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Book VI

Our Lady Of The Blues

A Novel

The Shadow Knows

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Fighting his own battles far from San Diego another threat to Dewey’s wellbeing was going forward in the mind of Yehouda Yisraeli, Our Lady Of The Blues.

Many things had happened for Yisraeli in the five months the Teufelsdreck was overseas. When the ship left he had his porn business and the Faux Playboy Club. When it returned he had added two more sleazy bars- the Diamond Horseshoe and the Tropical Vista- as well as having laid the groundwork for his own record label- Michael Records.

Yehouda had no ear for popular music but his sidekick, Showbaby Zion did. Showbaby, who was another Jewish ‘expatriate’ from reality, had come west from Baltimore. On the way he dropped the name Irving Cohen in favor of Hoveve Zion. Hoveve was an alternate spelling of Choveve and from that his moniker was corrupted to Showbaby.

He was a follower, quite content to play Robin to Yisraeli’s Batman. Even though he was twice as intelligent as Yehouda and had all the ideas he couldn’t function without a leader.

It was he who suggested Yisraeli pick up the Diamond Horseshoe as a lead in to the record business. The Horseshoe was northwest of Escondido in an unincorporated area. It was one of those nondescript bars offering exotic dancers backed by a hot piano player. In those far off days before Playboy, Hustler, the Sexual Revolution and the abolition of censorship had freed the base desires of man from all restrictions of expression the Horseshoe was a barely licit business catering to only the crudest elements of society.

The girls were not allowed to dance nude or to engage in the grossest ‘dance’ steps. They had to wear bottoms if only a G-string and pasties over their nipples. Most preferred long tassels dangling from the pasties.

These slightly less than topless bars were the successors of burlesque. By 1958 the longstanding traditions of burlesque had been banished from society. If the last burlesque house had not yet been closed its demise was only a few months away. American had convinced itself that vice could be abolished by an act of will. All the Red Light districts in the country had been abolished at the turn of the decade. California’s most famous, the Barbary Coast of San Francisco, had been closed at that time. The well meaning but not very bright moralists who demanded the closure of these districts had no idea that they were merely transforming American society into a pit of immorality by dispersing these illicit areas throughout the population.

In San Francisco the resident of the Barbary Coast merely moved a few blocks west up to lower Broadway and recreated the center of Sin City in that area. Subsequently the whole of San Francisco has been corrupted.

Hank Williams commemorated the change in his song about how the displaced whores who still remained whores destroyed the decent girls when they brought their illicit mores to decent neighborhoods when they were expelled from the Red Light districts.

Thus we allow well meaning but stupid reformers to corrupt our lives in the name of decency. The Horseshoe was one of many clubs that opened in formerly clean areas. Men like Yisraeli who bore a grudge against society were thus given means to undermine the society they hated.

For Showbaby the main attraction of the Horseshoe was a Black pianist and singer name William Morris. Zion had great hopes for the pianist but they were not to be realized as the player had been shorn of all will and hope. Young, too, only twenty-eight.

Forced to turn elsewhere for talent for their fledgling label Showbaby was open minded enough to see the potential of the developing Surf Music groups. At the time Surfboarding was brand new in California. The excitement of the pastime gripped the imaginations of White youth. Surfers were a wild party loving group. They wanted something new and different in music. Thus arose the style known as Surf Guitar. Dick Dale and the Deltones would emerge as the premier Surf group. Confined mainly to the Southland they were not especially well known outside Surf circles.

Showbaby latched onto a group known as Con Crete and the Rebars. They were never to become that famous but they had a following and sold enough records in the Southland to form the basis of Yisraeli’s small but lucrative label.

For Yisraeli the label was merely another means to undermine society. A man of some intellectual reach he realized the limitations of male porn to corrupt general morality. The clubs were effective solvents also but their appeal was limited to an audience that was in search of such entertainment hence already corrupt.

Yehouda wanted something that would invade the entire space of his victims. Their homes, their cars, their minds, the very air they breathed. Records such as the salacious ‘Baby, Let Me Bang Your Box and Hank Ballard’s ‘Work With Me Annie’ and its sequel ‘Annie Had A Baby’ showed him the way to corrupt the very mind of the world. The airwaves could used in a corrosive way.

‘Baby, Let Me Bang Your Box’ with its very suggestive title devolved into a clever denouement in which ‘Box’ was not the woman’s pudenda but her piano stayed within permissible lines but still got the corrosive point in. The singer had essentially said over the radio ‘Baby, I want to fuck you’ which everyone got but still stayed within barely acceptable limits. The same was true of ‘Work With Me Annie’ which described the sexual act also in ambiguous terms.

But the piece de resistance for Yisraeli would be the tune ‘My Boy Lollipop.’ Yehouda had an oral fixation. ‘My Boy Lollipop’ for all of us not too dumb to see through its obvious meaning was a story of fellatio. Even the chorus of ‘lol, lol, lollipop, lol, lol was the very simulation of the tongue movements of the act. And the Girl Group got away with singing it to prepubescent girls over the radio. Of course, the girls were Black to further camouflage objections.

At the same time there was a great horror of oral sex which inexplicably dissolved to become the accepted norm in a very few short years. Perhaps Lenny Bruce helped. ‘My Boy Lolllipop’ probably had its share in dissolving the horror. The horror was so great at the time that the most celebrated criminal case of the era involved Caryl Chessman who had been given the death sentence for forcing women to suck him off while on dates. At the time murderers were walking after serving a mere two or three years so the severity of Chessman’s death sentence demonstrates the detestation in which oral sex was held.

Yisraeli along with Lenny Bruce and other malcontents thus wanted to convert the US into a nation of cocksuckers. Suffice it to say, they succeeded. Thus, while his sidekick, Zion, was trying to produce successful records Yisraeli would seek out the most subversive lyrics.

In the name of social justice he would also seek to promote Black acts. While appearing benevolent he was really trying to stick it to the goyim by making them do what they didn’t want to do. Besides in racist America Blacks were indulged by letting them get away with indecencies that Whites weren’t. No White artist could possibly have gotten away with a recording called ‘Baby, Let Me Bang Your Box’ but nobody was going to call a Black on it. Thus, while appearing to be the progressive agent of change Yisraeli indulged his most criminal proclivities. The role of the Negro in the record business was very much that of the hope of White entrepreneurs to leap frog over the backs of Blacks to fortune.

There was a certain type of beaten down White man whose only hope was to exploit someone more beaten down than he. Thus, his natural prey was the Negro. White women loved to sleep with Negroes because it was the ultimate in sinning. It transgressed the ultimate taboo.

White people thought Blacks were mysterious, inexplicable, living in a mysterious uninhibited primitive consciousness that was the ultimate in freedom. The White entrepreneurs who were as denied and repressed as the Blacks they exploited found excitement in robbing these people who while taboo like themselves were yet so free to express themselves.

Yisraeli was of this White school. He both hated and loved the Black man but mostly he despised him. In his own way William Morris exemplified the Black man to Yisraeli. He was immensely talented yet so weak that he drowned himself in liquor. He thus made himself despicable to Yisraeli’s immense satisfaction. Yehouda was both disappointed and pleased that Morris failed him.

Then too, the record industry was inherently dishonest. The record labels cheated the artists, stole from songwriters and generally refused to disburse any money they didn’t have to. Blacks thought they were singled out but this was not true; the labels cheated everyone. They viewed the artist as a resource for exploitation, something like a gold mine, to get the maximum return. You didn’t share the revenues with the gold mine hence the artists were treated like dirt.

The labels believed that they did all the work from production to distribution to promotion. The artist provided nothing but the inspiration which had cost him nothing. They could see no reason why he should be paid. If he wanted to make money then as they had made him famous for nothing he could cash in on his celebrity by getting up on the stage and shaking it around. They really wanted a cut of the artists performance money too but they couldn’t figure out how to get it. Oh well, the performances were free publicity for their records.

This aspect of being able to cheat and steal was very appealing to Yisraeli’s damaged psyche. No artist was ever to get a dime in royalties out of Our Lady Of The Blues.

On this particular night Yehouda and Showbaby were sitting around the Horseshoe sipping their ginger ales, yes, ginger ales, both men were too astute to become drunks, talking over prospects when it occurred to Yisraeli that Trueman should be coming back soon. This was in late February 1958 just before the payroll bomb burst on the Teufelsdreck.

‘He’ll be back soon.’ Yisraeli said moodily out of the blue.

‘Who?’ Zion said reflectively tossing peanuts in his mouth.

‘Who else? Dewey Trueman.’ Was Yisraeli’s moody reply.

‘Oh, yeah. Him.’ Zion said with just a hint of disgust.

‘I don’t know why you let that guy bother you so much. Try to think about business.’

‘He killed my son.’

‘Umm. I forgot.’ Zion said who, as many times as he had asked, could never get a satisfactory answer as to how Trueman had killed Michael.

‘Well, I haven’t. That sort of thing has got to be punished.’ Yisraeli growled as he got up to make a toilet run.

‘The past is the past.’ Zion thought to himself as Yehouda walked away. The he raised his eyes as the door opened and a man pushed through. A big fellow. Six-four with the girth of a two hundred eighty pounder. Taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the sleazy bar the man saw William Morris at the piano, a slatternly white woman doing some ‘sensuous’ gyrations on the stage above the bartender and Zion sitting on a stool at the round of the bar.

‘Busy tonight.’ He jeered to himself.

Bert Torbric was a meeter and greeter. He operated on the principle that the more people you knew the better the chances of latching onto something good. He had had one such success several years previously, as he told it, when he had been at a session with a couple composers. On that evening they had come up with ‘Melancholy Baby.’ Torbric had made a couple unwanted but accepted phrasing suggestions for which he demanded and received one third credit, although unacknowledged on the records, hence, even though his name didn’t appear, he considered himself a composer.

That was the extent of Torbric’s talent, however, never forgetting that success he was always on the alert for an opportunity in the music biz.

As his eyes focused he recognized Showbaby Zion sitting alone on his stool. Sitting down beside him he joked: Showbaby! Out slumming?

Showbaby laughed good naturedly. All the bar habitues humored each other.

‘This place is too good for slumming, I can show you places Bert. What’s a high society type like you doing down here?’

‘Oh, you know. I was in the neighborhood.’

Bert ordered a double Jack Daniels on the rocks and was swapping comments on the crusty old bird swinging her tassels in figure eights when a figure with the faint odor of the toilet swooped up ghostlike and silently slid onto the stool beside Torbric.

‘Mr. Show.’ He said around Torbric.

‘Hello, Yehouda.’ Showbaby said, getting the drift. ‘By the way, this is a guy I know- Bert Torbric.’ His introduction and tone indicated Bert wasn’t to be taken seriously.

But, Yehouda Yisraeli was a crafty guy who always had his eyes out for the main chance. As he put it: ‘You never know when a guy might turn up useful.’ Still, he noted Showbaby’s opinion.

He gave Bert a warmer hello then the introduction warranted. As it was, both Showbaby and Yehouda were right but for different reasons. Yehouda, who always ferreted out as much information about an acquaintance as he could threw out a polite: ‘How’s the wife and kids?’

Jackpot!

