addition to the Black Caucus, the Jewish Caucus, the Irish Caucus, the Hispanic Caucus and whatever you will have the Red Chinese Caucus with laws in place to deny a White Caucus to have any legal objections. 

Once you have open Reds in Congress the White, Black and whatever else Reds will rally round the Chinese Reds who represent the mother lode of Reds in China.  Then the conflict will come out into the open.

Once the Chines have legitmized their presence in the Bay Area larger numbers of Chinese will be sent over from China until the Chinese are in possession of the West Coast from British, by now Chinese Columbia or, perhaps, New Sinkiang down to Baja.

The racial rules propounded by Madison Grant will really take effect.  With tens of thousand of Chinese arriving on a daily bais not only will Whites be excluded from the West Coast but also the Blacks and Mexicans.  The nature of the racial ethic is the expulsion of al other differing peoples.


That’s a pretty grim scenario, Dewey, and I think a false one.  Never forget that all men are brothers.  Intolerance is a sin against our fellow man and a crime against all mankind.  I don’t think the Chinese or anyone else is inferior to me on the basis of color.  Race has no meaning in an enlightened America and a just world.


You’re absolutely correct Craig.  Race wouldhave no meaning in an enlightened America and a just world.  But, that’s not the naw the world is and that’s not how race works.

It isn’t a question of whether Blacks, Whites or Yellows are inferior or superior.  Race or culture works on a subliminal level.  People want their world to reflect only their kind whether you’re willing to acknowledge the fact or not.  Goodwill while admirable will have no effect on the future.

Whites take a more cosmopolitan point of view largely because it was thrust upon them.  The Europeans didn’t have the man power to displace the indigenous peoples when they got there so they had to come to an accommodation with the locals to enforce their possession.

In America they or we had the numbers to roll over the sparse population of American Indians.  In East India the British had to employ native troops as well as their own to enforce their rule.  Even then half the British Army was made up of Irishers who took the Queen’s Uniform to escape the rigors of the potato famine.

The Chinese who have been massed in their native land have no such cosmopolitan view.  The British in India could not have succeeded unless their vision of society was more just to more Indian than Indian society had been.  The British rule must have been less oppressive than that of the Indians or no Indians would have rallied to their flag.  That goes without saying.

In addition European Science went so far beyond Indian metaphysics that the British commanded respect on that score alone.  However Science is only knowledge aznd an approach to knowledge which can be learned closing that gap or superiority.

Both the Indians and Chinese have done that at least on a superficial level…


Superficial?  You mean you don’t think they’ve really grasped it?


Racial values, Craig, racial imprinting.  It is axiomatic that you can’t learn what you don’t already know.  The European grasp of Science is bred in the bone.  Our conception of Science was developed by our Aryan ancestors in the Middle East.  It is inherited directly from Greco-Egyptian culture.

The scientific concept is indigenous to no other people, nor can it be learned in the half dozen generations or so that other peoples have been struggling with it for at least three or four hundred years and they haven’t mastered it yet.

The concepts haven’t even scratched the surface of the African soul and may not have made too deep an impression on the American Blacks.  I don’t think American Blacks would maintain American achievements if Whites were gone.

The Indians will return to Hindu metaphysical concepts as soon as the scientific impusle is removed.  Their culture is set.  The same with the Chinese.  Just as the Chinese have expelled Whites from the Orient so as they expel Whites throughout the world they will reject scientific principles as un-Chinese.  Their success against the proples of the world will prove the superiority of their ways just as the European successes proved he superiority of their ways.  However Europeans lacked to manpower to displace other peoples which the Chinese possess.

You see, Craig, even if you and I do not think we are innately superior to them, they don’t share our generosity of spirit.  They know that they are superior to us.

So, you see, the Honky Cat actually knew what he was talking about.


I still think brotherhood will triumph.  It’s the right way.


It is that attitude which has stripped the White race of the ability to either resist or to assert itself.  The ideal of brotherhood which you profess is above reproach as an ideal.  In an ideal world of ideal people the vision would have been realized long ago.  That it hasn’t proves that it is a beautiful but unrealizable ideal.

The notion is intellectual while race is visceral.  I admire the ideal and I wish well to all those who sincerely believe it but you will be rolled over like the America of old and you will take your race with you.

You have stripped our race of all pride and self-respect in favor of other races who either hate or despise you.  They do not share your altruism.  You have turned your women into whores for the entertainment of abject peoples; you have made your sons subject to all others.  You have passed laws which enslave them.  They dare not assert their ability against any other people upon pain of humiliation and emasculation by their own in their own homeland.

If they assert their manhood at all they will be sent to a diversity training vlass where they will be taught they are nothing with no rights while all others are their moral superiors.

They have to defer to criminals like the Spade Cat, some Moslem from the desert, some Chinaman who will be insulted because you refer to him as an ‘Oriental’ when in reality you should be referring to him as an ‘Asian.’  Not an Asiatic but an Asian.  Next week you will be shown your political incorrectness when he is given a new PC name.  That’s how they keep you in line.

Oh, by the way, if Chinaman is an insult why isn’t an Englishman.

I don’t know who your Commissars are but they shouldn’t change the rules so often.

(they pause)


Well, Dewey, I can see where the Honky Cat made a deep impression on you but I hope none of this puts a damper on our friendship.


No need for that.  But now maybe we can go back and integrate all this into the psychological cluster I mentioned a while back

 End of Story.

Our Lady Of The Blues:

Part V

From Gaia To Maia


R.E. Prindle



     ‘No.’ Deasy said.  ‘I won’t go in there.’

     ‘Why not, Mike?  You’re one of those guys who want to have it all.  Carpe diem and all that.  C’mon,  they probably have windows in back with a terrific view.’

     ‘Can’t be much of a bar.’  Parsons Volunteered.  ‘There isn’t any neon.’

      Deasy had started back down the hill.  Parsons followed after, leaving Trueman no choice but to accede.

     Turning a corner at the bottom of the hill they ran into Vincent again coming out of the boot shop.

     ‘Ha.  I got me a perfect pair of boots.  They’re going to make them just for me.  I pick them up Friday before we leave.  You guys had anything to eat?’

     They entered a restaurant close by.  The Chinese were not as pleasant a people as the Japanese.  They were surly and suspicious acting.  Dewey felt like he was imposing on them so he had only a cup of coffee.  He had to conserve his money anyway.

     As they left Vincent took half a sandwich with him.  No sooner were they on the street than they were surrounded by half a dozen street Arabs clamoring for the sandwich.  Vincent, who had a pathological desire to counter the Captain’s instructions divided the sandwich up between the six.  Immediately two dozen appeared out of the woodwork.  The other sailors pulled free leaving Vincent to his fate.

     ‘I know where there’s a bar.’  Deasy said.

     The time was now six o’clock.  The street they were moving down was a solid stream of people from wall to wall.  Thousands of Chinese in tradional garb shuffled slowly along.  They were all uniformly short.  Deasy the tallest of the sailors stood head and shoulders above the entire throng.  Dewey was a mere head and neck, Parsons a head.  Captured by this immense tide of humanity Dewey could do nothing but shuffle along at the same pace.  Looking back he saw the same sea of humanity as he did looking ahead.  Here and there the blue uniform and white face of a sailor bobbed above the crowd like an iceberg in a surging sea.

page 1151.

     Deasy and Parsons looked at him helplessly.  They were entombed in a moving flow of flesh.  The press moved very slowly.  Mandarin types studied them with ill concealed disgust as they trudged along.  Dewey recognized the racism.  Still the time passed.  As if at a signal the press began to thin.  Then Chinese who had been shuffling along with their possessions on their backs unstrapped the packs unrolling pads along the walls on either side where they squatted or lay down to spend the night.

     And then as if by magic the walls were lined with vagrants and the great press of humanity had dispersed.

     ‘This is it.’  Deasy said pointing to a door as if by coincidence all had been leading to this.  ‘Upstairs.’

     ‘You ever been here before.’  Dewey asked amazed that Deasy should know the place.

     ”No.  The Chief told me about it.’  By Chief he meant Chief Sparks the Electronics Technician Chief.  But as Dieter was the only one who had ever been to Hong Kong how did Sparks know about it?  An unanswered question.

page 1152.

     ‘Hey. Hold on you guys.  Wait.’  Came the cry of Vincent from down the street.  He had been struggling to catch up.  ‘Gosh, I thought I’d never get away.  Tenacious little devils.’

     The sailors entered, climbing the stairs to a regular sailor dive.  This was Deasy’s idea of a bar;  there was plenty of neon for Parsons.  The place was a combination bar and whore house.

     The bar on the top of the hill had been more Dewey’s style while this was more popular with the hoi paloi.  They found a table where they were quickly surrounded by bar girls.

     One attached herself to each sailor.  One sat on Dewey’s lap trying to arouse him.  But there was something coarse and calculating about the Chinese.  Pearl had been a sweet thing as well as Violet if either were compared to these bar girls.  Dewey didn’t want his woman besides the fact that he didn’t want to waste his limited resources on some whore.

     ‘You come up stairs, hey, big boy.’  She half asked, half commanded.

     ‘No.  That’s all right.’

     ‘What matter?  You funny boy?’

     ‘No. No.  I’m straight as they come but I just don’t have any money.’

     ‘Go ahead, Trueman.’  Vincent urged.

     ‘No. You guys go ahead.  I’ll wait for you here.’

     ‘We’ll follow you.’  Deasy added.

     ‘Then we might as well go back.  I don’t drink and I don’t have any money.’

     ‘I’ll loan you some, Trueman.’  Parsons ventured.

page 1153.

     ‘Then you’ll have to give it to me because I won’t pay it back.’

     ‘Nuts to that.’

     ‘We might as well go back then.  I don’t like it here.’

     ‘What a spoil sport.’

     Back they went.

Alone Again Naturally

It’s Tommy this

                                And Tommy that,

                                                 And Tommy wait outside.

                                                                             R. Kipling

     The next day Trueman managed to get away alone.  When they had been at the top of the hill he had spotted the Government district to the North.  Fascinated by the apparent contrast between Chinatown and the Anglo-Saxon sector he wanted to investigate himself.

     There is no greater sin than for a tourist to look like a tourist.  Gawking brings all kinds of derision down on your head from the locals.

     The jumbled stacked architecture and narrow dirty streets of the Chinese sector was now replaced by the austere, stately architecture of England.  The streets were broad and clean.  In 1958 there were few if any cars so the noise levels were low.  It was a pedestrian paradise.

page 1154.

     Unlike Chinatown however with its streets jammed with humanity Englishtown was almost deserted.  Dewey could wander the streets almost alone.  He came upon wonderful bookshops stuffed to the rafters with titles he had never seen in the United States.  He might have bought some if he had known what he was buying.

     Sometime after five the government offices let out.  Crowds of gigantic Englishwomen issued forth, six footers of girth.  Dewey gawked with extreme impoliteness amazed at their uniform dimensions.  There in Englishtown in the heart of China it was as if Salvador Dali had surrealistically painted him in.  Except that instead of melted watches it was as though Dewey’s brain was melted and draped over the branch of a tree.

     Then as the evening shades deepened and the lights came on Dewey’s attention was drawn to the hotels and restaurants which he now noticed were fairly numerous.  The wind came up and paper began blowing about the streets coming as though from nowhere.

     Here in the heart of China all the guests and patrons were white Europeans and American Naval officers with a smattering of Army uniforms thrown in.

     Individuals and groups of officers bustled self-importantly through the doors of hotels and restaurants.  Dewey was the only enlisted man to be seen.  He looked hungrily on this scene excluded, if not by color, by caste.  He longed to be included, he yearned to be one of the happy few.  He checked his pockets to see if he had enough money to buy dinner.  It seemed as though he should have.

page 1156.

     Moving closer in the deepening gloom he received a few disparaging glances from civilians who were used only to dealing with officers and from officers who were used to dealing with enlisted men only as cretins.

     ‘What the hell.’  Dewey thought to himself.  ‘This is a democracy.’  Whatever a democracy might be.

     ‘What the hell is that swabbie doing hanging around here?’  He heard an officer say.

     There was an arcade, greatly resembling the Burlington Arcade in London, adjoining a very impressive looking hotel which Dewey entered.  Wandering wonderingly down the rows of shops he came to an inside entrance to the hotel.  And just inside that entrance was the informal restaurant of the hotel.

     ‘Good enough.’  Thought Dewey.  ‘The main restaurant is probably too expensive anyway.

     Feeling small and insignificant but very satisfied Dewey was sitting at his table when he heard a faint Irish brogue chirp, ‘What’s that smell anyway?’

     Used by now to being considered just another nigger of Uncle Sam’s fleet Dewey understood the jibe was directed at him and chose to ignore it.

     Then this little, 5’6″ Irish Catholic Lieutenant (JG) came over and contemptuously putting a foot on Dewey’s chair seat smilingly looked into his face saying:  ‘Aren’t you in the wrong place, Laddy?’

page 1157.

     It was 19 to 23 with brass.  If Dewey showed any resistance he would be thrown out on his ear.  He humbly said:  I’ve got a right to be here.’

     ‘We’re not talking about rights, Laddy, we’re talking about facts.  Chinatown is over there, that’s where the enlisted belong.’

     Dewey shrugged as the JG went to speak to the Maitre d’.

     The JG had offended Dewey.  Trueman had no knowledge of the Irish implications to the JG’s attitude or how it applied to him.  Just as Trueman had writ his name large on his dungarees he had written it large on the inside of his hat.  Thus the JG read TRUEMAN and realized he had his English adversary in a disadvantageious position.  He could pull rank.  Thus the Anglo-Irish conflict begun hundreds of years before America even existed came to rest on Dewey’s innocent head in China.

     The JG’s name was Patrick Joseph O’ Rourke but he went by, what else, PJ.  O’ Rourke had come from the same social level as Trueman if not slightly worse in Boston.  The Irish had for some time borne a grudge against the Puritan establishment of Boston because of the ‘No Irish Need Apply’ notices in want ads for employment.  This hatred had been passed down to PJ.  He had never actually seen such signs or been discriminated against but the mere mention of them made his blood boil.  America is the land of boiling blood; it seems as though everyone’s blood is boiling at the same time.  His hatred was also fueled by his old man’s IRA sympathies against the Queen’s Own.

page 1158.

     Thus in Trueman he not only recognized the hated Anglo but someone of his own economic level above which he had risen ‘by his own unaided efforts.’  Unable to indulge his antipathies among his fellow officers, here in Englishtown in the heart of China he could turn his hatred on this enlisted man who was so out of place in the lair of the ‘upper’ class.

     PJ sat at the bar among his officer friends smiling mockingly at Trueman as the waiter sidled up.  There were only four items on the menu suited to Dewey’s taste and pocketbook.

     ‘I’ll have…’  Dewey began pointing to an item.

     ‘We’re out of that.’  The waiter replied disparagingly.

     ‘Well, then, I’ll have…’

     ‘We’re out of that too.’

     And so through items three and four.  Looking over at another table Dewey saw someone eating his second choice.  Grasping at that straw he said:  ‘Well, they got a serving.’

     ‘Last one.’  The waiter said coldly.

     Dewey rubbed his nose.  The obvious isn’t so obvious if you’re not looking for it and hoping it’s not there.

     ‘Well, what do you have?’

     ‘I’ll have to go into the kitchen and check.’

     Now, full of satisfaction, P.J. O’ Rourke sauntered over to the table.  ‘Take a hint, swabbie, you’re out of place, take a look around.

     Not for the first or last time Dewey tried the line:  ‘The Navy told me that this uniform was as good as a tuxedo.’

page 1158.

     O’ Rourke laughed fingering his own lapel:  ‘This is a tuxedo, Swabbie, that is a busboy’s outfit.  We’re officers and gentlemen here.  Got it?’

     Dewey saw past PJ’s unifrom into his accent and origins.  Dewey too could recognize a guy from the old neighborhood.  ‘It’s going to take more than that uniform to make a gentleman out of you Paddy.’

     ‘Well, me lad, if the Navy says it’s so it’s good enough for the likes of me.’

     ‘Yeah?  You already said the Navy lied when they said my uniform was as good as a tuxedo; I know they lied when they called you a gentleman.  I’ve dug some potatoes in my time too, Paddy.’

     PJ flushed a little but he knew he had the upper hand.

    ‘Be that as it may, little man, you’re in the wrong place.’

     O’ Rourke was joined by a couple other officers.

     ‘Come on, Sailor.’  Growled Lt. Blackthorn genially.  ‘Listen to the officer.  Chinatown is thataway.  Go hang out with the rest of the swabbies.

     ‘I’m afraid the kitchen is out of just about everything, sir.’  The waiter said with a knowing glance at the officers.

     Dewey heaved a sigh then got up.  His only other recourse was cause a scene humiliating only himself.  He wasn’t up for that.