Bet didn’t wear the ring but he answered: ‘Great. Just great. You know, my oldest son just got out of boot camp. I’m pretty darn proud of him. That kid’s going to have a great career in the Navy.

‘Just out of boot camp? You don’t say.’

‘Yeh. We aren’t losing him though; his ship is based down in San Diego so he’ll be home at least on most weekends.’

‘What did he get, one of those big carriers?’ Asked Yehouda who knew more about the ships of the fleet than the Secretary of the Navy.

No, he got one of the smaller ones, which is OK, they’re easier on a kid than the big ones, a Destroyer Escort, DE 666, the USS Teufelsdreck. Strange name.’

Yehouda’s lip froze to his glass, his color rose, his temples throbbed as he recognized opportunity. ‘Did you say the USS Teufelsdreck?’

‘Yeh, yeh. My boy’ll be home for weekends.’

‘Well then, so will mine.’ Yehouda said to himself in a sarcastic undertone. ‘The lord has delivered my enemy unto me and I will smite him hip and thigh.’

‘You didn’t ask me about my son.’ He interrupted Bert who was launching into his ‘Melancholy Baby’ story.

‘…had a hand…you have a son? How is he?’

‘He’s dead.’ Yisraeli blurted out for dramatic effect but came across as a macabre comic. ‘I had a son, past tense, I no longer do. He was murdered by a pervert.’

‘You don’t say. Sliced him up; shot him?’

‘No, worse than that. He was forced off the road at high speed. It was horrible. His head was buried up the shoulders in the mud of the ditch.;

‘Oh, horrible.’

‘Yes. He was the only son I had.’

‘Well, his killer is probably rotting in jail now.’

‘No. It was a deserted road and the lousy cops said there wasn’t enough evidence to bring the son-of-a-bitch to justice but I know.

‘You know what?’

‘You mean who. It was this dirty little pervert by the name of Dewey Trueman.’

‘You mean he was a pervert because he ran your son off the road?’

‘Oh, no, no. No! This guy is bad seed all the way. Insanity has been in his family for generations. I’m sure. His old man is rotting in the Michigan hospital for the criminally insane at this very moment. I helped put him there. Everybody knew Trueman was going to do something we just didn’t know what or when. Kids from broken homes are all like that anyway. They’re just bombs ticking away. You will hardly believe how depraved he is. He was caught in the act of giving a row of guys blow jobs outside a roller skating rink.’

Bert Torbric was horrified as he well should have been.

‘Umm, a monster and a pervert at the same time. He should be put away, in an insane asylum, like his father. I agree with you that stuff is hereditary.’

‘Yes. He should be put away.’ Yisraeli said seizing on the idea. Knowing his own mental anguish it would, the thought, be a great balm to his emotions if he could know that Trueman was serving his time as a surrogate.

‘You won’t believe this Bert.’ Yisraeli said in his most heartfelt tone. ‘But, he’s not only in San Diego but your son will be contaminated by serving on the same ship he’s on.’

‘You can’t…the Teufelsdreck?…mean that!’

‘I can and I do. There must be some way you could help me punish him and save your son from contamination at the same time, isn’t there?’

‘Gee, I don’t know what I could do…wait a minute…maybe there is something.’

‘What?’ Yisraeli’s eyes glistened with hope.

‘Well, a fellow I went to school with, Gerry Godwin, got a Ph.D in psychiatry. He’s got the right job. Asylum for the criminally insane at Atascadero…’

‘Oh, yes.’ The idea took Yisraeli’s breath away. It would be better than killing Trueman. He knew his own mental turmoil, felt his anguish every minute of every day, there might be considerable balm if he could put Dewey away in an insane asylum. Just as Yisraeli was trapped in his own blighted mind and couldn’t get out, Trueman would be trapped in an insane asylum with dangerous maniacs unable to get out. It would be a living hell…and…Yisraeli would know exactly where Trueman was every minute of every day and be able to dwell on it. It was too perfect.

‘…but, even if you got him in, he would be AWOL and the Navy would just come and get him out.’

‘That’s not necessarily so. Nobody need know where he is except for us. He gets put in under a different name, maybe if he did come visit my family…’ Bert said, projecting a scenario, ‘but, he left, say on Saturday, never returned and we haven’t seen him since. He’s just AWOL. Who could ever find him? They wouldn’t know where to look.’

‘Ohhh, yeah. Yes. That would be a perfect crime.’

‘Crime? I thought you said he deserved it.’

‘That’s what I meant, the punishment would perfectly fit his crime. Can I count on you to do that?’ Yisraeli asked eagerly.

Up to this point Bert Torbric had just been talking. He now realized how serious Yisraeli was. If there is money in it he thought, I’ve got a windfall worth more than ‘Melancholy Baby, ever was.

‘Sure. It could be done, but there’s expenses involved, you know. I can’t spend my own money for your benefit.

‘It would be for your son’s benefit too. Well, listen.’ Yisraeli said trying to first get something for nothing. ‘I’m starting a record company. Showbaby will be with me and I could use a guy knowledgeable in music like you. There might be a good paying job in it for a guy like you.’

‘Might be a job, but the expenses are certain, Yehuda. I might be interested in helping you direct this record company that you might start but I would have to cover my expenses.’

‘How much do you think your expenses would be?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Torbric said studying Yisraeli’s potential. ‘I would think two thousand dollars.’

‘Two thousand dollars? What would you have to do other than drive up to Atascadero and back?’

‘Say! Listen, Yehouda, I got the contact, I got to ask for a big favor, maybe it’s a big favor, I don’t know. Besides it takes planning for Chrissakes. I can’t just collar this bozo, throw him in a car and take him up there. That’s kidnapping. He’s gotta volunteer. I gotta involve my son. Rome ain’t built in a day.’

‘Uh, huh, well, you know, I’m starting this record company on a shoestring. How about a thousand?’

‘No. I’ll need a thousand for me and five hundred for my boy.’

‘Oh geez.’ Yisraeli said, rocking back and forth on his stool in agony. ‘You’ve got a point. I don’t say you don’t have a point. But gosh, how about twelve-fifty. I don’t know how I can come up with more than that. I don’t even know how I can come up with that much.’

Tory Torbric wasn’t going to get anything anyway so Bert assented. Twelve hundred fifty dollars to put a man in an asylum for the criminally insane for life. What a bargain.

The men shook hands as Bert studied Yisraeli in an effort to determine if he was for real. Ascertaining that he was he sat back deciding to await the issue.

Yisraeli shortly after excused himself to drive home in an exaltation of pleasure to work out the details for Trueman’s incarceration.   He would be there on the pier when the Teufelsdreck was welcomed back to the States by the dependents.

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A Novel

Our Lady Of The Blues

Book VII

The Heart Of The Matter

by

R.E. Prindle

Clip 15 and End.

     The two made a terrific team during the turbulent sixties and the degenerate seventies.  Guy was known as a hanging judge while having a somewhat disreputable style.  Meggy balanced that off magnificently with her seeming rectitude.  Either alone might have been a bit too much  but together they were a terrific combination.  Many women having such relationships with judges adopt the appearance of a kept woman, I almost said prostitute, while having a number of psychologically dependent young women attached to them.

     Meggy had a cadre of loyal young women to scout and research any rumors but any rumors about her and Guy were definitely false.  Carrying her psychic scars from her accident Meggy inadvertantly aided and abetted Judge Pascal’s social hatreds which were directed against the Anglos.

     Notwithstanding Top Cop Hoover’s protestations to the contrary the Mafia and organized crime did exist and right there in theValley.  Whatever motives the Top Cop had for denial, every schoolboy understood the influence of the Mafia.  During WWII when the Mafiosi had refused to serve this ‘great country’ those connected had all the gasoline and restricted commodities they wanted while law abiding Anglos and others dutifully went without.  Naturally the wiseguys considered themselves ‘smart’ while others were stupid.  Today, at least, they have the self-respect and decency to gloat over their success rather than resort to hypocrisy as the Anglos do.

page 1961.

     Their wartime successes made them bold too.  When the government went to the incarcerated criminal, Lucky Luciano, to ask his help on the NY waterfront from prison, mind you, to facilitate shipping from the Mob controlled docks of the East, Italians knew they had it aced.  With the end of the war they issued forth from their Little Italies in force.  The Mafia divided the country into zones just like the post office divided it into area codes.

     I don’t know if they gave the zones numbers but the Pasquales got the Valley from below Flint to Bay City.  It was like there were two different governments non-Italians had to deal with.  You had the legally constituted authorities on the one hand and the illegal Mafia on the other.  One could crush you legally while the other could break your legs with impunity.  Officer De Cicco of the VPD might not be interested in pursuing Sicilian buddies while Officer Walker knew better than to.

     These were the days of Jimmy Hoffa and the Teamsters who were adjuncts of the Mafia and Sam Giancana and the Chicago Outfit.  For some reason reason Northern and Western Michigan seemed to be Chicago territory rather than Detroit’s.

     These guys were arrogant.  When they were in town you got out of their way.  Hoffa and the Mob used various locales in the Upper Peninsula as hideouts for hot lamisters.  When they were in town life was uncomfortable for the locals.  More than uncomfortable, unpleasant, it was like sewage that you daren’t clean up had infested the town.  Top Cop Hoover boasted that he gunned down John Dillinger while Al Capone ran Chicago but I would rather sit down to dinner with a John Dillinger than share the same public john with Al Capone.  Apparently a Top Cop felt differently.

page 1962.

     The Pasquale clan was connected with the Giancana led Mob of Chicago.  Jimmy Hoffa was unpleasant enough but Sam Giancana was terrifying.  In dark glasses and pulled down hat with that contemptuous smile on his lips he exuded evil from the seventh level up.  In the years after 1958 he was coming into his own.  With the rise of the son of the old mobster Joe Kennedy Sam Giancana thought he was to have a lifeline to heaven.  Joe Kennedy played Sam just right to get his son Jack elected president.  It seems fairly clear at this point that Sam spents lots of plundered money on Jack while stuffing Illinois ballot boxes to swing the election to JFK.

     After his election in the year of Kennedy’s victory Judge Guy himself had been introduced to the Mafia chieftain.  Sam knew how to treat a paisano on the Bench.  He regaled Guy with the tales of how he fled the Federales through the brambles and woods of Appalachin in 1957 when ‘proof’ of organized crime was made evident to everyone except J. Edgar.

     Sam, who had been raised on the concrete of Chicago laughingly asked Guy if he knew that wet leaves were slippery on a downslope.  In his mad flight from the cops Sam hadn’t taken that into account having fallen on his ass a couple times as he ran.  He still got away but he couldn’t get over how slippery wet leaves were.

     He confided the inside story to Guy about how the Chicago Mob got Jack Kennedy elected and the terrible doublecross when Bobby Kennedy turned on the Outfit.  But, he said, the Outfit still had an in with Dick Nixon so that the Sicilians were going to be in with the In Crowd; hang in there.  And then after that there was Ronnie Reagan.

     Guy had been flattered to get the inside scoop directly from one end of the horse or the other.  He had his own sources that indicated the growing power of Sicily through crime.  He turned the screws on Anglos brought up before him.

     First the Mob brought the dope into the Valley, then sold it to the Anglos;  then the cops busted the Anglos for possession of a joint sending them up before the hanger, Judge Pascal.