     As he passed thrugh the door PJ hissed in his ear:  No Anglos Need Apply.

     Dewey missed the reference but he received the injury.  Injured deeply in his soul he headed toward the embankment and the Teufelsdreck.  His mind numbed in his anguish and humiliation he stumbled along as though drunk unable to pick his feet up high enough to level out the streets.  Angered to his soul but unable to do a thing about it a cyst formed around the incident in his subconscious clustering with a few earlier ones.

page 1160.

     If he hadn’t before he now loathed his uniform and he loathed his Uncle Sam whose funny little busboy outfit made him a ‘nigger’ wherever he went even in old Chinatown.  The uniform he was wearing was not a badge of honor but an emblem of disgrace.

One Toke Over The Line

     Kayo Kreskin had a problem.  When he learned that the Asian tour would include Hong Kong he had excitedly notified his father, Soter Kreskin.  The elder Kreskin had found the Marijuana imported from Mexico so profitable that he had explored the possibility of an opium or heroin trade.

     San Francisco was a very advantageous place from which to develop that line of business.  The City has a very large Chinatown, the first in the US.

     It will be remembered that in the nineteenth century Britain fought a couple wars with China to compel it to accept the Opium grown by them in India that Britain wished them to buy.  This had some long range effects.

     The money from the Opium trade went directly into the pockets of the Kings and Queens of England augmenting their income greatly.  Nor were the wars and their results forgiven by the Chinese.  Over in mainland China Mao was still greatly incensed at the thought of the Chinese being corrupted by the British.  During the Cultural Revolution of 1966-76 the Opium Wars would again be a bone of contention.

page 1162.

     The English were most active in the area around Hong Kong.  The Chinese immigrants to the US passed through the port from the surrounding provinces.  Hence many of the Chinese coming to the US were opium smokers.  A large importation of opium into the US was already currently being done for its Chinese.  Soter Kreskin found it relatively easy to establish contacts in the British Crown (as being a private possession of the King and Queen) Colony.

     As another interesting but irrelevant aside, the fortune of Franklin Delano Roosevelt was made by an ancestor who imported opium form China to New York in his Yankee Clippers.

     Soter represented a Chinatown dealer, on other grounds, who upon learning of Soter’s interest, made contacts for him in the Colony.

      Kayo Kreskin was to make contact with this man in Kowloon, acquire a supply substantial enough to make Soter’s fortune and bring it back aboard the Teufelsdreck thus bypassing the most dangerous risks.

     At that time, at least, no one checked any packages brought aboard nor were any bags inspected in San Diego leaving the base so Kayo and Soter had a nearly foolproof, once in a lifetime opportunity.

page 1163.

     The only danger lay in the acquisition in Hong Kong and the distribution in the Bay Area.  It is not known whether Soter or Kayo were under suspicion at this time but as the suppliers might be and as an ounce of prevention is worth a kilo of cure, Kayo with sure intuition took all precautions.

     Thus he had to reach his contact in Kowloon but didn’t want to call attention to himself by making an obvious solo trip.  He was sitting pondering his dilemma as he watched Mike Deasy put a finishing lick to his shoes for liberty.

     ‘What are you going to do, Deasy?’  He asked idly.

     ‘Trueman wants to take the ferry to Kowloon like his idol William Holden did.  I’m going with him.’

     ‘You’re hitting the beach with that clown?’

     ‘I think he’s alright; besides after that escapade in Y’kuska with Maclen I agree with him; we’d been better off to take the train to Tokyo.’

     ‘Man, that…’  He began as a criticism of Trueman but then the light flickered on in his head.  ‘…doesn’t sound half bad.  I’d like to go to Kowloon too.  Mind if I come along?’

     Deasy did mind.  He didn’t like Kreskin.  He and all of operations knew Kayo was into drugs.  But not wishing to openly offend Kayo he passed the buck to Trueman who he thought would say no.  ‘It’s alright with me but it’s up to Trueman.  He has things he wants to do.  I’m just going along.’

     Kayo got quickly to his feet stepping down to First to find Trueman looping his scarf over his head.

     ‘Hey, Trueman, Deasy says you two are going over to Kowloon.’

page 1164.

     ‘Yeah.  So what’s that got to do with you?’

     ‘How about I come along?’

     ‘Are you kidding?  You remember Tokyo?  How you’re better’n me, how your super whore wouldn’t have anything to do with the likes of me?’

     ‘Oh that.  That was nothing.  I’d been drinking, that was the liquor talking, not me.’

     ‘No, hmm?  Nothing to you anyway.  By the way Kreskin I heard that the most beautiful whore in Japan laid a dose on you.  Any truth to that?’

     Kreskin who apparently thought that secrets could be held in such a small closed society, was thunderstruck because Trueman knew and was taunting him about it.  Had he been less interested he would have walked away but as a drug addict he was compelled to accept any humiliation to obtain his supply.

     ‘Yeah, she gave me a dose, damn whore.  Taking Penicillin now.’  He said humbly.  By taking Penicillin Kreskin meant that whenever the stash of tabs was on the Quarterdeck he popped one in coming back from liberty.  The pills had done no good.

     ‘Really?  Gee, the less beautiful girls I had didn’t give me anything but a good time.  What do you think of that?’

     ‘I…I guess I didn’t have any reason to be so arrogant as I was.  I’m the kind of guy who learns from my mistakes though.’

     Kayo’s seeming humility which was only the duplicity of the addict placated Trueman who, since he planned to view the Red Chinese border, thought that three might be better than two.

page 1165.

     ‘This is my trip Kreskin.  I’m going over to see what I want to see, so if you think you’re going to call the shots, forget it.  If that’s agreed Deasy has the final say.’  Trueman said, passing the buck back to Deasy.

     ‘He says it’s OK with him if it’s OK with you.’

     ‘Better get dressed then.  We’re leaving now whether you’re ready or not.’

     Kreskin dressed, running up to the Quarterdeck throwing his scarf over his head just in time to board the boat to the beach.  The boat ride to shore took fifteen minutes through the wonderful tropical Winter of Hong Kong.

     Dropped off at the sea wall they climbed the steps to the Esplanade turning right to begin the walk along the bay to the ferry.

     ‘Man, this is even better than in ‘Love Is A Many Spendored Thing’.  Did you guys see that?’

     ‘Yeah.  It was pretty good.’  From Kreskin.

     ‘Didn’t see it.’  From Deasy.

     ‘Man, that was the most fantastic photography I’ve ever seen.  My mind was stunned.  Gosh, I watched that and thought I’d never get to see this place.  William Holden was just incredible.  We saw the hill Holden climbed in the rain storm to see his girl the other day from the Tiger Balm Gardens.  Man, straight up and down just like in the movie.  Hard to believe people could live on a slope like that.’  Trueman must not have paid attention to cliff houses in LA.

page 1166.

     Trueman little knew how much that movie affected him.  To some extent he assumed the character of William Holden while his own experience in Hong Kong was heightened by his memory of the movie.

     The absence of cars in Hong Kong was taken for granted without notice or question.  Without realizing it Trueman found the absence delightful.  His enjoyment of the city was heightened by their absence.

     The Kowloon Ferry made no provision for cars being solely for pedestrians.  The great ferry with its broad decks slowly filled with the teeming mass of humanity that was Hong Kong.

    The three sailors were the only Caucasians aboard.  Dewey watched in amazement as every inch of space was taken up by the incredible variety of Chinese nationalties inhabiting the Crown Colony.  He, Deasy and Kreskin found their way to the railing where they could watch the chaos of people as well as the receding and approaching shores.

     Amidst the throbbing engines the big raft glided across the smooth bay almost without the sensation of movement.  The twenty minute trip was breathtaking.  Having boarded amongst the teeming hordes of Hong Kong Dewey was surprised to find the Kowloon side nearly desolate.  They docked in a comparatively deserted field amid the ruined foundations of old buildings.  Unlike Hong Kong where the buildings abutted being seemingly stacked on each other in Chinese style, Kowloon looked like a cross between the Occident and the Orient.  The appearance was much more like South San Francisco or Daly City or the little boxes of Malvina Reynold’s song but twice as exotic and charming.

page 1167.

     Deasy and Kreskin looked to Dewey for direction as he was the leader.  Dewey had thought no further than getting to Kowloon.  He neither knew where he was or how to get to anything else so he just followed the crowd walking down the road.  The road was the main thoroughfare leading directly into Red China which is where most of the ferry riders were going.  Apparently the boat load of Chinese were daily commutes from Red China to Hong Kong.

     The sailors walked along, Dewey glorying in this many splendored thing while Deasy couldn’t imagine what he saw to rhapsodize so while Kreskin champed to get to his drug dealer.

     They had gone a mile or so with Dewey babbling away in wonder when he looked down to see a white line painted across the road.

     ‘Hey, look at that, someone painted a white line across the road.  Wonder what that means?’

     As soon as they were across the line the surroundings changed.  Instead of the clean open feel of European Kowloon the area switched to the dirty closed in stacked Chinese feel.  The feeling of crowding was greater even than in Hong Kong.

     Once again immigrants blamed America for traits inherent in their own culture.  The Chinese of San Francisco crowded tens of thousands of people into just a few square blocks stacked on each other just like in their homeland.  But in the US this became an indignity heaped on them by ‘prejudiced Whites.’

     The attitude of the people changed to sulleness and suspicion.  This was the real China.

page 1168.

     Dewey handled the first hundred yards in China fairly well but the then the differences began to mount in sinister fashion.

     ‘Hey, look at that Mandarin type guy flattened against the wall.’  Dewey observed.

     Indeed a Fu Manchu type in long red Mandarin dress was flattened against a wall around a corner watching them.  Further, the attention of every single person on the street was riveted on them.

     By this time they had penetrated Red China by six hundred feet.  Another hundred yards and they wouldn’t get out again.

     ‘I can’t understand why things have changed so.  Everything looks so different, more sinister.  Boy, there’s red stars every where.  Look it there; every magazine on that rack has a red star on it.’

     ‘Yeah, I noticed that.’  Deasy said without curiostity.

     ‘Oh god.  You know what?’  Tureman said with a quaver in his voice.  ‘You know what that white line meant?’

     ‘No, what?’

     ‘You remember when they gave that indoctrination speech they said that the only thing separating Red China from Kowloon was a white line in the road?  No sentries, no guard houses?  We’re in Red China.  We gotta get out of this place.’

     So saying Dewey turned on his heel without a moment to spare.  Men under the direction of the Fu Manchu lookalike were already moving away from the stalls to fall in behind them.

     ‘Look sharp boys, and get prepared to make a run for it.  We might have to fight our way out.  Step smarly and with determination now.’

page 1169.

     Dewey took his long thin Japanese pocket knife out of his pocket pretending to clean his nails on the run as the three moved back to the white line.

     They were saved by their bravado and the fact that it would have been precarious for the Reds to have grabbed them so close to the line.

     ‘That was close.’  Dewey breathed as his right foot swung over the line.

     At this stage in his life Dewey had great faith in the sanctity of lines drawn across streets.  It would be only later in life that he would learn that lines were only psychic projections that are unaffected by morality.  They only determine where the guilt lies if you fail to have to power or cleverness to enforce your will.  That’s why Hitler is a bad guy; he couldn’t enforce his will.

     ‘Can’t you just see us on TV as apostates to Capitalism after brainwashing by the Reds?’

     Brainwashing was a concept from the Korean War in which various captives had been persuaded by the Red Koreans to condemn American Capitalism.  The great mystery of how red blooded American boys could be persuaded to reject an unlimited supply of washing machines and small home appliances was attributed to brainwashing.

     This was a fearsome concept to Americans, especially for Dewey who frequently imagined himself heroically resisting attempts to brain wash him.  No one had any understanding of what the term meant in practical terms although the book offering an explanation, The Manchurian Candidate, had recently been issued.

page 1170.

     ‘What does that mean?  How is that done…brainwashing?’  Deasy asked.  Deasy like Trueman had been twelve and thirteen during the Korean War but unlike Trueman he had paid little attention to it.  Deasy had been a popular boy while Trueman had been isolated without friends.  Hence Trueman had devoured newpaper and magazine accounts of the progress in Korea.

     ‘I don’t know.  They probably got some special psychic detergent they make you drink.  Probably just like JD only stronger, makes you forget anything you ever knew then they play records of Commie diatribe to fill in the empty spaces.  After a couple days you come out spouting better than Marx or Lenin.

      Wouldn’t work with us though, hey?  They’d get us up there on TV just like they did with those guys in the Korean War who announced they liked Communism better than the US and then raising our right arms we’d shout:  Screw Communism; we want a refrigerator and small electric appliances.  What do you think?’

     ‘I can’t follow you Trueman.  I mean, I think you’re OK but you say some of the strangest things.’  Deasy answered.

     ‘Yeah, I think half the things you say are beamed down from an alien UFO in space.’  Kreskin chipped in.

     ‘Why an alien UFO Kreskin?  Did anyone ever hear of a domestic UFO?’

     ‘That’s it!  That’s what I mean, Trueman.  Hey, I know this is your trip but do you think we could take a little side trip?  I’ve got to see a man about my crib.’

page 1171.

     ‘Yeah, sure, Kreskin.  I’ve already been in Red China.  I don’t have any other reason to be in Kowloon.’

     ‘Great.’  As though he had been there a hundred times Kreskin led them off the highway through the byways it seemed only an Old China Hand would know.  The scenery was all too marvelous for Dewey to object.  They came to a row house on the crest of the hill.  To the left lay the maze 0f streets leading to Red China; to the right lay the magnificent panorama of Hong Kong and the blue water.

     They followed Kayo up the steps where a middle aged European, looking quite Oriental, let them in the door.  He was quite surprised that Kreskin was accompanied by two others.  He looked at Kayo questioningly.  Kreskin gestured hopelessly.  At almost the same time that the European gestured to Kreskin to get rid of them, Mike Deasy who had scoped out the situation said to Trueman:  ‘Let’s wait outside.’

     Trueman’s mind was mind that had never been blown before so that the excitement of this extreme exoticism was quite transporting him.  The house itself was conventional in the extreme by Western standards yet so informed by the East as to transfigure it completely.  The spare decorations, the sparkling hardwood floors and the light of the tropics gave the place a sparkle that deluged Trueman’s senses.  Without thinking, however, he recognized the meaning behind Deasy’s request.  He followed the pressure of Deasy’s hand on the forearm of his dress blues.  The two retreated into the street.

page 1172.

    Dewey stood open mouthed; his attention was divided between the bay, Red China and what he imagined was going down in the house.

     ‘We should get out here.  Kreskin can find his way back alone.’  Deasy said sullenly not sure of what was going down but knowing Kreskin was sure that it wasn’t legal.

     ‘No.  It’s alright.’  Dewey said with the assurance of the innocent and the invulnurability of the just.  ‘Besides we don’t know how to get back.’

     ‘Just walk downhill to the bay.’  Deasy said with simplicity.  But he didn’t leave.  Trueman remained dancing back and forth his mind boggled.  The more stolid Deasy grew uncomfortable as he noticed a couple grown kids gathering near them and more mature eyes observing from a distance.

     Inside the house Kreskin was learning some facts of life that he wished he had never had to learn.  Others might have walked away but to the drug addict they merely represented what you had to do to get high.

     The Eurasian drug dealer having confidence in his Chinese-American connection had no trouble completing the financial arrangements but then there was the lagniappe.  The amazing thing about Liberals is that as Whites purporting to love freedom and liberty they encourage situations which deny both.  Thus the Eurasian had a condition for completing the deal;  he wanted to bugger Kreskin.

     The Eurasian like all druggies wanted supreme power.  He wanted control over the destinies of others.  That control could only be realized in the negation of the will of others, at his express command.  Now, Trueman had no father, which most people considered a severe deprivation, but here was Soter Kreskin, to all appearances a good and devoted father, who had commanded the sacrifice of his son’s virtue and integrity for a few paltry dollars.  What had Trueman lost by not having a father?

page 1173.

     Kreskin was a tall, slender, long legged apple of his mother’s eye; equally desirable in a faggot’s eye.  Kayo was not homosexual nor would he ever become a compulsive one.   But he would compulsively reenact this scene on his own drug buyers and even his sons.  And now, given a choice between drugs and his integrity, drugs won hands down.  A drug addict can have no pride, no will of his own.  He must submit to the desires of others and so Kayo turned it up to sell his birthright for a little liquid spurting from a needle.

     It is said most truly that virtue is its own reward.  A clear conscience is of inestimable value.  The negation of Kayo’s will by the Eurasian drug dealer cost him dearly, not consciously of course, consciously Kayo thought he could handle anything; he was a rough tough American gambling so-of-a-gun and consciously he could but as a submariner of the unconscious the price of the heroin was more than his market could bear.  But then, what does it mean to a drug addict; he is already beyond redemption.

     Unfortunately for the drug dealer his proclivities gained him a dose of the clap from the infected Kreskin; unfortunately for Kreskin the drug dealer added a dose of syphilis to his clap.  Well, druggies can shrug that off too.

page 1174.

     Kreskin was not aware of the psychological change he had experienced when he descended the steps into the street.  To Deasy and Trueman they saw almost a different person come down the steps.  Whatever innocence Kreskin had was gone.

     And now, the cops is on their trail.  The Eurasian drug dealer was under surveillance.  Amusingly Opium and Heroin which had been forced on the Chineses will they nil they was now illegal in British eyes.

     The cops always have a good general idea of what is going on but they’re usually short on details.  The Eurasian kept no drugs beyond those for his personal use on the premises.  The packages of heroin would be delivered to Kreskin on the streets of Hong Kong into his shopping bags with which he would carry them aboard the Teufelsdreck storing them in his locker.

     The Chinese under Mao would gain a little revenge on the Westerners for the Opium Wars.

     All three men realized they had picked up a tail at the dealer’s home.  Now, through the arts of misdirection which every addict learns, Kreskin would cleverly direct the attention of the tail from himself to Deasy and Trueman.  Deasy had been correct; they should have left Kreskin behind.

     The sodomy Kreskin submitted to at the dealer’s hands had immediately been encysted in his subconscious as irreparable shame and self-condemnation.  The change in his demeanor had been clearly apparent to Trueman and Deasy although they knew nothing to which to attribute it.  Kreskin would now attempt to transfer his shame to Trueman.

page 1175.

     The three wended their way downhill to the ferry terminal which after buying their tickets they had over an hour’s wait for the ferry.  The scene was wildly picturesque.  They moved off a few hundred yards up among the large boulders strewing the beach amid the remains of piers jutting up uselessly and the ruined foundations of some structures, possibly old warehouses, that studded the strand.

     The skyline of Hong Kong lay before them while in the middle of the bay the tiny Teufelsdreck moored to the buoy in front and trailing its sea anchor behind bobbed placidly.  Dewey’s wild imagination reconstructed the scene of the Teufelsdreck’s bearing down on him, thinking:  ‘This is probably the spot I would have come ashore if I had fallen in.’  He gazed ecstatically at the scene.

     Unable to comprehend the wonders that Dewey was seeing and experiencing Deasy muttered aloud:  ‘I could be having a good time in a bar rather than standing here.

      ‘Bars are a dime a dozen anywhere in the world and they’re all alike.  This is special.’  Dewey replied.

    ‘Huh.  Sand, sea, sky.’  Was all that Deasy could say.

    Kreskin stood apart as though contaminated by the presence of the other two for the benefit of the police tail.  He watched Dewey enviously, amazed at someone who had his own, someone who didn’t have to get it from little packets that went into needles that went into your arm.  Man with a golden arm my foot:  a fool with collapsed veins avoiding the tracks of his tears is all.  Why romanticize addiction.

page 1176.

     ‘You know who that guy is, Kreskin?’  Trueman asked indicating the tail.

     Kreskin shrugged, but looking at the tail he then looked back at Trueman in an accusatory manner.

     Trueman responded to his look.  ‘He started following us at that house you went in back there.  What was going on in there?’

     A drug addict is only a drug addict because they feel inadequate.  Their desire for a feeling of omnipotence is not reflected by their reality.  Even though Kayo Kreskin professed a feeling of power and superiority he really felt like dirt.  In his case his father loomed before him larger than life; a success of such huge proportions that Kayo would never be able to match or surpass him.  Indeed, his father, fearing castration by his son like Cronos by Zeus, let Kayo know that he could never be the man Soter was.  Unable to cut himself loose from Soter as Zeus was able to do from Cronos Kayo was himself castrated, after a fashion, turning to heroin for solace.  The process might be called the Precession of the Pyschoses.

     In this case the omnipotent father was using his son as a runner, as a mule, allowing him to play the catamite to augment his own wealth of which he would allow but a small portion to Kayo until his death at some very distant time.  He fobbed the kid off with a little red TR.  Nor thoroughly debased Kayo could not allow himself to articulate these facts which he subconsciusly wrestled with twenty-four hours a day so it was necessary to transfer his feeling of shame and inferiority to someone else. 

page 1176.

     While Freud put many of these concepts into scientific terms, Man has always been aware of their reality.  The notion of transference has been best expressed by the tale from the Arabian Nights of the man with the Monkey on his back.  In slang terms heroin addicts are said to have a monkey on their backs.  This does not refer to the heroin habit alone.  The monkey was there before they turned to heroin in a search to dislodge it by the drug.  A result is seldom a cause.

     Everyone is familiar witht he Arabian Nights story of the man who let a monkey persuade him to give him a ride on his back.  Once on the only way the man could get the monkey off his back was to persuade someone else to take it from him.  Naturally few people wished to volunteer.  The carrier has to become very devious and deceitful so that he can trick someone into accepting it.

     Certainly no one wanted Kreskin’s monkey.  Kreskin himself though subliminally aware of the feeling of inadquacy and failure foisted on him by his father was not conscious of his attempted transference with those he considered lower than himself.  He had already told Trueman bluntly in Yokosuka that he thought he was better than him.

     Now, partially because he knew the tail was for himself and partially from the feeling of inadequacy and failure by letting himself by sodomized he attempted to shift his monkey to Trueman.

     ‘That guy’s trailing you if he’s trailing anybody.’

     ‘Think so?  He wasn’t there until after we left that house you went into.  What was it, Kayo?’

     ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.  Probably your Communist obsession following us from Red China.  People think you’re a little bit balmy on the subject, Trueman, even crazy.’

     ‘Think what you like.  Those Red Stars everywhere across the line were not my imagination.  Reds are real Kreskin unlike your phony sense of superiority.  You ain’t better than me; I got you down five to one.’  Trueman spoke from his subconscious welling up from Kreskin’s claim in Yokosuka.’

     ‘Dope?’  Deasy questioned a little savagely.

     ‘He sure is.’  Trueman retorted, misunderstanding.

    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’  Kreskin denied Deasy.

     ‘You were buying dope back there.’  Deasy pursued.

    ‘Haugh!  Nonsense.  I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

     The exchange was interrupted by the Kowloon ferry easing into the slip.  Trueman moved off followed by Deasy as Kreskin bringing up the rear let the others get ahead trying to distance himself from the accusation.

     The tail had not been close enough to hear but judging only from body language, the confident looking Kreskin had succeeded in transferring suspicion to the more tentative or guilty acting Trueman.  The divided attention of the authorities gave Kreskin the space he needed.

page 1179.

     Trueman was too absorbed in the wonders of William Holden’s Hong Kong to dwell on other considerations.  Apart from the memory of the scenery the human details had vanished from his consciousness.  Aboard the ferry he was once again lost in admiration and his good fortune to be there.

     ‘Hey, this is great.  Not as many going back over.  Room to move now.’

     ‘They probably work in Hong Kong.  We caught ’em going home.  Can we stop at a bar?  I want a drink.’

     ‘Sure, Deasy.  Whatever you want; I’ve done what I wanted to do.  You want a drink there’s a bar right over there.’

     ‘A bar on the ferry?  Where?’

     ‘In the center island there.  Look at it.’

     ‘No kidding?  Never seen a bar on a boat before.’

     The ferry glided into the Hong Kong slip as the three stepped ashore.

     The other two men had served their purpose for Kreskin.  As the addict no longer had any use for them he signed off.

     ‘See you guys later.  No offence, but I got some place to be that doesn’t include you.’

     ‘Gotta see a man about a monkey?’  Deasy asked insultingly.

     Kreskin made no reply hurrying off into deepest Chinatown.

     ‘That guy’s a real prick.’  Deasy sneered as the two of them went off in search of an appropriate bar for Deasy.

page 1180.

The Badge Of Infamy

     After Jim Sparks left the ship just prior to departure the leadership of the criminal element aboard was being assumed by the gold dust twins, Lawyer Screw and Judge Easy.  As tattoos are a badge of the criminal class the men of that class had all been getting tattoos in the various ports of call.  Kerry Maclen had yet to be tattooed as, quite frankly, he was afraid of needles.

     Screw and Easy both remembered the accusation of cheating leveled at them by Trueman in the mess hall some seven months before.  Nothing could be more appropriate than that Trueman should be induced to wear the badge of infamy; perhaps a heart with a dagger through it and the legend:  Born To Lose.

     A meeting of the cons was held where Maclen was given the address of a fraternity tattoo artist.  Without further words Maclen l0oked up the address and understood.

     ‘Take Trueman with you and get him tattooed too.’  Easy smiled blandly.

     Trueman and Maclen were in the boat going ashore.  Maclen said as though the thought just hit him:  ‘I’m going to get a tattoo.’

     ‘Why would you want to do that?’  Trueman asked.  ‘Only low brow neanderthals get tattoos.’

page 1181.

     ‘Think so?’  Said Duber sitting near them who had four or five including a fly on the head of his penis.

    ‘Do you have any Duber?’  Trueman said as innocently as possible.

     ‘Yeh, I do.’  Duber replied expecting an apology.

     ‘Then it must be true.  You look like a neanderthal to me.’  Trueman laughed.

     Nevertheless Maclen persistd:  ‘Why don’t you get one too?’

     ‘Because I’m not a slimeball, Maclen.  Save your money.  You don’t need a tattoo.’

     ‘I’m going to get one anyway.’  Maclen replied chastened by Trueman’s attitude.  He filed away in his mind that Trueman thought him a low brow slimeball if he got one and Trueman didn’t.  His future relationship with Trueman was conditioned at this moment.

     ‘Let’s get liquored up to make this easy.’

     ‘You know I don’t drink Kerry but if you want to go ahead.’

     As usual Maclen knew all the criminal hangouts.  They sat in a huge bar which was vacant but for themselves as Maclen recklessly poured drink after drink down.

     ‘C’mon, let’s go Kerry you’re drunk enough besides those guys behind the bar are getting pissed because I’m not drinking.’

     Once out in the street Trueman tried to steer the staggering Maclen back to the ship but Kerry knew what was expected of him.  He led the way to the tattoo parlor.

     ‘How do you know this place, Maclen?’

     ‘I just do.’  Maclen said mysteriously.

page 1182.

     The Chinese tattoo artist had the look of the hardened criminal he was.  He was thirty-five, a stocky well built muscular man with the air of malevolent corruption so common to the Chinese.  To Trueman the Westernized ones all looked tough and hard while the Mandarin types all looked contemptuously sinister.

     Maclen was really quite terrified of the needles.  He had really needed to get drunk to do this.  He was still so terrified that rather than get a tattoo solidly filled with color he chose to get a mere outline in blue on his right bicept.

      Trueman sat against the wall to watch.  He was aghast when his friend, a man for whom he had plans, chose to have a naked woman’s derriere half turned to display a breast and smile placed on his arm.

     ‘Oh no, no, Kerry.  For Christ’s sake no, you aren’t that drunk.  If you can’t think of anything else have a flag put on it.’

     Maclen was not only that drunk but drunker still.

     ‘An American flag? Naw.  I’ll never be without a woman with this tattoo.’  He said as the needles chattered.

     Trueman groaned inwardly at his friend’s gaucheness but his jaw dropped when Maclen instructed the tattoo artist to put three cheeks on the woman’s ass, two cleavages in other words.

     ‘O god no.  Don’t do that!’  Trueman pleaded almost begging.  ‘No, Kerry.  Think of your reputation.’

     ‘Go ahead.’  Kerry said smugly as Trueman considered discarding the man as a friend.

page 1183.

     ‘Why don’t you get one now Trueman?’  Maclen smiled.

     ‘No. I’m not getting any tattoo.’  Dewey said in disgust.

     ‘You’re probably not man enough.’  The tattoo artist grunted hoping to intimidate him.

     ‘Got nothing to do with manhood, Jocko, it’s got to do with having brains.  Lucky for you the world’s full of no brainers.’

     ‘I don’t like the way you talk.’  The tattoo artist said threateningly hoping to frighten the placid looking Trueman into the chair.

     ‘C’mon Dewey.’  Maclen coaxed.

     ‘I don’t care what you think, man.  No, Kerry.  Pay the guy and let’s get out of here.’

     Maclen paid up.  ‘You’ve got a bad mouth.’  The tattoo artist said stepping forward.  The guy was built well enough to make mincemeat of Trueman not to mention that he was proficient in the martial arts.

    ‘Aw, keep it to yourself, you crook.’  Dewey snarled making sure however to discretely put some distance between himself and the artiste.

     ‘It isn’t worth the bother kicking the ass of a punk like you.’  The artiste jeered.

     ‘Yeah, and I wouldn’t dirty my hands on fecal matter like you.’  Trueman replied with a certain amount of elegance which he hoped the Chinese couldn’t understand.

     Trueman walked off beside himself in disgust over the tattoo Maclen had gotten.  Dewey well knew what the reaction aboard ship would be.

page 1184.

     Maclen stumbled dumbly after him.

The Giant Rats Of Manila

     ‘Have you seen that tattoo Maclen got?’  Deasy asked Trueman as the ship was crossing over from Hong Kong to Manila.

     ‘Seen it, aw man, I was there when he got it, man.  I tried to talk him out of it but he was so drunk he wouldn’t listen to reason.’

     ‘That is the most asinine tattoo I’ve ever seen.  A woman with three asses.  I don’t know how you can stand to hang around with that guy.’

     Maclen’s tattoo had been met with universal revulsion aboard ship.  Even Duber, Easy and Screw were revolted.  Imagine a guy with a fly tattooed on the head of his deck being revolted by a guy with a woman with three asses tattooed on his arm.  The reaction was such that Maclen became ashamed.  Instead of wearing his shirt sleeves rolled up he now wore them down and buttoned.  The revulsion against him was such that he was almost in shock.

     The pleasures of Hong Kong behind them the men of the Teufelsdreck sailed the tropical seas back to the Philippines.  This time they were to follow in the wake of Admiral Dewey into Manila Bay past Corregidor the place of MacArthur’s last stand and visit the capital of the island republic.

     By 1958 the Communist insurrectionaries called the Huks had been brought under control although the sailors were still told to be on the alert.

page 1185.

     Manila was the most slovenly port on the entire tour.  Everything was decayed and rotting.  The citizens showed no pride or self-respect at all.

     Still in disgrace with the Commodore, the Teufelsdreck was sent to a pier that was so rotten it was barely standing.  Large, even giant, rats scampered visibly across the deck of the pier in broad daylight.  The pier itself was pockmarked with holes where the rotting boards had fallen through.  The rats stared out hungrily from the rotting supports beneath the pier, something Dewey had never seen before.  The only thing going for the docksite was that it allegedly had potable water.

     ‘Boy, we better get those rat guards on in a hurry.’  Dewey was saying to Frenchey when Dieter barked out an order to Trueman to affix the guards to the forward bow line,  Frenchey to take the crossing line.

      Trueman wasted no time shimmying down the line to put the guard in place.

     ‘Somebody give me a pistol in case I have to defend myself against these hungry monsters.’  He quipped.

     Manila was to be the destruction of whatever remained of Maclen’s reputation.  The criminal grapevine always tried to direct as many sailors as possible to its preferred brothels.  The word came to Maclen who organized a party to visit one of these houses.  It was always a mystery to Trueman how Maclen knew of these fronts in places he’d never been.

     Maclen’s own reputation was too thin to command respect but using that of Trueman’s to bolster his own he managed to get a party of six together including Deasy, Parsons and Vincent.

page 1186.

     Stepping ashore they made as much noise as possible to scare the scampering rats away.  This was no easy chore as they were nearly evenly matched with them in size.

     Picking their way carefully down the pier avoiding the gaping holes and testing each plank for solidity, Trueman looking back noticed the Electricians removing the cover from the cable reel on the boat deck.

     “Hey, what’re they taking the cover off the cables for?’  He asked to all in general.

     ‘An exercise for the Electricians.  They’re going to connect up to the Naval base and supply power to it.’  Parsons stated.

     ‘No kidding with the ship idle like that they can generate that much power?’

     ‘Sure.  The Teufelsdreck could generate enough electricity to run Guantanamo Bay.  That’s in Cuba.’

     ‘Yeah, well, the Commies are going to get that one.’

     ‘What Commies?’

     ‘What Commies?  Fidel Castro and his insurrectionaries, that’s what Commies.’

     ‘Fidel Castro isn’t a Communist.  He’s an agrarian reformer.  He just wants to get American mobsters out of Havana.’

     ‘Havana?’  Maclen said perking up.  ‘Man, they got some real dog and pony shows there.  I heard of a chick does it with a donkey.’