     The judge with Meggy’s approval gave Draconian sentences of five, ten and even fifteen years in the penitentiary, the Big House, for the possession of one joint.  The Penitentiary!  Not even the county farm, the Big House.  True, marijuana was illegal but to criminalize a whole generation and more for the uncontrollable situation was unconscionable.  It wasn’t like the Mafia wasn’t importing heroin and whatever by the ton while escaping prison sentences altogether.

     It wasn’t like the Pasquale clan wasn’t the biggest importer of grass into theValley.  They were.  But Judge Guy, that impartial soul, was in a position to punish or favor.  He chose to favor his Pasquales while taking vengeance for Giangiacomo’s humiliation on the Anglos.  Having inside information he could in most cases warn his family.  If arrested when they came before him, the legal fiction of the name Pascal versus Pasquale was maintained to appear impartial.  He found some technicality to get them off.

     Marijuana was profitable but when cocaine came in Judge Pascal, as well as many another judge and cop, improved his standard of living materially.  People wondered how he could manage so well on his salary.  ‘Private investments.’  Judge Guy explained.  ‘Private investments.’

     Meggy Malone saw all but she closed her eyes to Judge Guy’s peccadilloes so long as he let her have hers.   These were changing tumultuous times on the personal level as well as the social.  The feminism Meggy ingested in Mrs. Hicks’ class became institutionalized in the years following the publication of Betty Friedan’s ‘Feminine Mystique’ in 1964.  Meggy saw herself as the Fulfilled Woman.  The notion of the Matriarchy which came to dominate the sexual theory of the times gave a focus to Meggy’s notion of men.  She had always intimidated the men in her life but after her accident she dominated them to the point of emasculation.  Her feminism all but made them impotent in her presence.

     This dovetailed nicely with her relationship with the Black miscreants brought up before Judge Pascal.  They farmed the Blacks just like they had segregated them and look out for its physical manifestations.

page 1965.

     The Whites had successfully kept the Blacks on the East Side.  Melville had remained White.  The Whites had come up with all kinds of maneuvers to keep schools segregated.  Rightly so in my opinion but the Urban Aristocracy thought differently.  Meggy was now an important member of the Urban Aristocracy.

     Thwarted in their aims to mingle the races the Aristocracy now sat down to come up with the insane plan of busing  Black students to White schools and White students to Black schools.  If  ‘bigoted’  Whites thought they could thwart the desires of the Aristocracy they were wrong.  Democracy be damned.  No vote was taken but now long lines of buses traveled from the East Side loaded with Negroes to attend Melville regardless of what anyone thought, White or Black.

     As usual the Aristocracy paid no attention to the evolution of Black psychology.  It was no longer 1958 when they began the busing.  Black ball players had been shaking their roots in the face of White America for a decade and nothing happened.  The Honkies sat respectfully and sucked it all in.

     LA had gone up in ’65 and nothing happened.  The Steppin Fetchets of the thirties and forties had become more militant.  They were more angry.  By the time of busing they were seething.  These militant angry young Black men were turned loose in high school hallways of White America while White Americans were told they would go to jail if they offered the least defense of their rights.

     Violence escalated in the halls.  Weapons developed from knives and spring blackjacks to pistols, machine pistols, machine guns and bombs.  The Urban Aristocracy just shook their heads over kids nowadays.  The only way to stop the violence, they said, was to eliminate any vestige of liberty, a total lock down of the Whites.  The schools must be run as concentration camps.  By eliminating freedom for Whites you restored order.  Anyone who read the Protocols of Zion will recognize the game plan.  Thus spake the Greatest Generation, the men who had fought the arch demon, Hitler,  to make the world free.  Free?  They only made it over  into the image of Hitler’s concentration camps.

page 1966.

     You’d better go along if you want to get along was their motto.

     On her feminist side Meggy exaggerated the integrity of women.  Like all feminists she believed that women could do no wrong, they were always in the right.  Since she used her influence and power to crush the manhood out of any men she knew she could only despise them for being effete.  Reminiscent of the young sailors aboard the Teufelsdreck who thought that college men and officers were too mentally developed to be good sex partners Meggy thought that only men with no attainments had real sexual drive.  Driven by her male desire which she had inadvertantly clothed with a ‘low class’ image she could only find sexual release in what she considered the lowest of humanity.  At this time she would have slept with Dewey Trueman, her archetype of low class had he been there and willing.

     Sex is where Meggy went wrong.  Judge Guy over the years had watched her anxiously from the bench.  Pascal was a very jealous man.  If Meggy was to give it to anyone he had better be first in line or there would be hell to pay.  Judge Guy hadn’t wrestled with his X chromosome and come up triumphant yet.  Meggy was not so discreet that her sexual activites escaped the watchful eye of the Sicilian judge.

page 1967.

     There was only one bike club in the Valley.  The Valley Varmints.  As they are quite primitive fellows in their social relationships that directness appealed to Meggy.  Low class, violent and sexually charged.  Meggy went for the gold.  She insinuated herself into the club as a part time mama.  She would spend a weekend with her boys from time to time.

     She had gained her introduction through her job when one of Dalton Dagger’s cousins had been brought up on dope charges.  The evidence had conveniently disappeared from police storage.  Some said the cops sold it but Meggy had discreetly let it be known that she had been responsible.  Devon Dagger had taken it from there.

     Judge Guy Pascal quietly raised his eyebrows.

     A woman of Meggy’s importance was eminently useful so the club treated her as she liked excusing her the worst abuses with which bikers treat their women.

     Meggy should have known that secrecy is impossible in our society.  What secrets you don’t have people will invent for crying out loud.  The eyes of envy soon ferret out all secrets.  After all the bikers had to get their dope through the Pasquales.  How sharp did Meggy have to be to think of that?

     It was never clear that Judge Guy Pascal ordered the raid that precipitated Meggy’s humiliation but it is certain Meggy’s doings came to his attention.  Guy Pascal had made passes at the ‘fast Mick broad’ which she had rebuffed with offended purity.  Nothing offends a man’s amour propre more, especially a powerful self-important man like Judge Guy Pascal.  More especially when his outrage was created by the excesses of Meggy’s doing.

     When word reached him of Meggy’s proclivities he was not only insanely jealous but shocked while at the same time being disgusted and pleased.

     The raid came as a complete surprise to Meggy who was usually apprised of everything.  Sometimes things even Judge Guy didn’t know.

      When the cops burst into the biker house they found Meggy naked on the floor surrounded by bikers waiting their turn while Fat Tony Frankenheimer was pumping oil from her well at 78 RPMs.

     She didn’t know, nobody could have guessed, but this was the result of ‘summoning’ Dewey Trueman to her bedside twenty years earlier.

     Meggy was a justified sinner.  It was impossible to besmear her own notion of her purity.  The mind is a strange thing.  Meggy did not ‘believe’ astrology but like the rest of us she read the newspaper column regularly and sometimes bought the Virgo booklets at the grocery store check out stands.  For Meggy was a Virgo, the Virgin.  Now, in the Olympian Zodiac Virgo is ruled by Demeter the mother of terrestrial growth.  Her daughter is Persephone the wife of Hades and the symbol of the virgin growth of Spring.

page 1969.

     Meggy had studied her Greek mythology in the feminine branch of Mrs. Hicks’ instruction.  With the girls Mrs. Hicks had paid special attention to the goddess myths.  The most important of all women being that of Hera and her ability to restore her virginity.  Meggy couldn’t have articulated it but she had put together the meaningof Virgo-Demeter and Aqarius-Hera.   Thus no matter her sexual adventures she always remained a virgin in mind and hence in appearance and attitude.

     Given her position in the courts her embarrassment never reached the papers but because the records showed the cops bagged a ton of amphetamines, cocaine and marijuana Judge Guy Pascal thought it wise for Meggy to resign her position in his court.

     It is true that the bikers insisted that the house was clean, which in fact it was, but when the representatives of the law say they bagged the dope on the premises who’s going to believe a bunch of greasy bikers?  It was a good joke but the bikers weren’t the ones laughing.

     Just as Meggy was always a virgin she didn’t need any proof to know that Judge Pascal was behind the whole raid.   Vengeance, you know, the Lord…people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.  Meggy’s people believed Meggy’s protestations of innocence.  Judge Guy should have kept his in his pants too; he had messed with the wrong party.

     Meggy Malone knew some secrets of her own while she knew people who continued to think very well of her on the force and in the DAs office.  Those guys always know more than they’re telling too.

page 1970.

     A shipment of cocaine to Rocco’s Pizza Parlor was intercepted at the back door.  Rocco’s was a distribution front for the Pasquales so the whole clan was now exposed as the city’s premier dope dealers.  Documents found their way into the hands of the police and DA as well as the Valley news which clearly implicated the austere hanging judge, Guy Pascal.  It was now ‘discovered’ that Guy Pascal was really Guido Pasquale.

     Several of the Pasquales found their way to the State pen while the Judge who was able to evade conviction left town to begin a new legal career for the Outfit in Chitown.

     Satisfied that she was avenged Meggy followed on his heels out of town unable to bear the wagging tongues of gossips.

     Meggy’s first move was down to ‘Bama.  But those Southern Whites have no love for Northern carpetbaggers.  Meggy’s advocacy of Blacks did little to endear herself down in Dixie.  She found actual contact with the race less pleasant than her long distance affection for them.  Unable to live with the Whites with her attitude but unable to move in with the Blacks Meggy had no choice but to move on.

     Her next choice was Bozeman, Montana.  This was not her final destination.  After a couple years she left for Boise.  She didn’t like life in the desert.  She heard the hills calling so she packed her bags again for her final destination, Coeur D’Alene.

     She had at last outrun the rumors but time had taken its toll on Meggy’s psyche.  Her troubled mind drove her in predictable directions.

page 1971.

     The demon who governed her dreams changed his character.  He became a real Rider On The Storm.  Her dream changed so that she rode on a bad motorcycle behind the devil in colors.  They were racing down a long bowling alley at ninety miles an hour toward eight foot chrome plated steel pylons shaped as penises which formed the ten pins.  Meggy with her arms tightly around the devil’s neck flapped in the breeze behind him to the cracking of bones broken so long ago on that icy Motown street.

     She never hit the pins but the very notion of sleep became such a terror to her that she could no longer go to bed.  She sat up night after night recalling herself from dozes lest she dream that terrible dream.

     It was then that she began to seek some form of penance.

     Penance for what what she wasn’t concious of but her subconscious knew and showed her the path.  She began to search for some hillbilly beau with whom to form an alliance.  Her path happened to cross that of Dart Craddock.

     When Dart had been sent to the brig at the beginning of  ’58 in Guam he accepted his fate with resignation.  He received his discharge in 1959 at which time he returned to Northern Idaho.  Dart was really a raw mannered guy.  In the environment of the Navy where everyone came from the other half some really raw manners passed unnoticed in the general milieu.  Dart wasn’t really raw in the sense of basal crudity but he come from mining stock which had fought the wars of the hard rock miners around the turn of the century.