     ‘Aw baloney, that would kill her. ‘

     ‘Don’t neither.   Women like it big.’  Maclen said patting his crotch.  ‘Donkeys are big.  Can’t be too big for ’em.  I think they have that kind of thing here too.  Maybe I can arrange it.’  Maclen glazed getting really enthusiastic.

     ‘You can count me out.’  Trueman replied laconically.  ‘I don’t care if she gets screwed by a rhinoceros.’

     The boys were not yet so jaded that they wanted that kind of entertainment.

     ‘By the way, Vincent, how come you’re not wearing your new boots?’

     ‘I guess you haven’t heard, Trueman.  They cheated me.  The boots looked good but you wouldn’t believe that the soles were made of Wheaties boxtops.  The second day out of Hong Kong we had some heavy seas and my boots got wet.  Soles came right apart.’

     ‘Aw, they weren’t really Wheaties box tops?’

     ‘Yeah, they were.’  Parsons confirmed excitedly.  ‘Not the tops but cut from the sides.  About four layers of Wheaties boxes painted to look like leather.  Good job too.’

     ‘Yeah, the bastards.’  Vincent said.  ‘Oh well, live and learn although I really wanted those boots.’

     In fact Vincent had been so disappointed and shamed that he had broken down and cried.

     Trueman was going to say something about how the Captain had warned them but then thought better of it and said nothing.

     Nowhere in the East was American industry as prominent as it was in Manila.  The place appeared to be a company town.  As they turned the corner onto the main street they were greeted by a blaze of neon such as none of  them had ever seen before.

page 1188.

     Huge moving designs lit up the sky for several blocks.  Most prominent among them was a gigantic Sherwin-Williams Paints Cover The World sign.  The monster was literally as big as a football field in length and just as wide or wider at the point where the largest paint can in the world poured its flourescent paint down on a waiting earth beneath.  The whole operation took five minutes to unfold as the neon paint cascaded  from the can in waves of undulating color to make the splash as it hit the planet then rolling down over the earth until the sign lit up with its message:  Sherwyn Williams Points Cover The Earth.

     The effect was breathtaking.  The sailors stood entranced through three cycles before they began jabbering.


     ‘Isn’t that amazing?’

     ‘Why don’t we have anything like that in the US?’

     ‘They got laws against it.’

     ‘Wow!  I wonder if the Teufelsdreck could supply enough power for that?’

     ‘C’mon guys, let’s get going.’  Maclen interjected greedily figuring the kickbacks from negotiating such a large party.

page 1189.

     As if by magic Maclen led them through back streets until they approached a large barn like structure on the edge of Manila.

     ‘Let me do the talking.’  Maclen enjoined.  ‘I’ll get us a group discount.’

     Deasy remembered Yokosuka and was none too keen on it but as none of the others relished negotiating Deasy was compelled to go along.

     The barn was a large structure but it was nearly empty as a large number of houses competed for a limited number of sailors.  Without its criminal contacts this house would have gotten very very few.

     Using the technique of one large price Maclen collected the money from each before anyone had a chance to object although all of them grumbled inwardly at what seemed like a high price.  As usual Maclen chose the best for himself.  Trueman got an amazon of large proportions but as she had huge breasts that stood straight out he didn’t complain, but he had little enthusiasm for the place.

     The house was dirty and unkempt like the rest of Manila with very little attempt made for privacy.  The girls neither took pride in their profession as in Japan or were crudely pert as in Hong Kong.  They went about it as blue collar drudgery.

     The house was indeed a barn.  The public area occupied the ground floor while lofts on either side contained the cubicles.  Everything was jerry built.  You could see between the boards into the adjoining cubicle; you could see between the floor boards to the main floor.  The noises of lovemaking passed through the walls in raucous orgy.

page 1190.

     Trueman wished he wasn’t there but as he was he had to go through with it.  His whore stripped to the waist then flopped down pulling up her slip.

     ‘Aren’t you going to take off your slip?’  Dewey asked.

    ‘No. You can get in.’  She said lighting a cigarette.

     Dewey looked at her huge cans which had not receded at all when she flopped down.  The large brown nipples were enticing.  He put out his hand.

    ‘Don’t touch my tits.’  She said coldly.  ‘I don’t allow it.’

     Thoroughly put out Dewey just unzipped his fly, pulled it out and jumped on, hat and all.

     The waman was so repellent to him as she smoked and insulted him that he lost his desire and very nearly lost his erection.  He worked away mechanically without enthusiasm.

     ‘What’s taking you so long?’  She asked blowing a billow of smoke in his face.

     At that point Dewey alm0st lost it for good.  He went half flaccid in disgust.

     ‘Oh my god.’  He thought.  ‘That can’t happen.  If that got out I’d be a laughing stock.’

     He redoubled his efforts succeeding by dint of will in finishing her off.  Relieved at not embarrassing himself he rolled off pulling her slip down.

page 1191.

    ‘Where’s the toilet.’  He asked emotionessly.

     ‘What do you want that for?’  She asked stupidly.

     ‘Aw, they told us to always take a piss after to reduce the chances of VD.’  He said aiming at her heart.

     ‘Go over in the closet.’  She said.  ‘While I wash up.’

     Trueman opened the door to find an empty closet.

     ‘Hey, there’s no toilet in here.’

     ‘Just piss on the floor.’

     ‘Wha?  It’ll run down onto the main floor.’

     ‘So what.’  She said walking out without dressing.

     ‘What a place.’  Dewey said to himself in a rage projecting his anger on Maclen as the urine ran through the boards down to the main floor.

     ‘Glad I’m not walking down there.’  He thought.

     Going back out into the room he watched as the whore returned from the restroom.  Still half naked he watchd her in disgust as she nonchalantly lurched back upstairs.

     ‘I was hired to give you two.  Let’s go.’

     ‘Aw, that’s alright.  I don’t want to wear it out.’  Dewey said revolted by the woman.

     ‘No. No. I always keep my end of the bargain.  Let’s go.’

     But Dewey was disgusted his sexual drive had completely vanished.  Try as she might there was nothing she could do to arouse his hidden desire and she did try.

     ‘Aw, enough of this.  I’m going downstairs.’  Dewey said zipping up and walking out.

      As he was first out he went over to the juke box to check out the tunes.  ‘Well, they got better songs on the jukebox than pussy in the beds.’  He said to himself.

page 1192.

     The juke box was not so much behind in time as fixed in time.  Certain sounds and artists were selected to the exclusion of everything else.  The Platters of Great Pretender and Only You fame were represented with six sides but none of their US hits.  Apparently records reflected Filipino tastes of the establishment and not the patrons.

     Dewey was selecting a few tunes as the pimps, obnoxious subhumans in any country, hovered around trying to suck respectability and genuine manhood off him.  As will all losers they feel that if they insult or abuse a superior man they will somehow reduce him and elevate themselves.

     Dewey was too naive to understand the dynamics of the situation but his indifference to their presence served very well to repudiate their insolence.

     Gradually his shipmates drifted down as a few Filipino gangsters drifted in to swap tales and out tough each other.

     With the exception of Deasy and Maclen the rest of the sailors were callow eighteen and nineteen year olds.  They scarcely realized what environment they were in.  Maclen, of course, was in his milieu while Deasy who was fairly savvy and distrustful of Maclen understood completely where they had all been brought.

     The whores were now expected to entertain the boys to run up a bar bill.  The sailors sat around a long table with their whores on their laps.  At this point Trueman woudn’t have fucked his whore with Maclen’s dick.  His rage at the filthy beast was intense.  He wanted nothing more to do with her.  He was ready to leave.

page 1193.

     The girls all sat on the laps of their men where they allowed themselves to be fondled as they drank.

     The affection shown to the women was at this point a matter of pride to the whores.  The cooing of their men demonstrated the pleasure their man had taken in their company.  There was general surprise that Trueman had come down so early.  His whore who had treated him so badly was now subject to condemnation by the others at his rejection of her.

     She rushed to sit on his lap but Dewey pushed her away considering her vile.  His action drew titters and smiles from the other girls.  As Dewey’s whore would have been left standing around uselessly like a fifth wheel she desperately forced herself onto Dewey’s lap attempting to caress him in the same manner in which the other girls were caressing their men.  Dewey would have none of her; he only wanted to get away.

     ‘How come you aren’t playing with my little bird?’  She cooed trying to elicit a demonstration of lust.

    ‘Doesn’t sing a tune I like.’  Dewey sullenly stated.

     His reply got more titters from the other whores who had now scored off Trueman’s ox.

     Trueman’s resentment kept the hilarity down, so much so that the drinking was minimal.  A few more gangsters drifted in which aroused Deasy’s suspicions further.

     Thus he joined Trueman in wishing to leave.  Instead of five sailors getting up ripe for rolling, Maclen the sixth excepted, six sober mean looking men got up to leave.  A couple gangsters drifted across the floor in front of them but Deasy who was a husky guy made moves to indicate that they inteferred with them at their own peril.  Noticing Deasy’s moves Trueman casually hauled his long thin Japanese stiletto cum pocket knife out to pretend to clean his nails.  The sharp clasp knife was more dangerous looking than it really was, especially in Dewey’s hand who had neither the expertise or will to use it.

     Nevertheless the gangsters not caring for an even fight of uncertain determination let them out without incident.

     On the way back to the ship there was no chatter as Deasy sullenly eyed Maclen while Trueman still enraged at his treatment by the whore strode angrily along.  Maclen wisely kept his mouth shut fearful that he had been discovered.

On To Greener Pastures

     The Electricians having illuminated the Naval Base for twenty-four hours to show what the litle sub killer cum power plant could do wrapped up their gear the next day.   The Teufelsdreck steamed out of Manila the day after leaving the Giant Rats of Manila to other prey.

     ‘What did you think of Manila, Trueman?’  Deasy asked.

     ‘I have no regrets at leaving it behind.  If the Filipinos set up a cry of the Philippines for Filipinos I say let ’em have it.’

page 1195

     ‘I hear ya.   Why do you hang around with Maclen, Trueman?’

     ‘Oh, I don’t know.  Kerry’s alright.’

     ‘He’s a crook Trueman.  You should avoid him.  Ask yourself what kind of guy gets a tattoo like he did.’

     ‘Or a tattoo period.  Yeah, I know but I still think he’ll come out OK.’

    ‘Only if OK means at your expense.’  Deasy siad with more prescience than he knew.

     ‘Yeah, sure.  OK, Deasy, but you know, I think he’s OK.’

    Deasy turned in disgust not sure of Trueman’s intellegence in befriending such a character.

Men At Play

     The main thrust of the cruise was now over.  All the delicacies and rarebits the Navy had to offer were left behind.  The platter was empty.  The tremendous rush of events and novelties that had been as a racing mountain cascade now debouched in the more placid slow moving waters of the plains.

     The next couple months would be ones of aimless wandering.  The ship sailed out of the Philippines on its way to Guam which would be its home base for the duration of the tour.

     The lazy hot days of the tropic of Cancer as the sun eased its way back North would be ones in which the hostilities and enmities created in the heady first months would be continued.  The mind of Kanary which had suffered major traumas would be directed to exorcising its demons.  The exploit with his homosexuals in Brisbane weighed heavily on his subconscious even though he had consciously projected his act on Trueman.  His Captain’s Mast and demotion in Subic had gravely compromised his self-respect.  He had already removed the entry from his file so there was no record.  For the rest he was struggling to transfer the transgression to some other explanation.  He had not written his folks about it.  He denied the incident to himself but not successfully.  Thus he was in a restless rage.  He wanted Trueman to pay for his crimes as his negative alter ego.

page 1196.

     Another whose self-conception had been all but destroyed was Proud Costello.

     The memory of his performance on the Jacob’s Chair on the way to Brisbane was a livid scar in his memory.

     It had gone unnoticed but he had been involved in the riot at the bar in Subic.  Realizing the direction of things just before the constables burst in the door he had hidden himself in a broom closet.  He emerged only much later when the Wild Bunch was back on ship.  Thus, unknown to everyone but himself, he had escaped a Captain’s Mast although equally guilty.  He considered his expedient cowardly.  He lived in fear that someone might remember he should have been number twenty-six of the Teufelsdreck Twenty-Five.

     Then too his performance at the Sheridan Le Fanu when he had been too cowardly to use the cargo net after noisily projecting cowardice on Trueman weighed equally heavily on his mind.  He knew that Trueman had shown better than himself.  That, added to his purchase of the shoddy goods from the Whore Of The World in Kaosiung for which Trueman had castigated him disturbed his equilibrium.

page 1197.

     Plus there was lingering resentment aboard ship for his role in the initiation crossing the equator.  He knew that his manhood and acumen was less than Trueman’s  but his self-conception placed him way above Trueman.  Thus it was imperative for him to get some objective proof of his superiority over the Deckhand.  To do so he would have to manufacture incidents or force conclusions against the facts.  The need was so imperative that his character was in a virtual state of disintegration.  His physiognomy was distraught, his appearance was unkempt; he no longer wore his clothes with the same calm assurance of the natural gentleman.

     Both Kanary and Costello would direct their efforts to revive their characters against Trueman on whom they projected their inner failings.

     One of the great faults of the personal psychology of Freud is that it ignores the influence of the outside world on the individual.  The individual is made responsible for acts beyond his control.  The ‘paranoid’ personality becomes responsible for the actions of society.  Paranoid was not a commonly used term at the time.  The term ‘persecution complex’ was much more common but it meant the same thing.  It was used as a term to discredit someone who was being persecuted.

     In point of fact it is a very rare person who isn’t being interfered with by someone.  Most people are busy projecting their fears and inadequacies on other people.  Envy and hatred are staples of the human mind.  As with Proud Costello the justification of one’s own high opinion of oneself requires some more or less objective proof that others are inferior to you.  In the daily struggle most people do not appear as a threat to one’s self-conception or are acknowledged as superior for one reason or another.  But any who are threats must be brought down.  Thus the threatened will sabotage this person in many ways in an attempt to reduce him to what they consider his proper level.

     Anyone who minds their own business and is not involved in this dog eat dog struggle is a susceptible target.

     Thus while Kanary would accuse Trueman of have a ‘persecution complex’ even though Trueman had never complained of being persecuted the truth was that both Teal and Costello suffered from inferiority complexes which they projected on others.  In all such cases it is necessary to get the accusation in first so that it must be defended or reacted to in such a way that indicates a ‘persecution complex.’

     In addition to Kanary and Costello a long simmering problem rose to plague Trueman’s existence.  Trueman had served mess cooking in the first and second quarters of ’57.  At the end of  the third quarter the Blacks had come aboard.  They constituted themselves a caucus not dissimilar to a Department.  They acted as a corporate body.  Thus rather than be selected for mess cooking as a member of their Departments they chose to supply a mess cook from the Black caucus.  A way was found for them to do this without violating the Deparmental organization of the ship.  There were in essence two nations aboard ship.  However the Blacks were not successful in creating two autonomous bodies but they came close.

page 1199.

     In the fourth quarter a Black by the name of Clemons Hardee had served for the Blacks.  In the first quarter of ’58 his place was taken by Tyrone Jackson.  Trueman had forgotten about the incident in the Laundry Room; indeed, if he thought about it at all he recalled with pride how he had stood up for himself.

     The incident had been festering in Tyrone’s soul since it happened.  He had never reflected on the incident or tried to understand it; he just assumed that Trueman was a Negro hater.  The three or four months may seem recent to the reader as it did to Tyrone who had sat steaming in Supply constantly hashing the incident over with his fellows.  But the intervening months to Trueman had been so crowded with events that it seemed a millennium for each month.  Indeed, the States were only a dim memory, his home was wherever the Teufelsdreck happened to be.

     The Blacks had now been aboard ship continuously for the past four months.  They had not gone ashore since Honolulu.  They merely sat in the steaming supply compartment rehashing their grievances against the perfidious Peckerwoods.  Thus when Tyrone replaced Hardee in mess cooking his resentment against Trueman had reached gigantic proportions.  Just the sight of Trueman threw him into a rage.  He saw his man now three times a day while Tyrone was in the capacity of a servant in his mind.  The notion of serving Trueman enraged him further, although now he was in a position to interfere with Trueman directly and forcefully.  As a food server he began by placing the servings in the wrong compartments of Trueman’s tray.  Then he began giving dried out portions or some such thing ending by spitting on a portion and keeping it aside until Trueman appeared.  When he tried to give Trueman this portion which had obviously been set aside on purpose Trueman who had endured the indignities to this point, especially as he seldom ate all the mess, objected fearing that Tyrone had doctored it in some way.

page 1200.

Disco Donn Demands Deliverance


R.E. Prindle

Part II-2

     You take your life in your hands when out there in the great beyond on the highway.  It’s a place beyond the reach of the law.  Lawless people drive the highways looking for excitement and adventure.  Lawless people put their thumbs out for the same reason.  The driver never knows who’s getting in the car; the hitchhiker never knows who’s driving.

     Al, who had introduced himself, looked all right but that could change pretty quickly.  Hitchhikers disappear all the time.  Donn, hesitated, reluctant to put his fate in the old man’s hands.

     ‘It’s all right, son.  You’ve got nothing to worry about.  I’m not queer.’

     ‘Sure.’ D0nn said with an ironic smile, accepting both out of trust and weariness.  ‘I’d be grateful.’

     They wheeled into Richland crossing the great Columbia River then down to Pasco and across the snake at the confluence of the two rivers, then east toward Eureka in the orchards and farmlands.

     ‘You know, son, religion can be a cover for real moral anarchy.  A lot of people forget that morality is the whole reason for religion not politics.  If you can’t do a kindness for your fellow man then your religion don’t mean a thing.  Love is the law and I don’t mean mere sex.  It’s a simple answer, it’s a trite answer, it’s an ignored and overlooked answer.  The answer runs at cross purposes to most men’s inclination.  It’s an answer that has to be told over and over from generation to generation.  It’s an answer that should be in every book ever written.  If you ever write a book promise me you’ll put it in yours, Donn.’

page 51.

     ‘Sure.  If I ever write a book, I will.’  Donn glibly answered.  What else could he do.  What an odd request.

     ‘Love,’ the old boy went on, somewhat tediously, ‘By love I mean charity.  Not alms giving, but goodwill toward your neighbor.  Charity in the old fashioned sense of the word.  It is true what Jesus said:  A man must have faith, hope and charity.  The greatest of these is charity.  For if a man hath not charity his voice will be as the sounding brass.  It’s true.  Without kindness your words merely rasp and buzz.  No one will listen to you.  So, love your neighbor, son.’

     ‘I’ve done that before.’  Donn said with a smirk, turning to look out the window.

     By now Donn was hoping the lecture was over.  He saw the validity of the lecture but he could find no application in his past, present or future.  He smiled at the old geezer and shook his head.  At least this guy was better than Zadok and Amirah.

     Al pulled off the highway a couple miles past Eureka to drive about five miles toward the Snake.  There was the neatest, prettiest little farmstead Donn had ever seen.  The square, frame house stood on a little rise surrounded by small trees and bushes.  The house reflected the kind gentility of Al Martin.  As within, so without.

     Within the hour Donn had washed, shaved and was between clean sheets drifting off into oblivion.

page 52.

     Donn was too exhausted to sleep soundly,  He woke two or three times during the night, his mind too numbed to rouse himself from bed, his thoughts too crowded to separate into strands he could analyze.  Morning found him seated at the breakfast table dazed, listless and despondent.

     Al Martin studied him intently from across the kichen.  He said:  ‘You know Donn, keeping this place up isn’t easy for a man my age.  I got a whole bunch of chores needs doin’.  If you help me out you can stay for a week or so till everything gets done.  Can’t offer you more than room and board, but…’

     Donn shook his head yes:  ‘Yeah, Al, that would be great.  I can do that.  What needs to be done?’

     Donn pitched in with good will.  Over the week he worked on his problems while he worked, rather than whistled, for Al.  As he had his last breakfast with Al the worst of the numbness was gone.  He had toughened a little but the future still dismayed him casting a dark pall over his mind.  He had identified Maggie as the culprit.  A growing powerless hatred began to envelope him.

     Al drove him back to the highway, thanked him and dropped him off as the morning heat began to build.

     Al Martin had been a solitary ray of sunshine piercing through the great black storm clouds over Donn.  The respite Al had given Donn served him well; his nerves were strengthened and he had time to make some necessary adjustments to his psyche from his fall from grace.  Grimmer events were now to occur.  The hammer blows of his destiny would not allow him to rise but his descent to beyond the depths of despair would be slower.

page 53.

     Donn had been out there for a couple hours.  The morning sun had turned to an afternoon bake, god almighty hot.  Blistering.  The blacktop wasn’t bubbling but it looked like it was about to boil any minute.  The stuff actually moved beneath Donn’s heel.  Donn still wearing his Disco clothes was drenched.

     ‘Hey, Cowboy, need a ride?’

     It wasn’t a beautiful woman in a Cadillac, it was four Mexican braceros in a beatup old ’61 Chevy.  The question had a sinister tone to it.

     ‘I’m looking for a ride to St. Louis.’ Donn said ludicrously, declining the ride.

    His response was met by raucous laughter.

    ‘Hey, there aint’ no St. Louis around here, man.’

     One of the men, they were all eighteen to twenty-three, got out of the back and motioned Donn to sit in the middle.  In the middle surrounded on both sides and vulnerable from the front.  Not a good hitchhiking situation.

     ‘No, man, no.  Thanks, but I mean St. Louis, Missouri.’  In hitchhiking terms this was a virtual insult.

     ‘Hey, you muchachos hear of this place, St. Louis, Missouri?’

     The query was answered by a chorus of noes and ‘there ain’t no such place as St. Louis, Missouri, man.  There ain’t no such place as Missouri.’  More raucus laughter.

page 54.

     ‘Get in, man.  We give you ride.’  The guy holding the door open smiled, the other three doors cracked open as if the occupants were going to get out.

     Donn got in.  This was not the worst thing he could have done.  Had he not they might have made short work of him with tire irons, knives and whatnot, conversely he might have outsprinted them across the burning desert.  When you’re way out there without hope or friends in alien territory you just naturally have to make difficult decisions.  Donn’s hope was not unjustified.  Nor did he behave abjectly to deal with this difficulty.

     Once in the car the Mexicans became verbally abusive of him.  They called him blondie, ridiculed his mustache and insulted his sexual prowess.

     Then the passenger in the front seat, Juan Perez, who was somewhat vain of his pysique flexed his biceps saying: ‘Hey, man.  See that arm?  I can knock you out with one punch, man.’

     As Juan said so, the driver, Pedro Martinez, swang onto a dirt road leading into the hills.  Donn felt a chill in the un-air-conditioned car but didn’t flinch.  He’d gotten his opening.

     ‘Yeah, man?  Maybe, but you’d never get to land a punch.  I was scientific (he threw the word in for effect) boxing champion at SMU.’

     ‘SMU?  What’s that?’  Juan said, overawed by something he didn’t know.

page 55.

     ‘Scientific Mangling University.  You want to go a round or two with me, stop and car and I’ll show you some real science.’

     Juan was frightened by unfamiliar terms like science and SMU and became apprehensive.  He didn’t want to go a couple rounds but he wanted Donn to show him some of his moves.

     The driver pulled over; they all got out.  Donn and Juan squared away.  As Donn had predicted Juan couldn’t come close to landing a punch.  The Mexicans were duly impressed.  After Donn had shown them a few moves Juan said:  ‘Hey man, for a gringo you’re alright.  Then they piled back into the Chevy amidst more raucus laughter leaving Donn standing among the heatwaves in the field.

     In that heat it was an hour and a half walk back to the highway.  Donn caught a number of short rides.  As the sun was setting he was dropped off just past Tucannon a couple miles from Fort Kwakiutl.  He decided to walk into town.  Fort Kwakiutl was a small town, barely on the map, but it did host a Starlight Motel, a restaurant, a bar and a couple gas stations.  Spoiled by his stay at Al Martin’s Donn decided to stay at the Starlight.

    He checked in, cleaned up and went to the restaurant to eat.  He was relatively relaxed and hungry.  He had a lot of money so he ate heartily.  Ed Quigley sat at the bar watching him.  ‘That hobo’s got some money.’  Ed thought darkly.  ‘I bet nobody knows where he’s at or why.’

     Quigly was a big beefy man.  Though much out of shape, big paunchy belly, he thought he could handle a little guy like Donn.  He moseyed over inviting himself to Donn’s table.  He plunked his beer down on the table.

page 56.

     ‘Howdy, podna.’

     ‘Uh, howdy.’

     ‘Saw ya walkin’ inta town.  You a ‘knight of the road.’

     Donn laughed amiably.  ‘Let’s just say I’m passing through.’

     ‘Oh yeah?  Must be hitchhiking?’

     ‘Yes, I am.’  Donn replied.

     ‘Say, listen, buddy, I gotta proposition for ya.  I’m goin’ inta Boise tomorrow.  If you got twenty for gas I’ll take ya along.’

     Donn thought a minute.  He was weary of the road.  He’d been at it for a couple weeks and he still wasn’t out of the state of Washington.  By now he felt a little more confident.  He was anxious now to get to St. Louis.  He didn’t dare say he was broke because Quigly could see the remains of his dinner.

     ‘I’ve blown just about everything I have here tonight.  Bummed it along the way.  It’s a good chance though.  Could you take ten?  He didn’t want to give the idea that he could afford more.  A few more miles down the road of life and Donn would understand how transparent he had been.

     Quigly looked at him, seemed doubtful, then said:  ‘Yeah, sure, OK.  Ten’s better than nothin’.’

     ‘It’s a deal.’  Donn smiled.

     ‘One thing,’  Quigly said.  ‘I’m leaving early, four in the morning.’

     ‘OK.’  From Donn.  ‘Where are you going to be?’

     ‘There’s a big oak tree two miles outta town.  It’s the only tree that size out there.  Can’t miss it.  Meet me there.  In any case I’ll drive slow so I won’t miss you.’

page 57.

     Donn was up trudging through the night to his four o’ clock rendezvous.  Quigly was waiting for him.

     Injuring our fellow man is quite akin to sexual intercourse.  You work yourself up in pretty much the same way.  As they sped up Hwy. 12 through Delancy Donn had intuited from Ed’s rutting manner what was up.  There was no surprise when Quigly swung into a side road moving between two hills by an arroyo.

     Ed left the motor running.  ‘Alright, Cowboy, now I know ya got money.  Ya don’t eat like that and stay at the Starlight if ya don’t.  Ya can give it to me peacefully or I can beat it out of ya.  It’s up to you; it’s your choice, you call it, what’s it gonna be?’

     Donn opened his door and jumped out.

     Still leaving the engine of his beater running Quigly got out huffily, ‘Alright, son-of-a-bitch, if that’s the way you want it.’

     Quigley’s confidence caused him to over expend his energies too quickly.  Donn played him like a trout on a line util  Quigly, breathless, held up a hand for Donn to wait while he caught his breath.  Donn had a different role for himself than in Quigly’s fantasy.  He moved in giving Quigly everything he had.  Quigly unprepared for the response, caught between gasps, rolled onto the ground.

    As he did something snapped in Donn.  He wanted vengeance for everything; his rape, football, boxing, Maggie’s treatment, everything.  As Quigly fell Donn leaped on him picking up a big rock and bringing it down repeatedly on Quigly’s head until the corpse was nearly headless.

page 58.

     As Donn came to himself there was no remorse.  He was both sickened and relieved.  He was no killer but the release had been very satisfying.  In any case he had no cause for self-recrimination as he had killed Quigly in self-defense.  His conscience was clear, but as a drifter, the preponderance of proof was his, he didn’t have any.

     Acting quickly he dragged Quigly’s nearly headless body over to the arroyo and threw it in.  Fate was on his side as the body rolled under a ledge and wedged in out of sight.  Quigley’s precaution of leaving early lest he be seen with Donn worked to Donn’s advantage.  No one had seen them.

     Quigly’s old beater was still running.  Donn got in behind the wheel, turned the old buggy around and got out on the highway to Boise and beyond to Salt Lake City.

     Mentally Donn tried to sweep the killing of Quigly into the dust bin of his memory as he had his reprehensible sexual relations that he detested.

     He wanted to believe that he had only witnessed the killing but his conciousness rejected the falsehood.  Forced to deal with reality he came to the right conclusion- he had killed in self-defence.  Quigly’s unlucky day.  But justly or not he knew that as a drifter and with the suit back in Portland and assigned to a public defender he was lost.

     It then dawned on him also that in the eyes of the law he was driving a stolen car.  And what a car!  The big beast was a favorite of urban desperadoes; a huge old carcass of a ’63 Olds.  The immense rusty hood stretched out before him to eternity.  The vinyl top was ragged and torn.  The giant trunk lid was held down by a wire.  The worn tires made 100% constact with the road; the tread was gone.  Quigly was no mechanic.  The engine roared around faint rattles coming from diverse places.

page 59

     The interior was trashed, the glove compartment hanging open; seats and roof lining torn, butts all over the floor and even on the seats.  Quigly had customized it to reflect his inner malaise.  As within, so without.  Gradually Donn realized what he was driving.  These were no cosmic wheels; this was no astral vehicle.

     The realization drove all other thoughts from his mind.  His brow knitted; he put the first two fingers of his right hand to his lips and gazed about in dismay.  He sat back and tried to look cool.  Revulsion overcame him.  He realizied how low he had sunk.

     ‘There must be some way out of here.’  He thought.

     He made Boise the next morning.  Disgusted with himself and his situation; embarrassed now by the Disco Donn facet of his personality he bought a levi jacket, jeans and a couple sweaters to adapt to his new situation.  Tennis shoes for walking.  In fact Donn shed all the facets of his multi-faceted personality but one.  His multi-facets could only be supported by prosperity.  He reverted back to the Texas gold old boy personality he had when he entered Portland.

page 60.

     Don began to be really apprehensive about driving the big beast but he wanted to make Salt Lake before he aband0ned it.  To make matters worse a patch on the radiator gave way about Brigham City.  He began to make frequent stops at gas stations to fill up the radiator in hopes of cooling the engine well enough to make Salt Lake City.  He steamed through Odgen and into the suburbs of Salt Lake as a blistering heat wave through the fire wall roasted his feet and legs.

     He wheeled into a side street.


Guilty Of the Shame


We know there’s a dark side

To the moon that we see;

But what’s a little darkness

To the likes of you and me.

-Jesse Winchester

     Donn stepped out of the steaming heap looking at it in vengeful disgust to turn his steps back to the highway.  As he did a pair of blue eyes watched him approach.  The eyes, all the luster having departed, belonged to Sandy Tyler.  Sandy, now well into her thirties, was a refugee from the dolorous broken dreams of the sixties.  Trapped in a state of arrested adolescence, her mind inundated by drugs, she was arrayed in the symbols of the mock poverty of the late sixties. 

     She had once been a very beautiful young woman.  While she sought desperately to retain the vestiges of that beauty against the ravages of drugs and despair only mere glimmers of her former freshness remained.  Superb bone structure prevented her face from dissolving into sheer ugliness.  Beneath her T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of some indiotic post-1975 heavy metal band her once firm high breasts sagged braless down to her belt loops.  Her jeans had the obligatory tears across each knee.  There was a tear beneath each cheek of her derriere which exposed white skin no longer firm or translucent.  Her jeans were tucked into brown suede boots, calf high, turned down.  A certain pride of former glory still clung to her presence.

page 61.

     One might well blame Sandy for a wasted life but the shame was not hers; it belonged to American society.  She had been dragged down completely innocent and against her will with no menfolks to defend her degradation.  In circumstances which you in your comfort would dismiss with a comment like:  Oh well, life’s not fair.

     Sandy had come from Cincinatti, Ohio.  She had come from well-to-do parents who had raised her to be the model of decorum.  She had breeding.  She had been blond and pert with a beautiful figure.  Psychologically she had been as well balanced as one of twenty can be.  Her expectations were those that one would associate with her background.

     She had married Bert Tyler who she had met and fallen in love with at the University Of Ohio.  Upon graduation Bert had taken a job with Standard of California and moved to San Francisco.  This was in 1964 when the subterranean rumbles of massive change could be heard and experienced if not understood.  The times were changing at incredible speed as they usually are when you’re in the middle of them.  Intelligence and precaution were not enough to save you; you had to play dodgeball with the juggernaut and win.  Luck was of the greatest importance.  Luck was not with Sandy Tyler.

page 62.

     Sandy’s husband was something of a rake.  Unresolved wildness lived in his soul.  He wasn’t ready to settle down to middle class respectability.  He suggested that he and Sandy take up residence in the North Beach neighborhood of San Francisco,  that wicked, wicked city of transients.  Tourists ooh and aah over Baghdad By The Bay.  But beneath the charming exterior of the Bay and cable cars of the City all is sour and corrupt.  The spirit of Tom Mooney and Harry Bridges hovers over the City.  There is a seething hatred and class envy which negates the charms of the location.  All San Francisco is a suberb of Chinatown.  It is no accident that Beatniks and Hippies flourished there.