     As noted earlier his grandpop had been with Big Bill Haywood and the Western Federation of Miners.  I suppose Big Bill is pretty much forgotten now except with specialists but his autobiography is worth reading.  Coeur D’ Alene had been a terrific battleground where the hard rock miners of the WFM put up a stout fight.  The memories of those days still lived on in the Idaho hills.  The hard feelings still existed.

page 1972.

     When Big Bill Haywood had been run out of the WFM he became part of the Industrial Workers Of The World.  Dart’s grandpop had followed Bill into the IWW.  The biggest battle of all Wobbly battles had been fought in Spokane a few miles to the West.  Then the battles raged down the coast until grandpop had gotten the IWW branded on his lower cheek down in San Diego.

     Dart still carried the chip on his shoulder from that the same as he had in San Diego.  As Meggy’s subconscious adjusted her conscious mind to her new perspective Dart Craddock became exceedingly attractive to her.  Especially when she learned that he lived out of town on a mountain hillside in what was close enough to a hillbilly shack to suit her psychic needs.

     Dart was already a two time loser; he didn’t see the need to take a third hitch.  Meggy thought it over a little and decided to humble herself by showing up on Dart’s porch with her suitcases in hand.  She set the suitcases down to look imploringly in his eyes.  Dart gave her a hard serious look for a few mintues then opened the door to admit her while he picked up the suitcases and placed them inside.  Meggy had found a home.

     She became a real mountain mama, bought herself some combat boots, a couple Ma Kettle looking outfits for the winter and Daisy Mae cutoffs for the summer and settled down in her own personal little Dogpatch.

     The life was good for her too.  Dart thought he’d acquired a real lady.  He didn’t know about Meggy’s biker days while she projected eternal chastity of sorts.  Dart was a big fellow by this time.  His six-four frame having filled out to two hundred sixty pounds.  This was the kind of bull Meggy’s male need wanted.  She was more than happy with her hillbilly beau.  Thus it seems to be true that there is a boy for every girl and a girl for every boy.  Sometimes the way to each other is a little roundabout, that’s all.

     As she settled into this hillbilly existence as penance, over the months much of her guilt was allayed so that her dreams became manageable.  She could sleep once again.

     She and Dart went to town on a Saturday night in his old beat up pick up truck; the kind she wouldn’t have gotten into back in the old days.  She sat as proudly beside him as though he were driving a Mercedes-Benz.  As they drove back of an early Sunday morning after a night in the honky-tonks the lights of Dart’s truck as they turned the corner shown on the street sight that announced:

TOBACCO ROAD.

The Man Who Had Life Made At Twenty

     Dewey’s caustic treatment of Meggy Malone in the hospital confrontation had grievously offended LeBaron Briscoe.  It was inconceivable to him that someone who,  from his point of view, had barely been tolerated in his own group should even attempt to defend himself before a girl of the stature of Meggy Malone.  He should have taken whatever abuse she offered him.

page 1974

     Briscoe was familiar with the Hirsh side of the details of the situation in kindergarten and second grade.  Nearly everyone involved had given the details to each member of the eating club in their campaign to discredit Dewey before his fellows.  Briscoe wouldn’t have excused Dewey if he thought he had been wronged back then which he didn’t.

     Meggy was Meggy and Dewey was Dewey.  She had value and he had none.  Briscoe had even gratuitously clued Dewey into McDonald’s and Dewey hadn’t even enough sense to grasp it.  There was no way a guy like that could insult Meggy Malone and get away with it.

     Briscoe had called Buzz Barrett to lament in shocked tones how Dewey had treated Meggy.  Buzz had been one of the members of Dewey’s eating club as well as Briscoe and Denny Demwitter.

     Because of the kindergarten and second grade incidents involving Dewey in which Meggy participated Hirsh/Yisraeli had determined to destroy Dewey.  The registration of Dewey at Melville Trade and the attempted expulsion from Mrs. Hicks’ class are an indication of the extremes which Hirsh was willing to employ.

     When Dewey established himself as a social presence in the eleventh grade with his eating club Hirsh had at first scoffed.  By the end of the eleventh grade however the eating club was challenging Michael Hirsh’s circle for preeminence.  Something would have to be done in twelfth grade.

page 1975.

     Various attempts were made to discredit Dewey but he survived them all.

     Then Hirsh got Michael’s friends to badmouth Dewey relating to the incident in second grade in which they depicted Dewey as a coward who timidly obeyed orders.  Dewey’s group listened but between groups of boys they refused to act lest they appear to be doing other boy’s bidding.

     Then Hirsh got Meggy to work using LeBaron Briscoe, who worshipped her, as a lever.  With only six other members in the club of which half were loyal to Dewey she had scant success obtaining only the votes of Briscoe and Buzz Barrett.

     As Dewey was searching for three new members to round the group out to ten, Hirsh determined to undermine the club by getting members of his own choosing.

     Dewey had known better than to include hs secret arch enemy and neighbor Ward Sonderman in his club.  At Hirsh’s instigation Sonderman formed a city league touch football team which included every member of the eating club including Dewey.  Thus by December  Sonderman had been selected bringing in a tenth member selected by Hirsh while Dewey brought in the ninth member.

     Hirsh, Meggy and the others now had enough latitude but the year was too far advanced for Dewey’s expulsion to mean anything so as graduation neared the club just fell into desuetude.  Dewey was spared the humiliation of being expelled from his own club.

page 1976.

     Nevertheless the deed had been consummated in the hearts of seven of the other nine members including Demwitter, Briscoe and Barrett.  Dewey’s replacement had even been hanging around the club ready to slip in.  He was a fellow by the name of Jerry Kramer.  Dewey had wondered why he was always about but never figured it out.

     Meggy had woven in and out of this situation.  They all thought she was top drawer.  Indeed because of the hatred felt toward Dewey by the elite most the club was associating with people far above their social status which they found most flattering.  Dewey could not be allowed to insult Meggy without a response.

     Buzz Barrett hung up after talking to Briscoe immediately calling Denny Demwitter to discuss the situation.  Although he had been too busy to have anything to do with the man who had been his closest friend in high school Denny now found time on the twenty-third for he and Dewey to call on Buzz.

     Denny and his girl friend picked up Dewey for the drive to Buzz’s home.

     ‘When’s the last time you saw Buzz, Dewey?’  Denny asked.

     ‘Oh gosh, I don’t know.  When did we have our last dinner?  March?  April?  Maybe at Klutz’s graduation party if he was there.’

     ‘Yeah.  All three of us were there.’

     ‘Must have been it, then.’

     Dirk Klutz had been the tenth member admitted to the eating club.  As Hirsh’s appointee he had been hostile to Dewey from the start.  As the newest member he had been the last house at which they were to have eaten in April.  He had refused to honor his obligation thus bringing the club to an end and Hirsh a small triumph although April would have been the last month anyway.

page 1977.

     Klutz had had a graduation party to which he invited the club to make up for his lack of observance for which he did come under criticism.  Dewey was not invited but told as an after thought that he could come if he felt like it.  He had swallowed his pride and attended only to find himself being ridiculed by the whole Hirsh crowd.  He fled in confusion with visions of the second grade dancing before his eyes.

     ‘Boy, Buzz has really got it made now.’  Denny enthused.

     ‘Oh yeah?’

     ‘Yeah.  He got married eight months ago.  First one of us.  Beautiful girl.’

     ‘Ya?  Anybody I know?’

     ‘Probably not.  She went to Lacramae Sacre.  Did you know the Catholic crowd?’

     ‘I knew some of them in grade school and Junior High but once they dropped out of public school they always thought they were getting a better education than us so we never talked.  What school did you go to, Carol?’  Dewey asked Denny’s girl.

     ‘I just moved to the Valley a year and a half ago.  I went to Grand Rapids Catholic Central.’

     ‘Anyway, like I was saying about Buzz, he’s really got it made for life.  You remember the deal he had with Mel Larsen, don’t you?’

page 1978.

     ‘Sure.’

     Mel Larsen had been the owner of Larsen’s Sporting Goods  downtown.  Like a lot of store owners do to stabilize their employees he had made a deal with Buzz when Buzz was only a part time worker in high school in tenth grade that if he would stay and work hard Mel would will him the business when he died.  Buzz had been easily seduced by the offer.  He had worked well and hard for Mel for what was now five years.

     ‘What do you think happened?’

     ‘Mel got on that train bound for Glory?’

     ‘What do you mean, train bound for Glory?’

     ‘Mel died.’

     ‘Yeh, he did.  How did you know?’

     ‘Guessed from something in your manner, Denny.  So he really did leave the business to Buzz.  That’s almost impossible but I suppose it does happen.  I was sure Larsen was leading Buzz on.’

      ‘All the details aren’t known yet but Buzz knows for sure that he’s mentioned in the will.  Here we are.’

     Buzz’s wife Melanie opened the door.

     Buzz was seated on his sofa in the attitude of the grand seigneur ready to greet his vassal.  At the age of twenty he had come into the fullness of life.

      They hadn’t planned how they were going to chastise Dewey for having been rude to Meggy they just thought that some general humiliation would ensue.

page 1979.

     ‘I guess you heard the news, Dewey?’

     ‘What?  You mean about Larsen?  Denny said you were mentioned in the will.’

     ‘That’s right.  You remember how you used to laugh at me because you thought Mel would cheat me in the end?’

     ‘I didn’t laugh at you Buzz.  I just don’t think Mel’s word was worth relying on.  I still don’t.  I still think you should have quit him and gone to college since you could have.’

     ‘Well, I think it’s clear that you’re wrong now, hey Dewey?’

     ‘If it turns out well I’m really happy for you Buzz.  I just don’t think employers keep their word on these things very often.’

     ‘Yes.  Well, you went in the Navy and just look at you now.  I took an honorable man’s word and now I’ve got it made for the rest of my life and I’m only twenty years old.  I’ve got everything and what have you got, another year to go?  Look, my wife Melanie here.  What do you think of this couch?  It’s mine.  New.’

     Dewey saw a repulsive overstuffed couch that he wouldn’t have sold his soul for but he complimented Buzz on it.

      ‘What do you think of my new combination TV/Stereo in genuine simulated Walnut finsh?’  He said pointing to a huge piece of furniture against the opposite wall four feet away.

     Dewey couldn’t believe his ears.  Did Buzz say ‘genuine simulated?’  Dewey thought back a couple years when he and these guys had been the coolest heads around, or thought they were.  How they had laughed at old folks who had been sucked in to flim flam like ‘genuine simulated.’  And now here, a mere two years later one of his group, hell, throw Denny in too, had fallen into a trap they had all despised.  Dewey said nothing but Buzz and Denny slipped over the edge of his earth.

     ‘Mel an I are going to get a genuine reproduction of a Renoir to put above it.  Every hear of Renoir?  French expressionist artist.  Know what a stereo is?  Mel, put the demonstration record on to show Dewey what a stereo is.  New.’

     Mel put the record on the changer and let the tone arm drop.

     Dewey smiled at the sound of the ping pong ball being slapped from left to right and back again.  The effect was something you never really got over.  Almost beat the hell out of the Sputnik.

     ‘Amazing isn’t it?  Ever heard anything like that before?’  Buzz demanded while Melanie took a seat on the arm of the sofa draping herself around Buzz giving a vacuous but beautiful smile to Dewey.