     The Sixties seethed and boiled with unremitting vigor.  Contrasted to the glitter of the scientific accomplishments of the times, cities decayed into ruin before your eyes.  The Maelstrom whirled all around you.  One had to learn to navigate its currents to survive.  It was wise to avoid the use of drugs in a city of drug proliferation.  Heroin was the least of your worries.  Only junkies used heroin and they are a class unto themselves.  One can look at a junkie and realize immediately that junkieism  is a trap to be avoided.  Cocaine, which has a long history of societal use beginning with its first pusher, Sigmund Freud, was nowhere prevalent at the time.  Cocaine didn’t become common until the seventies.  Marijuana was not yet everywhere but was indispensable to the Underground.  Exotica such as peyote and mescaline and mushrooms were still of a semi-legendary character.

page 63.

     The man made drugs were prevalent.  Amphetamines, barbiturates and LSD were everywhere.  Stanford University advertised in the papers for ‘psychological’ subjects.  As it turned out the subjects were wanted for drug experimentation.  They were given massive doses of LSD.  This gave a certain legitimacy to their use.  After all, the high priest of acid was a defrocked professor from Harvard, Timothy Leary.

     The world of drug use was being popularized and glamorized by the evangel of the generation- the phonograph record.  The psyche of the era cannot be understood without a thorough knowledge of the recorded music and comedy of the era, comedy may have been as important as the music.  The phonograph record was the single most important factor in the lives of the generation except for, perhaps, the psychologically inert.  The generation was raised on records.

     To understand the music, which is to say songs, you have to start with the incoherent  shouting and strumming of a black blues shouter by the name of Huddie ‘Leadbelly’ Ledbettor and follow the chain through the various white blues singers until you end at the Kingston Trio.  From thence Ledbettor’s songs and stylings entered the main stream.  Thus the mind of the sixities generation was conditioned by an outsider’s slave and prison mentality.  Let that Midnight Special shine its ever loving light on me.

     At the same time a group of men were setting about to create the ‘rucksack revolution.’

page 64.

     Here comes a no-no in American letters.  We’re going to discuss imigration in a realistic rather than romantic fashion.  This group of men who sought to influence and undermine American civilization were, with one exception, the sons of immigrants who were reacting to the inconveniences of being foreign elements integrating into an existing social structure.  Jack Kerrouac was a Catholic French Canadian, Allen Ginsberg was a Jew from the Pale, William S. Burroughs was the descendent of the inventor of the calculator who apparently rejected logical thinking in favor of anarchy,  Gregory Corso and Lawrence Ferlinghetti were Italians.

     An Anglo view of the group can be found in John Clellon Holmes autobiographical novel ‘Go.’  They all grew to maturity between the wars when the conflict between Anglo-American society and immigrant society was most intense.  The Anglo-American demand that the immigrants shed their ethnic beliefs and characters created an intense reaction.  Carl Witte epitomized the struggle in his early forties book:  We Built America.

     As the immigrant population equaled or exceeded that of the Anglo-Americans it was perhaps inevitable that they should triumph.  In any event they did.  By 1950 all the trappings of Anglo culture were being torn down to be replaced by symbols that either asserted other ethnic origins or pointedly and often violently rejected Anglo symbols.

     Where formerly immigrants had been rejected and reviled by the Anglos the immigrants now quickly turned the tables.  While the sons and daughters of the Anglos had been brought up to believe in the incredible homogeneity of American society the sons and daughters of the immigrants sought to bring the Anglos down.  The humiliation of Sandy Tyler was the result of those feelings.

page 65.

     The Beat writers, as these men have been called, represented the grossest materialism.  They were all drunks, perverts and drug addicts.  They sought to impose those values on America.  The onslaught was led by Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerrouac.  Both had done time in the bughouse or insane asylum.  Oddly enough the whole group was exposed for what they were long before they became effective by John Clellon Holmes.  Holmes’ premonitory warning was not understood.  Why should anyone worry about a bunch of bums.

     Kerrouac glorified the subculture in ‘On The Road’, ‘The Dharma Bums’, ‘The Subterraneans’ and other novels.  Ginsberg contributed an insane chant called ‘Howl.’  Through their success from 1956 to 1959 they were able to get Burroughs’ scream of hatred ‘Naked Lunch’ published.  He followed this by the influential ‘Soft Machine’ and ‘Nova Express.’

     The Beat writers were well received by the Underground.  Evidences of their cultural impact were obvious in San Francisco and the Bay Area in the early sixties.  They were not so obvious and understandable to the larger society which had heard little of the Beat writers.  As Bob Dylan expressed it: ‘…there’s something happening here but you don’t know what it is, do you…?’

     Dylan himself, who as a recording artist, was a major influence on the sixties, appears to have drawn so much inspiration for his middle period from Kerrouac and Burroughs that he can be described as a post-Beat writer.

page 66.

     The Beat writers originally tried to oerganize the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco but the Beatniks themselves, who came from an earlier period uninfluenced by Beat writers chose North Beach as their headquarters. 

     While the Beatniks dominated North Beach the Hippie culture was being formed in the Haight-Ashbury at the same time.  This culture found expression in the music of the San Francisco Sound.  Marty Balin, no one knows which two swords he carried, and the Jefferson Airplane musical group were establishing the Matrix nightclub while the rock clubs would supplant the jazz clubs of the Beatniks and transfer the focal point of the scene from North Beach back to the Haight-Ashbury.

     In addition to the Anglo-Immigrant conflict the old struggle between the Black Folk and the White Folk was assuming new dimensions.  The Blacks were demanding social equality- whatever that is.  One doesn’t want to generalize excessively where the Blacks are concerned because theirs is also a society of many diverging opinions and attitudes, nevertheless in a sizable majority of Blacks ‘social equality’ involved what is known as ‘the Payback.’  Blacks feel that they are owed something for the indignities placed on them by White Society.  This opinion is shared by a not unsizable group of Whites, so long as some other Whites pay the bill.

     Racial memories are not obliterated in a moment, a generation or even several generations.  Whites seem to have the inexplicable notion that the memory of unjust deeds can be removed by an apology, or checks drawn on someone else’s account.  Whites seem to think that things are thereby cured and resentments will disappear.  Blacks who have suffered grievous injuries with marvelous equanimity don’t believe so.

page 67.

     One of the most humiliating indignities Black women had to endure during the slave era was to be at the beck and call of any White man.  Literally, a White male could take any Black woman by the arm and lead her off to minister to his sexual needs at any time.  If she were the wife of a Black man there was absolutely nothing he could do about it but endure the shame.  So, the Payback involves White women.  Black men demand the same privilege with White women that White men had with Black women.  Everything in life gets down to a sexual offence.

     As there was no social apparatus to suport their hopes and ambitions as their had been for White men, Black men had to enforce their desires surreptitiously. 

     Thus, of a foggy overcast midday, nearly all days are foggy and overcast in San Francisco, Sandy Tyler was walking down Grant St. in North Beach on the way to the laundromat.  She was the epitome of a what a young White woman should be.  She was beautiful.  All eyes turned.  She was innocent.  She walked the streets of North Beach as though they were the streets of her upper class neighborhood in Cincinatti.

     Among the Beats and degenerates, the Blacks and Italians of this very Italian neighborhood her very Anglo dress and style stood out like Jane in Tarzan’s Africa.  Deep racial instincts stirred at the sight of her.  She had been trained to believe that assimilation in America had been complete.  All people were kind.  It is still a myth that most adhere to.

page 68.

     Sheldon Washington, a drug dealer and a huge Black man stood talking on the corner before the The Gate Of Wine Coffee House.  The Gate was a quintessential Beatnik Coffee House of the era.  Despite its name, which came from the Gilgamesh, no liquor was served.  Each night local poets, writers, thinkers and simple complainers held forth from the podium to the assembled multitude.  Unlike the Hippies, the Beatniks were well educated and much intelligent discourse could be heard at the Gate.

     Unfortunately complainers like the said Seldon Washington also inflicted themselves on the audience.  Sheldon had bent the ears of the audience for fifty-three minutes twenty-two seconds the night previous complaining about how a Spade Cat couldn’t walk down the street with a Honky chick without drawing stares.  His argot was so new that half the audience picked up Spade Cat as spayed cat and had no idea what a Honky Chick was.  Perhaps a spayed cat and an honky chick should be stared at.

     But at this moment that Sandy chose to walk by, the Man was being being waited on by his Honky heroin addict.  The addict, thin and unkempt, stood holding his money in his hand eagerly pressing it on Sheldon who was in no hurry to hand him his balloon.  In fact he didn’t have one on him.  the junkie would have to wait a little longer.

      Sheldon stood drawing out the wasted junkie’s agony when Sandy entered the intersection drawing his attention.  Now, Sheldon was one of those Black giants at six-four, two-eighty whose muscalature was concealed beneath the immense smooth expanse of his biceps and chest.  If he just raised his arm and let if fall on your back he could knock you down.  He was wearing a black Italian undershirt over his dark brown body.

page 69.

     Sheldon was so enchanted that he let out an involuntary long low whistle.  A girl of White breeding, Sandy ignored it as she properly should.  Breeding was unknown in North Beach where other standards applied.  Indignant at what he considered arrogance, Sheldon bellowed:  ‘Say mama, that was a compliment to your beautiful booty.’

     Well, Sandy seldom answered to ‘mama’, never acknowledged strange men on the street, let alone Black men, and had she known that ‘booty’ referred to her ass she would have been indignant.  But then, that was Cincinatti, this was North Beach.  Sandy responded by sticking her nose in the air pointedly ignoring Sheldon.

     Washington’s attitude changed abruptly.  Washington belonged to the Black Brotherhood and associated with the Junkie Brotherhood.  In both the individual identity is submerged in the collective identity.  One is immediately on familiar terms with every other member of the Brotherhood.  There are no interfaces.  Thus had Sandy been a Black woman she would have smiled, perhaps shook her booty as a token of appreciation and returned some compliment as to the probable size of Sheldon’s ‘thing.’  That she didn’t angered Sheldon.  He had a very big voice which he now raised to its loudest putting the threat of direct physical violence into it.

page 70.

     ‘Say Woman,’ he bellowed,  ‘where you manners?  When a brown eyed handsome man compliments a pretty woman that woman better appreciate it or she gonna have big troubles in this man’s neighborhood.  You dig?’

     Sandy stopped dead in her tracks, terrified, as she had every reason to be.  At the sound of Sheldon’s voice the Junkie had nearly fallen to his knees groveling before the Big Black.  Other White boys along the street stared lasciviously at the beautiful girl hoping to get some of whatever Sheldon left.  Their eyes silently encouraged her to acquiesce.  Alone and small, never before confronted with such brutal customs, the White girl turned to face Sheldon’s wrath with wide staring eyes.

     ‘I sayed you got a beautiful ass, mama.’  Sheldon bellowed louded than a bass drum.

     ‘T-thank-you.’  Sandy stuttered, terrified, embarrassed and not knowing how to respond to retain her dignity as a married woman.

     That’s better, mama.’  Sheldon said attempting to console and command at the same time.  ‘Now you run along and don’t ever pull that haughty shit again, hear?’

     The White boys on the street snickered confident that Sheldon, the Spade Cat, would take what he wanted and leave the rest of the Honky Chick to them.

     ‘That’s tasty,’ each thought, ‘I’m really going to enjoy fucking that bitch.’

     The promise of America was no promise at all, it was a perverted curse.

      A week later Sandy was walking down Grant on the way to the laundry.  She didn’t know how to preserve her own boogie in The Land Of The Thousand Dances.  She walked close to the buildings rather than curbside.  The Grant St. Grocery lay on her line of march.  The grocery was one of those shallow stores with no back room; rather a section running from front to rear was walled off as a storage room.  Some ten feet or so from the store entrance was an unobtrusive door through which deliveries were made.

page 71.

     As Sandy was passing this door a hand shot out grasping her by the throat and pulling her in.  Taken completely by surprise she was not consciously aware of anything till she lay gasping and sobbing against the shelves where Sheldon Washington had discarded her.

     The scene would haunt her dreams, transformed  into symbolism she could not understand, but which would shield her from some of the shame although the terror had hypnotized her into a different person.  Sheldon, who was a very big man, wanted to teach the Honky Chick a less in humility.  Blue eyes would not secure her immunity; on Grant Street brown eyes ruled.  His method was direct action, straight terror; his intellect was of the crudest but no less effective on that account.  He had merely grabbed Sandy off the street.  Picking her up, she was only 5’3″, 110 pounds, he had shoved his pelvis forward and dropped Sandy on his penis, jiggling her up and down until he climaxed.  He had then just thrown her against the shelves where she fell in a heap. 

     The street which had been empty in anticipation of the deed silently filled as the White boys stepped from doorways, alleys and from behind telephone poles where they had been inconspicuous.  Faces came to windows, eyes staring fixedly on the side door of the grocery.

page 72.

     ‘Now let that be a lesson to you, bitch.  When some brown eyed handsome man give you compliments you give him his reward and don’t give me none of that cheap assed marriage shit neither.  You learn to treat a man right and he’ll treat you right.’

     After this lecture in ethics Seldon’s mind turned to business, for after all a man has to eat, and Sheldon’s other business was pimping.

     ‘Say, bitch, you know you got a tight little ass.  You should put that cute money maker to work for me.  I show you how to live right and tight.  You be wearing diamonds and minks; you dump that Honky cat and come with me.  I show you how to shake that money maker; you don’t be walkin’ so stiff assed down the street no mo’, walk like a righteous woman.’

     Anyone looking for a good time of any kind could always get what they wanted from Sheldon.

     Sandy let out a few incoherent howls through clenched lips as she cautiously rose to her feet not sure of what was yet in store for her.  Her mute rejection was enough for Sheldon.  He turned to the clerk who had been watching through the beaded curtain and gave him a farewell acknowledgment with the shake of a finger.  Then proudly puffing out his chest for the street people he stepped out into the dim damp gloom of Grant St. and sauntered away humming ‘White Port and Lemon Juice.’

     Sandy stumbled out on shaky legs turning back toward Telegraph Court leaning on the wall for support.  Although she could not see them, the White boys slipped unobtrusively back into their holes while the faces in the windows slid back into the shadows.

page 73.

     Sandy’s life irrelevant of subsequent events was shattered.  Her sense of purity and personal integrity was gone to be replaced by a sense of defilement and consuming guilt as though she had been the perpetrator rather than the victim.  A knowledgeable psychiatrist might have been able to help her if she had gone immediately, but probably not for she would have been unable even to tell him the sequence of events.  She couldn’t remember what happened even though she knew what had happened.

     Angelo Toretti spoke quietly to Bert Tyler from behind a cracked open door as Tyler walked from the bus stop on Columbus to his apartment.

     ‘You better watch that little filly of yours, man.  she’s got eyes for that dark meat.’

     ‘What?’  Tyler said, turning in the direction of the voice.

     ‘Ask her who Sheldon Washington is.’  Toretti said with a low chuckle pushing the door shut.

     Tyler was possessed of honky cool.  He had no idea of what the threatening words of Toretti meant.  He was mildly apprehensive.  He gripped his brief case more tightly but he continued on at his normal pace.

     He fund Sandy lying on her back, skirt above her waist, with tears streaming down her cheeks.

     ‘What did you do?’  He began oblivious to the implied condemnation in his words.

page 74.

     Sandy’s response was to  increase her sobs and sense of humiliation to the point where her slender body was so wracked by shaking and pain that it is a wonder she survived.

    Tyler was twenty-two, born in ’42.  He had grown up in the bosom of a prosperous family.  He had been taught that the world was his oyster.  Raised in his upper class neighborhood, he had been advantaged from the cradle to the present.  At six feet, sandy haired and handsome he had received favored treatment through high school and the U.ofO.  While his manners were too fine for his present neighborhood they were much appreciated at the office. 

     His marriage to Sandy had seemed a perfect blending of family, looks and brilliant future.  But beneath the handsom exterior Tyler had a rotten core.  He was self-centered to the point that he was contemptuous of others.  This included Sandy.  She was desirable to him as a showpiece that demonstrated to the world his impeccable good taste and good fortune.  He was not prepared to drag damaged goods around with him.

     He should have known that North Beach was no place for a respectable woman.  But because of his favored youth he thought himself and his possessions beyond the reach of the arrows of fortune.  In college he had used marijuana, LSD and barbituates along with the ever present examination companion, amphetamines.  As he thought himself beyond, or rather, above the dangers that drugs posed, so many of his class did, he had been fearless in their use.

page 75.

     It is probable that Sandy would never have taken drugs on her own but as Tyler was the guardian of her virtue she had followed his lead trustingly.  She still considered the drugs naughty and dangerous but she was already familiar with pot, LSD and downers.  Living dangerously, out on the edge, had been the attraction of North Beach to Tyler.

     Now that he had reaped the fruit of his daring he stood staring down at Sandy.  He was unfeeling and obtuse.  He sensed that his position had been violated, he believed he had been humiliated.  He wasn’t far wrong.

     Remembering Toretti’s words his narrow vision could only conceive that he had almost walked in on Sandy and Sheldon and that whe was sobbing because she had almost been caught.

     ‘Who is Sheldon Washington?’  He asked.

     The question was greeted by additional shaking and sobbing.  Tyler had to make an effort to calm his wife.  It was not easy.  Several hours later, well into the morning Tyler had gleaned the notion that Sheldon Washington had had his wife.  His first thought as a red blooded American boy was to go looking for Sheldon Washington.  He did so the following day having called in to work sick.

     His queries after Sheldon alerted the Spade Cat that the Honky Cat was looking for him.  He arranged to be found.  He ensconced himself in an alley on Montague Street.  There with some white junkies for effect, a couple of Black hepcats around him, he sat on a garbage can waiting.

     Tyler was directed to Sheldon’s throne room.  He marched resolutely into the alley.  As he entered Sheldon rose, hitched up his pants and flexed both arms as though he were stretching.  Both his Black confederates cleaned their nails with switchblades.  The White boys stood around snuffling and grinning.

page 76.

     ‘I hear you lookin’ for me, boy.  Whachoo want?’   

     This was urban warfare for which Tyler was unprepared.  This was not a man to man confrontation which, given the size of Washington he would not have undertaken anyway, but was rather a confrontation of the big battalions against his puny one.  A quick vision of himself lying face-up beaten, cut and bleeding among the garbage cans flashed before his eyes.  He opted out.  He turned and walked away amidst chuckles, laughter and catcalls.

     Nor should he be blamed.  The rules had been changed.  Tyler had not been informed.  His only recourse would have been to stalk Washington and blow his brains out.  This was not feasible to Tyler in his present state of mind. While Washington’s position in North Beach society protected him from identification, there would be no witness come forward to identify him in the event of a complaint, Tyler would be quickly identified.  A jail cell was waiting for him if he tried.

     Unable to endure the humiliation to his wife and his own subsequent humiliation Tyler transferred the blame to Sandy.  Then by shedding her he was able in his mind to shed the double humiliation.  At least he thought he had.

     ‘Did that nigger actually put his dick in you?’  He brutally asked Sandy.

page 78.

     While White boys profess a complete lack of prejudice toward Black Folk, this is only in the social sense.  In 1964 Tyler couldn’t endure the idea that his wife had been penetrated by a Black man qua Black man.

     ‘I didn’t do it, honey.’  Sandy protested weakly.

     ‘All I want to know is wether he put that black dick up you?’

     ‘I- I think so.’  Sandy replied, her mind reeling beneath the horror of the thought of her rape.

    ‘I think so!  I think so!  God, you must know that.  I think so!  Well, that’s good enough for me.  He did.  Well, I can’t stay with a woman who’s been defiled by a nigger.  I’m leaving.  The rent’s paid till the end of the month then you’re on your own.  My lawyer will send the papers by.  I think so!’

     Thus life pitilessly took away Sandy Tyler’s hopes and joys.  She became the victim of social forces of which she was  not even aware of in their true form.  She had been lied to by society.  The American Dream!  What a pack of lies.  Shamed beyond psychological recognition she didn’t inform her parents.  A stranger in San Francisco she drifted into the drugs and demi-monde of North Beach.

     She avoided heroin and actual prostitution but she was heavy into barbiturates and marijuana.  The leering immigrant descendants gleefully passed the Anglo girl from man to man; gleefully taking out the frustrations of sixty years of humiliation at the hands of Anglos on Sandy’s body.

      The Scene shifted from North Beach to the Haight-Ashbury; from the Beatniks to the Hippies; from Cal Tjader to the Grateful Dead; from junk to junk.

page 78.

     The Hippie Movement was the realization of the materialism that Kerrouac and Ginsberg had been pushing.  History may to a very accurate extent be characterized as the war between the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness.  The ascendance to spiritual perfection being the direction of the Sons of Light while the Sons of Darkness seek a return to the pure materialism of the untutored savage, the feral nature of man.  Materialism is as much a religion as spirituality but over the course of time all visible churches became of the spiritual kind.

     Because of Jewish opposition to the presence of Christianity in public schools the doctrine of the separation of church and state has been interpreted to mean that no spiritual beliefs can be taught in public schools.  This means in practice that no positive ethics can be taught.

     Thus while all eyes are trained on Catholics and Protestants for violations of the doctrine the Jews under the guise of preaching tolerance push their program through the schools.  At the same time the materialists have a free hand preaching materialism as no one understands its nature as the religion of the Sons of Darkness.

     Under the guise of helping the young student understand his sexual nature, courses, which are religious in intent, on ‘Human Sexuality’, undermine spiritualist precepts.  Spiritualists reject the indiscriminate indulgence of the senses while materialists embrace it.

page 79.

     Thus one has the concept of ‘the varieties of sexual experience.’  These include everything from homosexuality to child molestation.  All forms  of sexual expression are considered legitimate expressions of ‘human needs.’

     So, while those who preach self-control in order to create a better world are silenced in the name of ‘freedom’, the classrooms are turned over to materialists who seek to make life hell on earth.  Women are prostituted and men perverted in the name of ‘sexual freedom.’

     The media, movies and TV in particular  have been taken over by the materialists who exclude spiritualists from employment in those industries.  Black list.  On Big Screen and Small Screen they preach total self-indulgence at the expense of all other people.

     As a consequence crime and illiteracy increase geometrically.  The poor befuddled citizenry talk of ‘wars on crime’ which will never succeed as long as materialism is the dominant religion.  Take the religion of materialism  out of the schools and replace it with a spiritualist doctrine seeking the curbing of self-indulgence.  Then crime will diminish.  The war is not a war on crime but a war of moral attitudes.  The war between the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness.

     Needless to say, crime will never disappear.  Crime and criminals have existed since the dawn of time.  Even then the war of the Sons of Light and Darkness commenced.  Anglo-Americans were governed by the Chivalric notion of Shame.  Not that they didn’t commit crimes but the sense of shame forced them to repent or move out of society.  During the great period of European immigration Jews opposed the notion of Shame with that of Chutzpah.  Chutzpah can be defined as simply the shameless attempt to achieve one’s desires against the will of others by surprising them with extravagant audacity.  If bold enough you may overwhelm their opposition, if not, oh well, you can always ‘apologize.’

page 80

     Leaving Kerrouac aside for the moment, William S. Burroughs lived in New York City.  NYC has been described as ‘that great factory of criminals.’  The description has been given with good reason.  For the city was invaded by the post-Great Revolution society of criminals organized around the philosophy of the Marquis de Sade.  Crime has a philosophical basis in the modern world.  ‘Ending poverty’ would have no effect on crime.  It is not just a matter of illegal activity to satisfy one’s needs.  Burroughs combined this criminal philosophy with the docrines of anarchy which were also prevalent in the Big Apple.  Burroughs’ doctrine leads to complete oblivion.  In form he continues the Jewish Chutzpah by which he was definitely influenced, as NYC is, or was, a Jewish city, into the equation of:  Wouldn’t you?

     I mean, he asks, wouldn’t you kill a little old lady and take her purse if you needed money for a heroin habit.  Wouldn’t you?  Who wouldn’t?  Of course you would if you were a heroin addict, as Burroughs was, needing a fix.  Thus Burroughs in ‘Naked Lunch’ brought the definition of morality down to what the individual needs at any given moment.  If you felt the need the for sex wouldn’t you rape an eight year old girl.  Who wouldn’t?  It was inconceivable to Burroughs that anyone wouldn’t.  If one said one wouldn’t then the logic is that your need wasn’t great enough or you would.  Who wouldn’t?  Thus Burroughs propounded a very destructive version of the materialistic religion of the Sons of Darkness.

page 81.

     Like syphilis the first outburst of the disease was evident in the Hippie movement on Haight-Ashbury.  The sores have disappeared but Burroughs’ philosophy has been spread throughout the social system.  The deteriorization of mankind was very noticeable by the late seventies to the artistic temperament.  At that time a rock band by the name of Devo made the point perfectly clear.  They asked the musical question:  Are we not men? and answered it:  No!  We are Devo.  The point being that mankind had stopped evolving and was retrogressing into devolution.  Devo hit the nail on the head.  Materialism was rapidly destroying the fabric of society.  We  were, in fact, returning to our savage origins.  J.G. Frazer’s ‘civilized veneer’ was wearing off.  Or as W.B. Yeats put it:  And what rough beast, its hour come at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?  The hippies embraced Wouldn’t You wholeheartedly.  They took to drugs like an alcoholic to drink.  Drugs are the antithesis of morality.  Lying and stealing become one’s nature.  A druggie’s word isn’t worth a broken syringe.

     Sandy drifted into this environment as she moved over to the Haight-Ashbury.  Now, she came from a strong Episcopalian background.  She had an affluent past.  The Hippies bubbled up from the urban depths.  They had no strong anything except for the desire to get, to exploit.  As drug addicts they had no chance of succeeding at anything but total failure.  They succeeded at that.  The worst weren’t even human.

page 82.

     Sandy moved from crash pad to crash pad as soon as the toilets filled up and wouldn’t flush anymore.  Filthy rooms filled with filthy mattresses and filthy people.  Toilets stopped up  overflowing with excrement.  As there were no sexual barriers or restraints she was used by any derelict passing through.  She deadened her sensitivities by pretending to revel in the ‘new freedom.’  Drugs and music were exhilarating accessories.  They could turn night to day, black to white.

     But the Hippie scene with no other ethic than sex and drugs and Rock and Roll continued to deteriorate.  Unbridled sex with anyone and anything was the norm.  There were no limits.  Homosexuality forced itself into the breach as legitimate.  Then as the Disco music of the homosexuals came to dominate in 1977-78, Rock music died on the vine.  Without the impetus of music Sandy looked around to find nothing but barrenness.

     Somehow, through the years of degradation she had clung to the ghost of the vision of her past.  No matter what clothes she wore she wore them with a certain stylishness that betokened a nearly forgotten pride.  She had never abandoned her bourgeois dreams.  Now looking over the wreck of Haight-Ashbury her thoughts turned to rehabilitating herself.  As this was impossible in San Francisco she thought to find a refuge in some other part of the country.  Her rape by Sheldon Washington was never out of her mind.  She had had other unpleasant experiences with Black men so she looked for a place where she thought there wouldn’t be any.  For this reason she selected the Mormon capitol because of their alleged aversion to Blacks.  So she had moved to Salt Lake City in the late seventies.  The Mormons are an exclusive people, they don’t take kindly to non-Mormons in their midst.  Sandy once again found herself an outsider.  Rather than kicking drugs as had been her intent she continued to find solace in them.

     During all this time Sheldon Washington prospered.  He had prospered with a clear conscience.  He even considered himself a benevolent figure in the community, which, compared to some others in his line, he was.  Sheldon considered that he as a Black man was only getting back the Black Folk’s own.  ‘As ye sow so shall ye reap.’  he was fond of saying, referring to White Folks.  True.  You must be careful of the seeds you sow.  Whether Sheldon was merely reclaiming his own is left to subtler minds than mine.  Sheldon was strewing his own field with the seeds of hatred no matter how justified he felt.  His victims were not the White Folk that may have oppressed his ancestors they were living people.

     Shortly after Sandy left town a junky with sandy hair and very dark glasses began showing up in North Beach.  At least he had the appearance of a junkie.  He quickly made the connection with Sheldon Washington for his heroin.

     Over a few weeks Sheldon accepted him as just another junkie who had been around forever.  He abused him as he did all his junkies.  On this particular occasion Sheldon made appointments with this junkie failing to keep each.  Someone at each assignation point directed the junkie on to the next.  The junkie resignedly went from place to place.  He was finally directed to go the alley off Montague.  The junkie took longer to get there than he might have for he stopped off at his pad first.

page 84.

     As he turned into the alley Sheldon sat alone on a garbage can.  The Black confederates were gone.  The White junkies were out of sight.  As the junkie approached, Sheldon observed that his walk was rather stiff but as he was a junkie, what was new?  The reason the junkie’s walk was stiff was because a crowbar was suspended from his belt down his left pants leg.  A revolver was stuck in his belt beneath his moth eaten sweater.  His eyes glowed hatred beneath his very dark glasses.  He was not really a junkie; he was an impostor.

     Like a junkie he had his money ready in his hand.  He thrust it at Sheldon holding out his other hand for the baloon. 

     ‘Not so fast, my man, not so fast.’  Sheldon said.  ‘I mean, man, like man, money ain’t everything.  I mean, I am the most important man in your life.  I want you to acknowledge that.’

     The junkie shrugged indicating:  What?

     Sheldon unzipped his fly flopping his member out.  He looked at the junkie emitting only a low chuckle.  The junkie understood.  He began to go down on one knee.  His right hand moved beneath his sweater.  Sheldon had just time to focus on the hole in the blue-black barrel before his brains flew out to mingle with the rest of the garbage.

     The junkie unbuckled Sheldon’s pants and pulled them down rolling the huge inert form unto its stomach as he did so.  Removing the crowbar from his pants he rammed it far up Sheldon’s ass until the tip rested just below Sheldon’s heart.  Throwing the shades aside and discarding the moth eaten sweater he walked out of the alley and was never seen in North Beach again.

page 85.

     The police were baffled but unconcerned.  After all Sheldon hadn’t really been murdered.  He was dead but he was only a casualty in the urban warfare.  Only another soldier who had given his life for the cause.  A casualty in that urban warfare that raged beyond police jurisdiction and control.  A warfare that was beyond the law; one that operated on laws of its own.  All that can be said is that he who lives by the rod dies by the rod. 

     All across the universe the stars stayed the clacking dice of Magic Sam in his hand to look down on such insanity and say:  They ain’t nothing but a heartache and you know they’ll never get over it.  Then, with a shrug, they returned to their games.  Roll the dice with a sound like thunder.

     The junkie, his own heart broken beyond repair blew a kiss from San Francisco to Salt Lake City.  Just another boogie in The Land Of A Thousand Dances.

     Sandy watched Donn as he came up the street.  She recognized someone, who like her, had lost his place in the world.  A hope sprang up in her breast, she was beyond being able to think, that perhaps he and she might find comfort in each other reclaiming in some small degree their place in the world.

page 86.

     ‘Hi there.  What are you doing?’

     Donn paused to appraise her.  He recognized that about her that spoke of a declassee.  As he had no interest in women he attempted to dismiss her.

     ‘I’m going to get something to eat.’  He said brusquely.

     Undaunted Sandy said:  ‘Oh, I know all the good places.  I’ll take you there.’  She said clasping his hand impusively, leading him away.

    Donn could no longer go to the type of restaurant he favored.  He thought that perhaps Sandy knew of some hippie hangouts where the food would be filling and maybe passable.  He allowed himself to be led away.

     They walked for several blocks.  Sandy babbled on along the way hoping to win Donn over.  A strip mall hove in sight.  There was an Albertson’s grocery store at one end.  Donn spotted a restaurant in the middle of the mall.  When they reached the corner of the Albertson’s Donn began to continue down the front but Sandy pulled him along the side and toward the back.  Donn was confused but thought Sandy was aware of another entrance. 

     When they reached the back Sandy pointed proudly at the dumpster and said:  See.

     Donn looked at the huge garbage can puzzled.

     ‘See what?’  He asked Sandy who was still holding his hand.

     ‘Well, see,’  She said giving his hand an affectionate squeeze.  ‘Nobody ever has to go hungry in America.  They throw away tons of good food just because it’s a day or two old.  See.’  she said, grabbing at some limp brownish lettuce, ‘This lettuce is perfectly good to eat.  It’s just a little old.  And it’s free, it doesn’t cost anything.’

page 87.

     ‘All kinds of places are this stupid.  If you want I’ll take to Cheesy Burgers later.  At midnight they throw out all the burgers they’ve prepared but haven’t sold.  Wrapped and everything.  We’ll have to get there early though because everyone wants those.’

     Donn listened incredulously, rudely pulling back his hand.  He wasn’t familiar with underground ‘survival’ techniques.  He wasn’t aware that Abbie Hoffmen had published a whole book full of ideas and scams, all as good as this one.  But he was not yet so low that he would search through garbage cans for food.

     ‘God, that’s absolutely disgusting.’  He said.

     ‘No, it’s not.  Everybody does it.’  Sandy replied speaking for her crowd.

     ‘Well, I don’t eat out of garbage cans and I think anyone who does is absolutely disgusting.’  Donn replied angrily.  ‘You! Get away from me, you filthy slut.  No, don’t touch me.’  He said brushing away Sandy’s imporing hands which sought to hold his again.  ‘Get away.’  He said angrily, turning on his heel.