     ‘I was at a party maybe a month and half ago in Oakland, that’s in California, Buzz, and the guy had the same demonstration record only he had a setup that makes your combo look primitive.  He had a whole professional radio type setup with a control room and everything.  Half a dozen speakers.  Then there were these couple of guys there with bongos who got this multi-phasic rhythm going with the ping pong ball which had an absolutely mesmerizing effect.  You shoulda been there.’

     Both Buzz and Denny involuntarily drew their chins in at this unexpected display of knowledge.  They not only didn’t know what bongos were but they didn’t understand the word mesmerizing.  They let the latter pass.

page 1981.

     ‘What’s bongo?’  Buzz asked.  Apparently bongos hadn’t yet made their appearance in the Valley.

     ‘Bongo drums?  Well, they’re these two little drums attached to each other, one bigger, one smaller.  Sort of like upsided down tambourines that you play between your knees.’

     ‘Oh, bongo drums.  Why didn’t you say bongo drums I would have understood.  Just bongos I didn’t catch.  Heard anything from Jerry Kramer?’  Buzz asked referring to Dewey’s projected replacement in the eating club.

    ‘Jerry Kramer?  At West Point?  Me?  No.  Why would I have heard from him, we weren’t even friends.’

     Buzz was just trying to hurt Dewey because of Dewey’s knowledge of stereo  thwarting the intent of Buzz had been received like a slap in the face.  Buzz was relying on private knowledge about Kramer between he and Denny to return the slap.

     After the last question things lapsed into a prolonged embarrassed silence.  They all stood staring at Dewey with him staring back at them.

     ‘I’d probably better go Buzz.  Leave you and your lovely wife, sofa and combination TV/stereo to your Christmas.  All this stuff didn’t leave room for a Christmas tree I guess.   Good luck with the will and take care of that genuine simulated walnut finish.  Bye Melanie.  you want to drive me back, Denny?’

     ‘No. You go on ahead.  Carol and I have something to talk over with Buzz and Mel.’

page 1892.

     ‘You making me walk home alone?’

     ‘There’s the phone.  You can call a cab.’

     ‘I’ll walk.’  Dewey said with a glower.  ‘See you guys around.’

     The closest he came to seeing any of them again was when Denny and Carol drove slowly by him as he walked back to Grandma’s house in the ocld.  Denny politely tooted the horn in acknowledgment as he passed.

     Mel Larsen’s will was opened and read.  The good news was that he had left the business to Buzz.  The bad news was that he also left it to four other employees.  He had made each the same promise enjoining each to secrecy.  Strangely none of the five suspected the outcome.

     Mel’s profit divided five ways was a nice addition to their income but hardly enough for Buzz to have it made at twenty.  Besides that, as  businesses can’t be run by five equal partners, somebody had to be in charge.  After a year of constant bickering the store burned down in the middle of the night.  The insurance was split five ways.  Now without a job Buzz received his share bitterly.

     The year since the reading of the will had been a humiliating one for Buzz now left without a means of support.  He was devastated.  He did feel that he had been put upon by Mel Larsen.

     Buzz sat and drank and brooded for a month then divorced his lovely wife Mel for no other reason than that her name reminded him of Larsen.  He had to gag every time he used his wife’s name.

page 1983.

     Shortly thereafter the house he was living in burned to the ground along with Buzz’s sofa, combination TV/Stereo and the genuine Renoir reproduction that hung above it.

     Then Buzz packed his sorrows in his old kit bag and moved far far away.

     For Dewey as he walked back it seemed that he could hear doors being slammed behind him all over town.

That Sad Old Wintry Feeling

     Baffled by the cold treatment by guys he thought of as his best friends Dewey stepped out the next morning to take what he knew would be his last stroll around town.  The only door that still seemed to be open was the exit.

     As happens when the subconscious takes control Dewey’s steps led him to the corner where Susan Doughty lived.  In the manner of the subconscious it blocks out all detail irrelevant to its needs.  Dewey was unaware of where he was standing so he was suprised when a voice behind him said:  ‘I turned you in.’

     Dewey turned to look into the eyes of Susan Doughty.  He was astonished that she wasn’t wearing a coat.  Unaware of where he was he didn’t realize she had just stepped out her front door.  Had he any consciousness at all he might have looked up to see the Spider Woman watching him from the dining room window.

     It had been a little over a year since he had seen Susan on his leave of the summer of ’57.  Life had been so densely packed with adventure since that time that he had forgotten that she had been back.  Or, rather, he had been so distanced that he hadn’t had time to think about it.  As he had digested nothing of the time he had only disjointed and isolated memories of it.

page 1894.

     He remembered how she had invited him to that party and gotten him drunk.  In his resentment his reaction to her was very, very cold.  She didn’t notice as she felt no warmth toward him.

     She, on the other hand, remembered the last time they had seen each other on the porch after returning from the swimming party in the Bay.  She thought he had been rude but he had only shown more backbone than either she or her mother had expected.

     ‘I turned you in.’  She repeated.

     ‘Turned me in for what, Susan?’

     ‘For those rapes.’

     Dewey looked at her closely.  He was mystified.

     ‘What rapes are you talking about Susan?  You aren’t saying I raped you, are you?’  He said inquisitively, searching hopefully for some attempt at humor.

     In fact, she did think he had raped her.  When he had walked off the porch in disgust his rejection of her in her mind had been translated to rape.  She had mentally converted his reaction into images of rape.  Subconsciously she knew he hadn’t touched her, but she wanted him punished for outraging her sensibilities anyway.

     ‘There was a guy reported in the newspaper who brutally raped four innocent girls in a row six months ago then disappeared.  I know it was you.  So I turned you in.’

page 1986.

     ‘But, Susan, I wasn’t even in town six months ago.  I was in San Deigo.’

     ‘Doesn’t matter.  I don’t know how you did it but it was the kind of thing you would do to innocent girls like me.’

     Dewey looked Susan in the eyes.  He wondered how he could ever have had a crush on her.  Memories are always synthetic.  The synthesis always supports one’s own point of view.  The fact that Dewey considered himself OK was irrelevant, in her own way she was right.

      He had shown a great deal more interest in Susan than she had for him.  An impartial observor would have testified that in his ardor Dewey had forced his attention on her.  He had been sixteen, she had been fourteen.  She had said no she didn’t want to see him.  She didn’t have the know how or impoliteness to drive him away.  So they had had a very cold unpleasant relationship.  She had grounds to claim that Dewey was her misfortune, still, he was the only boy who had ever seen worth in her.

     When she did turn Dewey away in the eleventh grade she had done so in such a brutal unfeeling way that Dewey had been crushed down below where the lilies grow.  Oh boy, did he remember that; even score, or least.  Since he was vaguely aware of how much she had always resented his attentions he bore her no grudge but he insisted on a clean break.  She had violated that condition by approaching him in the summer of ’57.  He no longer felt any obligation toward her.

page 1986.

      Life isn’t that clean.  She obviously couldn’t get him out of her mind.  Thus Dewey was unaware of how painful his presence had been to her for her to have converted his love for her into a series of rapes.

     ‘What did the police say, Susan?’

     ‘They said they thought it was impossible.’

     ‘I should think so.’

     Dewey wanted to say something cruel but all he could remember was the vision of loveliness that had appeared before his eyes on this very corner, indeed, this very spot, what? only four years previously?  Only four years in a world without time, a clock with no hands.  The vision must have taken place on another planet in a different universe, far away beyond the thick dark veil of space.  How could time have so little coherence?

     How could Dewey remember everything but none of it have any meaning to him.  Susan had existed but not in the flesh and blood.  To him she was like ‘Pinkie’ a portrait in a gallery lined with pictures on both sides stretching toward infinity.  Each picture had some relationship to his life but distant and drawn by others.  He could walk the gallery admiring the portraits and pictures relating intimate details that only he knew but they meant no more to him than that.

     There was no organic connection.  He was he and they were they.  He had lived each scene from the outside with no closer involvement than as a patron in the gallery.

page 1988.

     He sat down to Christmas dinner a stranger at the table.  Gone were the big family gatherings of past years.  Some were dead all had dispersed  the year he graduated.  He had been the glue that held them all together in some mysterious way.  His grandmother was no more than a cutout cardboard figure.  His half-brother ate silently beside him.  He finished a second piece of pumpkin pie, got up, put on his hat, grabbed his bag and walked out the door to the bus station for the return trip.  Neither his grandmother nor his brother said goodbye to him nor did he say goodbye to them.  He merely walked down the front steps and out of the picture.

     The last door slammed shut behind him.  As he boarded the big Grey Dog he rode away from a past of which the back cover of the book closed behind him.  He now knew no one.  His course was all his own.  His youth was fled.  The rump end was nine remaining months in the Navy before he could begin his new life.  Actually his new life had already begun.  All else was memory.

     Like Salvador Dali’s brilliant painting, The Persistence Of Memory, handless clocks melted across branches of leafless trees while the luxurious landscape he had known faded into a bleak desert punctuated by the decomposing corpses of old memories.

     In compensation Dewey created a fantasy of high school that would last for twenty-five years.  The more unpleasant realities took shape in his dreamlife where they formed a stable of nightmares that was also to last for twenty-five years.

     He looked back but the last buffalo had fallen on the plane of consciousness never to rise again.  The future lay ahead.  A future dominated by Dr. Queergenes whose story begins in Vol. IV of City On The Hill,

If they gave gold statuettes

for tears and regrets,

I’d be a legend

in

my

own

time.

-Don Gibson.

A Novel

Our Lady Of The Blues

Book VII

by

R.E. Prindle

Clip 3

     And so Cracker Jack tried to work himself back in.  It proved to be impossible as his finger prevented his working while complications kept him going back and forth to hospital.  In the end the Navy had to discharge him.  The tragedy was that because of his frail self-esteem caused by his brutalization back in Georgia he was prevented from ever realizing his potential.  He eventually became an odd job and handyman.

     Torbric sat down by Dewey amid the hubbub of Cracker Jack’s return.  Tory was all chutzpah; he had no shame.

     ‘Hey, Dewey.’

     ‘Torbrick, what in the world could you possibly want with me?’

     ‘Hey, I don’t know what you’re so touchy about, Dewey.  I just wanted to see if you’d like to come up to Long Beach this weekend.’

     ‘What?  Are we going to Atascadero again?  Dewey sneered, amazed at Trobrick’s lack of conscience.

     ‘No.  My pop and me thought you would like to meet Beverly Warnack.’

     ‘Who’s Beverly Warnack?’  Dewey asked, forgetting Torbrick’s mention of the psychiatrist at the hospital for the mentally disturbed.

      Dewey’s lack of violence precluded Atascadero, Bert thought maybe a regular asylum would do.

     ‘Is that all you know, psyciatrists?’  Dewey asked.  Having narrowly escaped confinement on the grounds he wasn’t violent Dewey was in no mood to give Bert and Tory another shot at him where violence wouldn’t be the issue.

page 1382.

     ‘Yeah.’  Torbrick laughed self-consciously in answering the question.  ‘I guess so.’

     ‘Listen Torbrick.  I don’t ever want you to speak to me again.  Understand?’

     Torbrick walked away but he didn’t understand.  Guilt now bound him closely to Trueman.  As good as his word Trueman ignored Torbrick completely.  Unable to break down Trueman’s defenses Torbrick did an end run ingratiating himself into Trueman’s clique; in that manner he succeeded in forcing himself on Dewey again.

     For now Dewey finished his shoes.  Unable to bear the expense of transportation he had made a momentous decision.  He decided to begin hitchhiking to Oakland.

On The Road Again

     The best and bravest are dead.  All that are left are the scum- the liars and cheats, the dancers wallowing in the fat of the land.

-Homer

     To undertake hitchhiking was a difficult decision for Trueman.  The desperateness of his situation is indicated by his decision to do so.  Dewey had always considered hitchhikers as semi-desperadoes.  Men who lived on the edge of the abyss of despair.  When his high school friend had become a hitchhiker around town Dewey was able to quell his dissatisfaction only with the utmost effort.  He had believed Larry had become declassed.  He was now willing to join the ranks of the declassed in order to escape the oppressiveness of the Navy.  His life was changed the moment he put his thumb out.

page 1182.

     In total he hitchhiked to Oakland no more than a dozen times but those dozen times made such an impression on him that he always believed that he had hitched all three years for tens of thousands of miles.  Each and every trip was packed with adventure and rare experience.  His life and well being were frequently on the line.

     The distance itself was staggering.  San Diego to Oakland was over six hundred miles in distance, thirteen hundred miles round trip.  While faster than the bus he was on the road for a minimum twelve hours each way.  The trip wasn’t worth it but he made it anyway.  The most that can be said was that he learned a lot about life and people.  Too much of nothing, as one poet put it:  ‘I wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then.’

     From the beginning he abandoned the policy of obtaining an out of bounds pass.  He found it humiliating to petition Sieggren on one hand while on the other it was a very minor offence that the California police couldn’t do anything about  anyway.  In a State full of desperadoes of the most desperate description what is a sailor without an out of bounds pass?

     Part of Dewey’s position was that his steps were being dogged in San Diego.  Our Lady was not about to let up on him.  Dewey had no idea why he was dogged but he knew it was so.  His weekly flights to Oakland took Our Lady by surprise.  While a man on the road is an open target by the time Yisraeli got organized his opportunity was almost over.

page 1383.

     Dewey took the bus, perhaps No. 30, out to the end of the line on Highway 101.  The San Diego CWBs would pick up sailors for hitchhiking in San Deigo so when you took up your position on the sand beside 101 your prayer was to get a ride from someone before the cops nailed you.

     Saying goodbye to his past Dewey stepped to the side of the road to put out his thumb.  Sailors always hitched in uniform as Uncle Sam’s blues were a sure guarantee that you would get easy rides.  There were many people who had sympathy for servicemen.

     Putting out your thumb is no lightweight matter.  Your style determines whether you will get a ride and who will give it to you.  Some guys hold their thumb up over their shoulder pointing down the road; some stick their arms straight out from the shoulder with the thumb held horizontal.  Some stick their thumb straight up in the air but that is guaranteeing you’ll be picked up by a fag.

     Dewey emulated his high school friend, Larry, by holding his arm down at waist level palm up, fingers closed, thumb pointing down the road.  It helps to jab it toward the centerline when a car passes to remind the driver what you’re after.  Other then that wear your most respectable face and stand up straight.

     A lot of guys find it necessary to insult a driver who seems to be passing them by bringing the thumb up in an arc ending with the middle finger erect.  Dewey was not of this frame of mind besides which many drivers do not make their decision until abreast of you or past you having looked you over carefully.  Both hitcher and driver are taking real chances.  Lotta crazy people in this world.

page 1384.

     Dewey had just put out his thumb when a local pulled over to pick him up.

     ‘I’m just going down the road a couple miles but it’ll at least get you out of the normal range of the police.’

     Dewey thanked him getting out a couple exits down the road.  The first ride in San Diego was frequently of this nature.  Locals who would not ordinarily pick up hitchhikers would at least move a sailor far enough our of range of the police to prevent his being picked up and returned to base.

      Rides were easy to pick up on 101 from San Diego to LA.  You seldom stood around long nor did you have to deal with homosexuals until you passed Anaheim.  After that every ride through LA would likely be a fruit.

     A couple short hops got Dewey above the Marine Base at Camp Pendleton.  Cpl.  Bill Baird picked him up.

    ‘Hi.  Bill Baird, Lubbock, Texas.’

     ‘Hi.  Dewey Trueman, uh, The Valley, Michigan.’  Must be the way the Marines do it, Dewey thought.

     ‘Havin’ a good time in your enlistment?’  Bill asked in the most relaxed laid back manner Dewey had ever seen.

     ‘Not so much I’m going to reenlist.’  Dewey replied in the usual sarcastic manner he considered wit.

page 1385.

     ‘I can follow you down that rabbit hole.  I’m taking the medical.’  Bill volunteered.  ‘How about you?’

     ‘You mean the under 30 and out?’

     ‘Yeh.’

     ‘I don’t qualify, otherwise I would.’

     ‘Well, I qualify and I’m taking it.  Bunch a guys are.  I can’t take this chicken shit outfit anymore.  We got some pretty crazy hombres, I can tell you.’

     ‘Yeah.  Know a few myself.’

     ‘We had this guy, Dalton Dagger?  This was somethin’ else.  He’s over in the brig now.  He was always touchy as hell, crazy as a loon.  He’s over in the brig now.  A couple of months ago he stepped out of ranks and just whaled into the Sergeant.  Stomped his ass bloody and royal, I can tell you.  Not that the bastard didn’t have it coming.  Lucky he didn’t kill the bastard.  Whatsa’ matter?  Why you so tense?’

     ‘No particular reason.’  Dewey replied.  ‘You’re one of the most confident drivers I’ve ever seen.’

     This was a particularly busy day on 101.  As the car moved into traffic above Anaheim the cars were bumper to bumper four lanes across.  Traffic was moving at fifty-five while Bill was moving at sixty-five.  Laid back and casual Bill slid his car into spaces no bigger than his automobile steering across all four lanes at a time always pursuing a zig-zag course but never slackening speed.

     Dewey was almost rigid and he gasped at some of spaces Bill slid his car into and out of.  Out of was almost more impressive than in.

page 1386.

     Aw man, relax, relax.  I know what I’m doing.  Here take one of these you won’t have no worries at all.’

     ‘What is it?’

     ‘Just a mo-o-o-d controller.  Tranquilizer.  Take it, make you feel real good.’  Bill handed Dewey a triangular black pill.

     ‘Drugs?  Uh, no thanks.’

     ‘Suit yourself.  Everybody at Pendleton’s doin’ somethin’.  Some really far out stuff too.  Man, there’s stuff nobody’s ever heard of.  We got this one guy, Jim Alexander?  Got some peyote buttons.  You know peyote?  Never heard of it?  Well, there’s this cactus grows down in Mexico, close to the ground, has these little buttons on ’em, you eat those and you get high.  Bitter as hell, get you sick.  After you eat ’em, if you can get ’em down, you throw up, after you throw up you get high.  Don’t like ’em myself.

     So anyway, Alexander ate a bunch of ’em, got real high, way up there; havin’ quiet conversations with the Architect of the Universe, know what I mean, really wiped his windows clean in that celestial gas station, opened the doors of perception for him.  Ever know that book Doors Of Perception by Elvis Harley, you will.

     So, ol’ Jim liked that so much about two weeks ago he ate twice as many, got way up there, high as you can go, he’s up there yet.  Still hasn’t come down.  I bet he’ll have stories to tell if he ever makes it back.’

     We…well, don’t you think he may have damaged his mind permanently?’

page 1387.

     Naw. why would he do that?  He just probably likes it up there, talkin’ to God and everything, wouldn’t you?  Wish I could.’

     ‘Well, I mean, how’s he do his work?’

     ‘Work?  He don’t have to work no more.  They got him under observation.  He’ll have some stories, I bet.  I’m tellin’ you everybody’s high on somethin’, or lots of different somethins. too.  Boy, the things I’ve taken.  Mushrooms, go-o-o-d.  Ever heard of LSD?  You have?  No kiddin’.  Man, get some of that right away, G0-o-o-der.  Rearrange your priorities right away.’

     Dewey was doing his best to relax.  He looked around hoping a cop would stop Bill so he could get out but the CWBs are never there when you need them.

     ‘You know I like you.’  Bill said.  ‘Don’t know why, there’s just something about you.  Dig this.  Know where I’m going?  Gotta get married.  Knocked this chick up.  Pissed me off, she shoulda been more careful. I’d walk but her mother got this phone in her hand, police on the other end.  Chick’s only fifteen, you see my problem?  No, you don’t.  No money, nada, not a sou.  Gotta go through with it though or it’s off to the hoosegow with me.  You could probably help me out.  You see, back in Lubbock I got this girl that’s hot for my dick, she can’t get enough, almost afraid for my health to go back, wouldn’t, but her old man’s got millions in the bank and wells pumping in the fields, you followin’ me?

     So, I get my medical and I go back to Lubbock and sit around humpin’ the bird with a bottle in one hand and joint in the other the rest of my days.  Betterin’ than those talkin’ to God blues, don’t you think?  That’s where you can help me out, dig?’

page 1388.

     ‘How’s that?  You want me to take the swing shift, give you a break?’

     ‘Ha, ha.  No. No.  You know what you could do for me?  You could marry my little chiquita here, satisfy her mother, know what I mean?  Get me off the hook, she doesn’t like me anyway.  Chiquita’s a hot little number soon as she drops her loaf.  Can’t get enough.  What do you say?’

     ‘Um, Bill, you know I’m not really in the marryin’ mood today.’

     ‘Hey, Dewey, this is buddy talkin’.  You won’t help a buddy out?’

     ‘Bill, helpin’ buddys is what I do best but I’m not going to get married.  I’m on my way to Oakland.’

     ‘You ungrateful son-of-a-bitch.  I give you a ride and you won’t even do me a favor?  Get out.  Get out.’

     The car was at the end of the freeway at Sepulveda Blvd.  They might easily have flown off the end if Dewey hadn’t refused to get married because relaxed Bill Baird was paying more attention to Dewey than the road.  As it was he slammed on the brakes pulling to the side of the off ramp by coincidence.  Cars nearly piled up behind him.

     ‘Get out, goddamn you, you ungrateful son-of-a-bitch.’

     Dewey wasted no time getting out of the car.  Shaking his fist at him Bill Baird rammed the pedal to the metal spinning down the ramp without even checking the traffic.  Jim Alexander must have been interceding with God for him.

     This left Dewey on foot in LA with little idea where he was or how to get North.

Pressure Gonna Drop On You

     Dewey was from the midwest.  Californians by which midwesterners generally meant Southlanders, were considered actual lunatics by midwest standards.  They were considered humanity stood on end.  The dichotomy was current in California in the LA-San Francisco rivalry.  The Southland was preeminently the home of nuts.  It was considered quite appropriate that LA was the home of Looney Tunes.

     As a midwesterner this attitude was part of Dewey’s intellect.  He was not alone.  Literature is replete with contempt for the Wasted Angels.  Why the Angels should be humanity turned upside down is not really all that complex a problem.  Anyone with an ounce of understanding however would have placed his money on the Wasted Angels for the future of mankind.