     Sandy’s rejection by Donn was the last thing that it took to bury her poor heart completely out of sight.  As she stood in the moonlight she sank beneath the burden of accumulated woes of nearly twenty years.  All the crimes perpetrated against her rose up to engulf her sense of decency.  Her last shred of worthiness disappeared.  The world’s guilt entered her soul as her own.  She considered herself evil.  She went through life as an empty shell.  But she was not Guilty of the Shame.  Oh no!  It was society’s shame.  It was our shame.  Repeat aloud:  I (insert your name) am Guilty of the Shame.

page 88.

     Donn found his way to the highway East.  He found a spot to doze a few hours.  Daylight found him alongside US 40.  ‘Denver, here I come.’  He whistled, praying for the best.  This was not Donn’s moment for the best.  He was over a day getting to Fruitland, an interminable number of short rides and long delays.  His spirits sank again.  He had his thumb out just outside of Fruitland when a fifty-eight Chevy pulled over.

     ‘Hi! I’m Kirk Douglas Strachan.’  The driver said extending a soft flabby hand.  He was wearing a black cowboy hat, had a soft pudgy face with black horn rimmed glasses, black cowboy shirt with white piping and black Can’t Bust ‘Ems over black cowboy boots.

     ‘Uh, yeah,’  Donn replied,  ‘I’m Phil Brown.’

    ‘Nice to meet you Phil.’  Strachan said eyeing him like a side of beef.

     This was about ten o’ clock at night.  Strachan was a practiced hand.  He got right to the point.

     ‘Now, Phil, I’m going to tell you how it is,’ he began with the authoritative tone of a movie tough guy,  ‘I like men.  I’m really a tough guy.  Did you get my name, Kirk Douglas Strachan?  Kirk Douglas was a movie tough guy.’ he said, overlooking the fact that Kirk Douglas was still alive.  ‘My mother wanted me to be tough so she named me after him.  I am tough.  Now, it’s your choice, you can either live or die.  Your second choice is obvious, we don’t have to discuss that.  Now, if you want to live you’re coming home with me and you’ll be my sex slave for a week or two.  Now, if you’re good at that I’ll reward you by driving you up to Vernal.  If you’re not you’ll join the rest of my boyfriends.  Got it!  Well, get it, my man!’

page 89.

     Donn was staring at him incredulously, his mouth agape.  Donn looked at this soft flabby creep wondering where he got the notion he was tough except from his mom.  Kirk Douglas Strachan mistook  incredulity as a sign of fear.  Strachan was a murderous fiend.  The ‘boyfriends’ he sarcastically referred to were all buried out in his garden patch beneath the turnips.  There were fifteen in all.  Some he had just blown away with a shotgun others had died lingering deaths.

     Strachan’s mother had named him after Kirk Douglas.  Strachan had studied all the actor’s films.  Except that he was short, pudgy and effeminate Strachan had his Kirk Douglas act down.  He had the same buzzsaw whine that came from the back of his head.  He had even had a cleft surgically made in his chin.  Needless to say it looked ridiculous with his moon faced pudgy head.

     Emboldened by Donn’s open mouthed wonder Strachan continued:  ‘Terrific.  You’ll have a great time too.  Now, I need a down payment right now.  See that knoll just up there.  I’m going to pull behind it.  You’re going to give me a great blow job, then I’ll take you to the ranch.’

     ‘I was boxing champ three years running at SMU.’  Donn said quietly in the Texas manner brushing imaginary lint from his fly.

page 90.

     Oh, a John Wayne type, huh?  Well I’m going to make you get out right here.’  He said skidding to a stop.  He pressed a button, the door flew open and Donn sneeringly got out.  Strachan copped a U and raced back toward Fruitland.  John Wayne trumps Kirk Douglas every time.

     Donn dropped his bag, placing his hands on his hips while he looked up and down the dark road.

     ‘Over here.  Hey, buddy, over here.’  A loud booming voice cried from the wilderness. 

     ‘Over here, buddy, I’m over here.’

     Donn peered out into the darkness.  He could see nothing.

     ‘Come on.  I’ll guide you in.’  The voice cried.

     Donn started walking into the darkness.  As he stumbled along it seemed to him like he walked on an on.

     ‘Man, that guy must have a voice like a foghorn.’  He thought.

     Then he perceived the glow of a fire.

     ‘Keep coming.  I’m right over here.’  The voice coaxed.  ‘All right, all right.  If I hadn’t been out taking a leak I would have missed you.’

     A hand came out of the darkness grabbed Donn’s hand and shook it.

     ‘Hi!  I’m Dharma Bum.’  Bum said proudly.

     ‘You can call me Jack.’  Donn said, taken back by Dharma Bum’s strange name.

page 91.

     Bum led him back behind a small rise where a fire burned in the darkness.

     ‘Dharma Bum?’  Donn asked.  ‘Did I hear you right.’

     ‘Dharma Bum, that’s right.’  Bum replied.  ‘I’m out here seeking enlightenment.’

     Dharma Bum was quite an apparition in the barren mountain night.  He was about six-four high.  Thin but not slender.  He wore a pair of knee high boots, medium platforms with two and a half inch heels, laced all the way up to his knees fitting over form fitting jeans that gave Bum the appearance almost of walking on stilts.  The jeans buttoned with the buttons showing on the outside.  A pink, or dusty plum, flowered vest covered a lavender flowered shirt with enormous billowing sleeves.  It was an outfit modeled after John Hall of Hall and Oates.

     Bum’s face was fleshy, all the features being large.  He wasn’t handsome, plain verging on homely, but carried himself with real leading man verve.  He was topped by a mane of black hair streaked now with silver combed straight back, en brosse, falling to his shoulders.

    He was a child of TV, records and movies.  He invariably saw himself as Batman and others as his Robins.  He had developed the authoritative way of talking which in the movies leaves the bit actors gasping in astonishment at the sagacity and sheer manliness of the lead.  In the same manner Bum tried to impose himself on reality.  Reality not being the movies, Bum had been, as it were, rejected by life.  He was undaunted; New Day, New Script.  As Jim Morrison of the Doors replied when being urged to hurry lest he be too late to catch his flight:  ‘You can never be too late for your own movie.’  Whatever happens is in the script.

page 92.

     Besides money wasn’t a real problem for Bum.  He just wired home to Dad to pay the card.  He was covered for medical and dental care.  Unlike most bums, or homeless, he was in excellent health and his teeth were good.  He was actually cooking baked beans in the can held over the fire with a forked stick, just like in the movies.

     ‘I’d offer you some but I wasn’t expecting company.’  He said with an authoritative chuckle indicating that he knew Donn would understand as he reacted to gasps of astonishment from Donn in the theatre of his mind.  Bum always played to an SRO audience.  Each movement, each word was done and spoken in a stagy manner.  Often there was no necessity for a reply.  Bum merely waited the appropriate time  for the reply in his mental script then continued his next lines.  Not infrequently he overrode the speaker or completely ignored, in fact, didn’t hear, the reply.

     ‘Jack, huh?  Jack?’  Bum said with a wink.

     ‘What?’ Donn said uncertain whether to be apprehensive or puzzled.

     Bum had taken his name from Jack Kerrouac’s novel ‘The Dharma Bums.’  He thought Donn was making a sly joke on Bum’s self-introduction.

     ‘Yeah.  Ya know Jack understood me real well.  Yeah.  Ha, ha.  He wrote my life before I even began to live it.’

page 93.

     ‘Jack?  Jack who?  Me?’

     ‘Jack Kerouac!’  Bum cried incredulously.

     ‘Jack Kerouac?  You mean the guy who wrote ‘On The Road?’  Donn said fishing for the sense as his head swam trying to understand Bum.

     ‘Oh, ho.  You do know Jack then?’  Bum beamed.

     ‘I read ‘On The Road.” Donn said.

     He had read it out of curiosity in college where it had been a life style manual for a certain crowd.  He had detested the book.  It represented everything he despised.  Donn, then as now, wanted the good life, the high life.  He didn’t think hanging around with petty grifters and small time thieves in sleazy bars equated the good life.  Even if you camouflaged your sleaziness with intellectual pretense.

     ‘Great book, isn’t it?  I read ’em all.  That, the Dharma Bums, Desolation Angels, terrific stuff.  I just don’t know how he anticipated my life though.  Eerie, don’t you think?’

     ‘Is that how you got the name Dharma Bum?’

    ‘No.  I am Dharma Bum.  Jack wrote the book about me.

     ‘Didn’t Kerouac write it before you hit the road?’ Donn said unpolitically.

     ‘What the hell you talking about?’  Bum said glaring across the fire suspiciously at Donn.  ‘Didn’t I just say Jack wrote my life?’

     ‘My mistake.’  Donn said wryly, realizing that Bum had only just been beamed down from the saucer.

page 94.

     ‘Damn right it is, fella.’  Bum said in his best John Wayne style.  Then his face formed a reverie as he began talking.  The speech was one he had prepared for the inevitable Time or TV interviewer.  He thought they would catch up to him sooner or later to get his story.

     ‘Yes.’  He began in f0nd reminiscence.  ‘I must have crossed this great big beautiful land a hundred times or more.  God bless this crazy topsy-turvy unbelievable US of A.  Yes, from that fabled Golden Gate of old San Fran to the New York Island, from the tropical shores, actually sub-tropical, he,he, of Key West to the Mesabi iron range up on Lake Superior, I’ve loved it all.  My feet have led me to the tops of the highest mountains, and I mean literally, the tops, I’ve been above Cripple Creek, and down into the depths of amazing valleys, my feet have washed in gorge of the Grand Canyon.  In one day I’ve been to the top of Mt. Wilson and to the depths of Death Valley, the highest and lowest places in the lower Forty-Eight in one day.  I’ve stood with my feet in both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.  Now, what do you think of that?’

     He stopped with a big quizzical Will Rogers smile seemingly looking into Donn’s eyes but actually nearly oblivious of his existence.  Donn was fearful that this night might go on forever.  He cleared his throat loudly speaking piercingly to blow his way into Bum’s consciousness.

     ‘Why did you start doing this?  Why are you out here?’

     This was almost the question Bum had scripted for the Time Magazine interviewer.  He heard and shifted into second gear.

     ‘What am I doing out here?’  Bum said with a rueful shake of his head accompanied by several musing snarls.  ‘Well, I’ll tell you why I’m out here.  I’m a victim of capitalist oppression.’

page 95.

     ‘How’s that?’

     ‘How’s that?  Well, let me tell you how the system really works.  Or, doesn’t work.  Ya know, a guy goes to work for some jerk in good faith, promised that if things work out he’ll be taken care of.  He gives the best he’s got, which in my case was pretty damn good, puts in the best period of his life.  Then he makes the business big and successful for this jerk.  The more money you make for this jerk the more he starts reneging on the deal.  Then when he figures he’s got it made and doesn’t need you anymore- Bingo! you’re gone.  Oh yeah, I know all about capitalism.  Tell that to your readers.

     What a jerk the guy is.  If you ever run into him dump on him.  His name is Dewey Trueman.  I’m a Jew you know.’  Bum added with a significant arch to his eyebrows.

     A the mention of readers Donn thought that Bum somehow knew who he was, or had been, a music reviewer.  The mention of Dewey Trueman threw him off his heels.  He was totally mystified.

     ‘Dewey Trueman?’  Donn said.  ‘Where abouts in this great land of ours did this take place?’

     ‘Out on the coast.  Eugene, Oregon.’

     ‘What does your being a Jew have to do with it?’

     ‘Huh!  Anti-Semitism of course.  It’s always the Jew gets it in the neck.  Always been that way.  Need a scapegoat, get a Jew.  I should have known, I suppose.’

     ‘You say this guy Trueman promised you part of the business?’  Donn asked, his curiosity really aroused.

     ‘Yeah.  That’s right.’  Bum said ruefully.

    ‘So.  What?  You worked for him for five or six years then?’  Donn was familiar with Trueman and to some extent his store.

     ‘Well, it wasn’t quite that long.’

     ‘How long then?’

     ‘Well, let’s see.’  Bum began manipulating his fingers and drawing in the dirt.  ‘Maybe five or six months.’

     ‘Months?’  Donn said incredulously.

     And well he should have for Bum had created a verstion of the events that completely rewrote the facts.

     Bum’s real name was Norm Barsky.  He was from St. Louis.  he had been brought into Eugene to take possession of the business Dewey Trueman had built up.  A record store in Eugene that was very successful.  For the size of the city tremendously successful.  In a small pond the record store had been a big splash.  Trueman was a Hippie.  He therefore succeeded against the wishes of the town fathers.  A couple attempts had been made to assassinate him.  When the last attempt to kill him on the highway by bogus Hell’s Angels had failed the town fathers were at a loss of what to do.  At the same time they, or at least Harry Grabstein, realized that the store was a valuable money maker.  It should be preserved but put into righteous hands.  Grabstein undertook to resolve the matter.  He would appropriate or, in other words, steal the business.    

     So as to evade the appearance of being himself involved he called an acquaintance in St. Louis, Art Barsky.  Art’s son Norm, had just finished school at the University of Chicago, was married, new baby, and could use a good income.  Norm, wife and child were sent to Eugene to receive his inheritance.

page 97.

     It was not to be expected that Trueman would just hand over his business to Norm so a certain deception and ruse had to be practiced.  Norm was schooled by his father while refresher points would be supplied by Harry Grabstein.  The method was quite simple and well tried.  The only obstacle in the way could be the victim’s character.  That was the only variable that couldn’t be controlled.  As Grabstein thought Trueman a despicable Hippie with no character he perceived no problem in bringing him down.

     One may ask why these Jews thought themselves entitled to another man’s property.  The problem was not in the capitalist economic system as Bum sincerely thought but in the Jewish religious system and culture which he would have denied.  A quick survey of the three great crucial periods in Jewish history should provide the intellectual justification.

     Jewish history is a closed field, permitted only to those who have been properly vetted.  As the editor of the Cambridge History of Judaism puts it:  But as the study of Judaism is peculiarly open to emotive interests and unconscious influences which make it highly susceptible to hurtful misinterpretations, no effort to get rid of the blinkers of traditions and prejudices may be deemed superfluous.

    In other words if you don’t see it their way you have no right to be heard.  Nevertheless the truth must be pursued.  The objectivity of historical facts cannot be allowed to be skewed to the advantage of one party to the hurt of another.  Neither valid history or sociology can be approached in such a manner to obtain preconceived results.  Any conclusions are always subject to discussion.  Just as the Constitution of the United States decrees the separation of church and state it also decrees absolute freedom of expression  whether a subject is peculiarly open to emotive interests or unconscious influences or not.

page 98.

     Messianism is the backbone of the Jewish belief system.  The belief is that the natural order of things was overturned when Cain slew Abel.  All of history since then has been the promise of God to bring the Jews into their rightful place as arbiters of the nations thereby reversing the decision of history or, reality.  The redemption of Israel is the purpose of all ‘History.’  There have been three great periods of redemptive or messianic expectations.  On these pivots the Jewish character was formed.

     The first great period was from c. 188 BC to 135 AD.  The second centered around the messiahship of a man called Sabbatai Zevi in the years around 1640-1700 AD.  The third with the Revolution of the Messiah around the years 1913-28.  In all three the Jews were brutally disappointed.

     As the smaller and weaker portion of the greater society the Jews have always felt abused and suppressed, especially as they believe they are the bearers of the true god.  Thus when Israel is redeemed and the roles are reversed all the wealth of the world will belong to the Jews; and the gentiles will be their slaves.

     The initial confrontation was  begun between the Hellenes and Jews expanding into a war between the entire Greco-Roman world and the Jews.  Initially the Jews were successful against the Hellenes.  the Roman world proved too much for them.  In a series of tremendous wars from 66-70 AD when the Temple was destroyed through the amazing uprising in 116-18 to the final destruction of the Jewish state in the Bar Kochba rebellion in 135 AD, the Jews were all but exterminated.  In the hopes of ending the confrontation and destroying the locus of what, by then was the center of perpetual disturbances, Jerusalem was leveled while Jews were forbidden to enter the city. 

page 99.

     Thus in the wars which the Jews characterize as anti-Semitic persecution but which were actually a contest for the dominion of the Roman world, redemption for the Jews was postponed, while Rome was prostated.

     For approximately 1500 years the Jews longed for the appearance of the true Messiah, both Jesus and Bar Kochba having failed them.  After fifteen hundred years of various disasters culminating in the expulsion from Spain and the Cossack rebellion against Poland in 1648 a new Messiah, Sabbatai Zevi appeared in the Asia Minor governed by the Turks.  Sabbatai is the pivot of Jewish history.  Israel quivered in the expectation of deliverance.  As in the 116-18 uprising of the Roman period Europeans from the Pale to England were to be slaughtered.  True, the means were lacking but the will was there.  Once again the wealth of the world was to accrue to the Jews.

page 100.

    End of II-2.  Proceed to II-3 for the continuation.

     At this point the story consists of Part One:  Disco Donn Does Deep Elum and Part II, clips 1 and 2.