     It is strange that in this earthly paradise people at one and the same time should be both so happy and so unhappy.

      There is really no physical environment on earth like LA.  By LA I mean from the Grapevine in the North to the Southern border of Orange County and from the Beaches in the West to San Bernardino, Lake Arrowhead and Palm Springs to the East.  That is an immense and diverse piece of land with nearly every inch of it inhabited.  It includes the sweltering basin floor and the areas of Big Bear in the mountains.  Mt. Whitney, the highest point in the lower forty-eight, rises in those same mountains.

page 1390

     The weather is the finest that you can find in the world.  There is never a time when more than a T-shirt is needed for warmth day or night, unlike the French Riviera.  The ubiquity of asphalt and concrete means that there can be some very hot days when the heat is reflected back up but the humidity is low.  It is never as uncomfortable as Miami, Hawaii, Washington D.C. or New York City.

     In addition to the fabulous weather there is no form of natural or manmade entertainment that isn’t available.  There are other pleasant spots in the world like the Riviera and there are other spots for entertainment like Las Vegas but for my money there isn’t anything you can do in either place that can’t be done better in LA.

     The weather gives people a buoyant, ebullient, upbeat bounce but is countervailed by the squalor of the city.  Not that the city isn’t affluent and attractive because it is, or was at the time, but the exuberant expectations of an overly hopeful populace can never be met by reality.  There is an air of anxious desperation that lays over LA like its persistent smog.  In the bright sunshine there seems to be a low pressure system hovering like the Alaska Low to the North.  It wobbles from side to side but it never goes away.   The eye of the system lies over Watts.

     Strangely in this land of religious sects ranging from bizarre witchcraft cults like Aleister Crowley’s Golden Dawn through Rosicrucians, Theosophists, Manly Hall’s Philosophical Research Society, Garner Ted Armstrong’s Ambassador College, the Vedantists and what not to all the Protestant sects and the Catholic Church, there is so little spirituality.  There is only the crassest materialism.  Everyone believes salvation comes from the barrel of a pen and a check book.  Drugs are as commonly consumed as water.  Nor is drug consumption a recent phenomenon but goes back to the teens and twenties and even earlier.

page 191.

     Nor is there any social homogeneity.  LA is a layered construction of immigrants from all over the United States as well as the world.  Like Dr. Petiot they were all the kind of people who like to bring their baggage with them.  This is what gives the place its flavor.  At the beginning of the twentieth century the Anglos controlled the psychological atmosphere but that changed as the century wore on as other ethnic groups began to dominate.  They all have their neighborhoods where they congregate.  Little Thises and Thats.

     The Blacks, the leading subculture in America, invaded the area during and after the War.  As the influx continued during the fifties and sixties they spread over South LA from Watts.

     The increase in the Black population of California of over eight hundred percent during this period was not spread evenly over the State.  The major portion was in the Bay Area and LA which means that those areas increased by a thousand percent or better so that pressure on formerly White areas was rapid and instense.  This huge unassimilable immigration bearing the various Black intellects of Dixie was extremely disappointed on its arrival.  Nowhere else so much as in LA was the promise of the golden life in the Golden State so little realized.  If Whites were disappointed in their pursuit of material salvation the Blacks were enraged.

page 1392.

     As in Chicago and Oakland Blacks were not expected to venture forth from the Stockade without a pass.  They had to have a good reason to be anywhere else.  The Black writer, Iceberg Slim, says that he didn’t leave the Stockade willingly to drive across town for fear of police harassment.  It is to be imagined that he knew what he was talking about.

     It is true that you could travel all over the highways and byways of California without seeing a Black unless you went into one of their areas.  That was an unadvisable thing for a White to do.  In the time Dewey hitchhiked he saw only one Black family not only on the highway but driving any city street.

     In this brooding state of anxious depression amidst the state of hoped for material gratification there is no wonder that the Blacks of LA have erupted into destructive rages on occasion.

     The same anxious tension was endemic to the area but when Whites riot it is not called a justified rebellion to intolerable conditions and retribution is swifter, surer and harsher than any Black will ever experience regardless of what they think.

page 1393.

     I hope I will be excused for having no more than passing sympathy for the Black plight.  Whites are murdered and plundered by the police and nothing is or ever will be said or done about it.  Racism or whatever you want to call it is not just Whites oppressing Black folk.  It is rich against poor, the acceptable vs. the those they have made unacceptable; discrimination is the very fabric of our or any other society here or in Africa.  So Whites know better than to riot.  They resort to crime, vandalism and sabotage and take their punishment piecemeal.  It’s almost a blessing that Blacks don’t know how to do it right.

     In the beginning LA sold itself as a retirement center.  I haven’t seen the statistics but it is said that midwestern farmers sold out the farmstead to luxuriate in the warm California sun.  Iowans are always specifically mentioned with some contempt as though they were inferior to whatever passed for acceptable Wasted Angels.

     On top of them came the Jews.  Everyone knows better than to say anything derogatory about the Jews so they have never been criticized although they form the corrupt core of the LA intellect.  The Southland today is the second largest Jewish area in the US and probably larger than any location in Israel.

     They are so numerous and influential that they have been able to name the giant intersection of San Vicente and Wilshire after the founding Prime Minister of Israel, David Ben Gurion.  As covert objection is apparently taken to this coup you have to look twenty-five feet up the lamp post to see the sign where it has been placed out of reach of dissenters.

page 1394.

     During the Dust Bowl of the thirties Okies and Arkies and Texans who gave up their farms flooded into LA in numbers equaled only by the Negroes of the forties, fifties and sixties.  Unprotected by a condemnation of bigotry their invasion was less welcome than the Blacks and lacking a Hillbilly Anti-Defamation League they were criticized in terms that would have generated successful lawsuits from Jews.  Even in 1958 they were synonymous with total ignorance and treated in a discriminatory manner, usually having to accept jobs in service stations.  They gave LA a pronounced Hillbilly flavor.

     The Italians and Jews of organized crime came in with a rush as the decade of the thirties closed.  They quickly established their presence in their particular manner giving their own peculiar flavor to the business and social situation.  If you want a neat before and after comparison check out the first four novels of Raymond Chandler as compared with the last three.

     There was a substantial Chinese and Japanese population dating back to the nineteenth century and early decades of the twentieth.  After the Asia Exclusion clause of the Immigration Act was eliminated in 1965 at the insistence of the Jews huge numbers of Far Eastern and Islamic peoples arrived.

     Why were the Jews anxious to revoke Asian restrictions?  Well, it was good for the Jews.  If you look at the map you’ll see that Asia stretches from the Pacific to the Mediterranean.  that means Israel is in Asia so no Jews could have legally emigrated to the United States from there.  It is a Jewish principle that no restrictions be placed on them as God’s chosen people.  Thus the Asian exclusion was eliminated to benefit them.

page 1395.

     The huge herogeneous population- LA is the second largest city in the US- had to have employment.  There was little hope that prosperity could be induced and maintained by selling lots to Iowa farmers.  Layers of industry like the layers of ethnic groups began to arrive.  As industry in LA is distributed throughout various communities over a vast area it is quite possible to miss the significance of LA as an industrial center.  Indeed, Dewey did.

     After 1914 the burgeoning new movie industry moved West from New York and environs to locate in LA.  The basic la la land reputation of LA arises from the movies.  Actors themselves are considered unstable people subject to subconscious whims.  Their excesses and style gave the city a much different flavor than say, Pittsburgh, where industrial executives indulged in the same excesses but with a more sedate style.

     The movies themselves brought in droves of hopefuls whose dreams could not be realized.  But the hopefuls were generally good looking and energetic.  They were looking for opportunities and they probably created a good many not only for themselves but for others.  Being an unstable lot the human wreckage was enormous creating an atmosphere of human exploitation.

     The movie industry from the start was the preserve of Jews.  There was no way you could work in the movies unless you kowtowed to Jewish desires.  That meant that all the scripts served Jewish ends.  After the forties the Mafia influence on the film industry increased dramatically.  Soon every fat ugly Italian mobster had a gorgeous Anglo sexpot dragging along behind him.

page 1396.

     The movies followed the discovery of oil.  First in Huntington Beach, Long Beach and Santa Fe Springs then in a number of places.  Thus the basis of industrial prosperity was laid.  As an anti-union city LA was able to attract one of the largest and most diverse concentrations of industry in the country.  With the addition of the crown jewel of aero-space there was no stopping the prosperity.

     Climate, easy money, and sunshine; what more could anyone ask.

     However as people transformed LA, LA transformed people.  Back in their hometowns in settled conditions it was very important to maintain a respectable facade founded on an Augustinian style Christianity.  Activities that might tend to rend that facade were consigned to the basement rather than the light of day.  Then people suppressed their ‘Freudian instincts’ in favor of ‘normality’ and ‘morality.’

     In the feeding frenzy of LA where everyone became anonymous, being the indentity they chose to create for themselves on any given day, Augustinian mores were thrust aside in favor of subliminal Freudian desires.  Chutzpah became more important than morality or polite manners.  Crudeness was applauded.

     In a remarkable switch deplorable Freudian subconscious desires were more or less released into the light of day.  The casting couch morality became the norm while chaste sexual behavior was condemned.  The activities of the basement were elevated to the first floor while Augustinian morality was relocated to attic storage as useless baggage.

page 1397.

     Morality became a catch as catch can affair monitored by the eccentrics rummaging around in the moral attics.  You were only punished if you didn’t have the chutzpah to pull your crimes off.  Everyone was on the make.  If you weren’t strong or quick enough to make you became one of the made.  It was the triumph of American pragmatism.  The only thing that counted was if your scheme succeeded.  Success was morality and if you didn’t succeed you whined on over to your lawyer and filed a lawsuit.  Whether the Wasted Angels needed Freud or anyone else to teach them this is debatable but it was Freudianism in action.

     The tenor of morality was controlled by the Italian Mafia in conjuction with the Hollywood Jews but the style was more of a Protestant or Arthurian sort.  Open and brazen.

     The most important element of the LA mix was the movies.  Now, it is a fact that the movies were and are a Jewish enterprise.  Anything that doesn’t please the Jews isn’t going to make it to the screen.  In the early days the Jews felt constrained to cater to Anglo-Saxon tastes thus Jewish desires and needs were sublimated.  the axis of taste and style shifted however.  An Anglo-Saxon intellect like D.W. Griffith was subtly edged out of the stream or as they say, ‘marginalized.’

     Marginalization is the PC way of saying censored and discriminated against, blacklisted.  As in the old days Jews and Negroes were not welcome now the ‘marginalized’ are discriminated against.  This is called ‘Democracy.’

page 1398.

     Only gois like Cecil B. DeMille who honored Jewish dictates were allowed to survive but they were kept on a short tether.  Chastised for his early portrayal of Jesus as King of Kings De Mille was forced to  turn to the Old Testament epics that glorified Hebrews in expiation.  Thus in the history of the movies you will find many more Old Testament epics than you will find Christian ones.

     The chaste Arthurian heroines of Griffith like Lillian Gish were replaced by big hipped, big busted loose acting women like Jean Harlow and Mae West.  Nice girls couldn’t make it in the movies.

     The Second World War put an end to all that had gone before.  The old Hollywood died.  Television has been given credit for destroying the movies but that is absolute nonsense.  At the end of the century amidst much fiercer competition for the entertainment dollar than in the immediate post war years the movie industry is more successful than in its heyday.  The truth of the matter is that the prewar world of Anglo-immigrant conflict on which the content of the movies had been based had disappeared.  the industry languished in the search for a new ethic which also coincided witht the introduction of TV.

     The Jews of Hollywood formed the new ethic and they formed it in their own image.  They no longer felt the need to cater to Anglo-Saxon tastes.  The movie ‘Gentlemen’s Agreement’ which was about a goy posing as a Jew seeking to create anti-Semitic reactions when they didn’t exist was the opening salvo of the Jewish campaign.

     Interestingly enough this tradition of sensitivity was continued forty years later in a movie by the Jewish producer Steven Spielberg by the title of ‘Men In Black.’

     In this movie an organization based on the ADL has a world wide organization not unlike the International Jewish Conspiracy called the Men In Black.  They seek anti-Semite ‘creeps’ who are all so disguised that a person of reasonable sensitivity could never recognize them.  It takes the highly developed sensitivity, otherwise known as paranoia, of these covert ‘saints’ to recognize them.  In other words the so-called ‘witchhunt’ of the McCarthy era has been sanitized into a holy way of life but with potentially anti-Semitic targets rather than Judaeo-Communists.

     Needless to say the Men In Black were clones of the Man In Black needed to purify the country as sung by the Kingston Trio and the attempt to live it by Johnny Cash.

     Thus by controlling the content of movies the Jews had progressed from ‘entertaining’ the goys to showing them up in ‘Gentlemen’s Agreement’ to controlling them in ‘Men In Black.’  This was a very remarkable achievement in more or less fifty years.

     The Jews did have to make concessions to the brutal methods of the Italian Mafia.  Originally cast as brutal oafs with Anglo-Saxon names in the gangster movies of the thirties the Mafiosi emerged as brutal oafs with Italian names in the post-war years.  The difference was that they made brutal oafishness acceptable.  Movies like ‘The Godfather’ legitimized their methods in turn brutalizing the rest of the population.

page 1400.

     Two other groups shaped the form of the post-war movies.  The ubiquitous Revolution and the Homosexual community.  All four groups functioned quite harmoniously together.  All four wished to sap the Anglo-Saxon government they despised.

     The Revolution was quite subtle.  In movies like The Ugly American they made the charity, kindness and good intentions of the American native seem like the grasping, mercenary moves of a sexual predator.  As in all Revolution movies the Soviets or Chinese Communists come off as the good guys.  In movies like Dr. Strangelove the Soviets and the Red/Liberal government of America seemed to be opposed by an industrial military complex controlled by lunatic Anglo-Saxon Hillbillies.

     The Reds also seized on the novel by Daniel Defoe Robinson Crusoe to defame and revile the Anglo-Saxon.  Discrimination against those of English ancestry was quite common as the century drew to a close.  Defamation was frowned on unless the English were being defamed.

     In the most recent movie version of Robinson Crusoe the colonial peoples get their revenge as Friday make a fool of Robinson Crusoe.  The question is asked what if Friday grabbed the sword first?  Why then savagery would have reigned triumphant, what else?  It would be as in Africa when the English left, one tribe massacring the other.

     So also was the trend to glorify homosexuality.  Homos and Lesbians were always portrayed sympathetically while homosexual sadistic brutality became the normal mode of expression.  More and more movies began to appear in which brutal murders or shootouts took place in public toilets, a sure sign of homosexual influence.  The most favorite scene was when the shooter thought he had his man trapped in the ‘shitter.’

page 1401

     The target always places his shoes and pants to look like he’s on the throne while he has climbed above the stall.  There is only a moment for the obligatory puzzled look on the shooter’s face as he gazes into the empty stall before the shitter descends on him from above like a load of shit.

     A criminal attitude toward life became the standard outlook.  Hollywood called it ‘entertainment.’

     All things conspired in LA to create an unruly atmosphere.  Naturally control of such an unruly lot required a strong police force; nearly an occupying army.  Enter the LAPD.  Los Angeles had the most feared law enforcement agency on either side of the Gestapo or KGB.  The only real difference between the LAPD, the Gestapo and the KGB was a matter of style and that was narrow.

     The Black Folk might like to think they were singled out for rough treatment but in their insularity they just don’t know.  A late century criminal like Rodney King might be able to start a riot by resisting arrest and getting beaten for it but for every Rodney King there are dozens of nameless Whites who are beaten, crippled or killed with no recourse to ‘discrimination.’  A dead White man is only a dead White man who had it coming.  It is only the concept of racism that makes a Black man killed by the CWBs a crime.

page 1402.

     Members of the Gestapo or KGB are fearsomely portrayed in the movies but you don’t know what fear is until you’ve had a jack booted, jodhpured, helmeted, dark visored, CWB with a Dick Tracy array of gadgets and guns belted to his midriff walk up to you with the full intent of knocking you to the ground with his leaded billy if you show impertinent curiosity as to his intent, let alone, spirit.  You better be Black if you want to file a complaint because they throw White boys out on their ear.

     The LAPD walked mean and talked mean with the uncompromising full support of not only the legal system but the financial and political power behind them.  No action would be taken against a CWB no matter what he did or why.  There were corrupt, vicious, criminal and big with a license to kill before .007 made the scene.  They were often used as hit men by the powers that be.

     No one but the terminally insane like Rodney King ever messed with them.  Being Black is a very poor excuse.  There was no question that if you fought the LAPD the LAPD won.  It was a suicide mission.  One tried not to be seen with them even standing next to them.  How could anyone Black or White sympathize with a fool like Rodney King?

     All those bad ass Blacks, wild Hillbilly Boys and assorted desperadoes didn’t pay the LAPD no mind. The Mafia and ADL were greased of course so the LAPD didn’t pay them no mind.  In its relaxed way LA was the toughest city in the world.

     Now, as an innocent at large Dewey Trueman was dropped off in the dark at the end of the freeway on Sepulveda Blvd. with no idea where he was or how to reach the Grapevine.  Dewey scuffed the pavement with frustrated kicks wondering what to do next.  He spotted a gas station a block away where he hoped to receive good information.

page 1403.

     The worst of it might be that some joker would send him down to Watts where he would have one hell of a time of it.  The first major eruption in Watts didn’t occur until 1965 but that doesn’t mean there weren’t a lot of little tremors first.  White was not a popular color in Black Watts.  Even high yellows had to take care down there.

     Luck was with Dewey.  He had developed a good tough scowling Navy walk.  You have to act so tough to get by in America.  A term of approbation during the fifties was ‘that’s tough, man.’ meaning that’s a cool shirt, for instance.   They even wrote a lilting tune called ‘So tough’ to celebrate the condition.  Toughness will get you further than politeness any day.

     The attendant eyed him up.  Respect for the uniform and attitude got Dewey correct directions.  The attendant advised him to go over a couple blocks to La Cienega then North toward the Hollywood hills to Lankersheim Blvd. in the San Fernando Valley, or just the Valley, thence to the foot of the Grapevine.  A formidable forty miles or so through uncharted territory.  Being young and dumb was a big asset to Dewey, otherwise he would have had to think twice.

     Hitchhiking through LA meant running a seventy mile gauntlet of queers.  Dewey was psychologically unprepared for this although common sense should have told him that anyone standing by the side of the road soliciting rides could be construed as being ‘lonely’ and desiring company.  He was concentrating on his own needs which were to get from point A to point B.  Nevertheless the highway is the proper place for sexual adventures.

page 1404.

     As usual the homos were out in numbers so there was no dearth of rides.  Homosexuality was still against the law but the make or made attitude of LA drove large numbers of defeated men into homosexuality in an attempt to regain some masculinity.  If you lost yours you could hope to suck or siphon it out of someone else.

     It always seemed strange to Dewey that these homos were out patrolling the highways.  As many as there were, he thought, you’d think they could find some way to get together or identify each other.  Eventually they did when they created Disco.  However at that time there were few obvious homosexuals.  The closet was the right place to be.  Mostly they relied on hand signals to identify each other like moistening the eyebrow with the little finger.

     In reality they rejected their own as sexual objects preferring virgins instead.  That was where the real manhood was.  Either that or they preferred the danger of strangers in the dark.  There was no difficulty in rolling a gay.  They actually invited beatings being sado-masochistic.

     If you were game for a homosexual adventure or led them on they drove you to secluded spots of which they knew plenty even in the middle of the city.  Most of them wanted to blow you so a crack on the head with a blackjack while they were down there presented no difficulty.  It’s a wonder more of them weren’t killed.

page 1405.

     Most of them got straight to  the point resulting in a two block hop.  Some were more discriminating taking a mile or so to make up their minds.  Dewey’s luck was a succession of two block hops all the way up La Cienega to Wilshire.

     Dropped off on the South side of Wilshire Dewey crossed the street to find himself in a wonderland by night.  Change comes swiftly in LA.  La Cienaga from Wilshire to Santa Monica at the time was a glitzy restaurant row for tourists.  The street was at its apex.  Seemingly imperishable in the bright lights at the time all but Lawry’s would be gone within ten years or so.

     Like Lawry’s these were all mammoth restaurants seating hundreds.  Any one of them would have seated the patrons of all the restaurants in the Valley of Michigan on any given night.  The bustle was gorgeous and immense.

     Much to the amusement of the car parkers and doormen of which each restaurant seemed to have dozens Dewey gawked like any red dirt Georgia farm boy on his first trip to the city.  He yearned to be part of the scene.  Twelve years later when he came back having no other choice but Lawry’s he ate there.  It was a good restaurant but like a bottle of wine promised more than it could deliver.

     For now, heedless of time, Dewey walked slowly up to Santa Monica Blvd. taking it all in.  He stopped before the windows of Zeitlin and Ver Brugge an excellent book store to ogle their fine display.  He would one day shop there but it too followed the restaurants into oblivion.

page 1406.

     He was lucky enough to catch a ride from Santa Monica to Sunset with a foursome enjoying LA to the fullest.

     Like La Cienega Sunset was if not actually in decline on the verge of decline.  This was the time of the TV series 77 Sunset Strip. Raymond Chandler complains of the Mafia and its hold on restaurants.  So organized crime had run the restaurant scene for some time although it was nowhere so obvious as in Dean Martin’s restaurant,  Dino’s, which naturally commanded the central spot on the strip.  Unlike the tourist traps of La Cienega Sunset was where the LA glitterati went to shine.

     The Eve of Destruction lurked on the North side of the street tucked behind the glitter against the hills.  Strangely Dewey found his way there.  Just as the jive talking parking lot attendant of 77 Sunset Strip,   Ed ‘Kookie’ Byrnes, represented the obverse side of hip culture the Beat character Maynard Ferguson would have frequented the coffee shop called the ‘Eve Of Destruction.’  He didn’t stay long.

     As with everything in Hollywood the Wasted Angels sought out the essence of a thing and turned it into a movie set.  If you wanted an authentic coffee house you had to go to San Francisco.  If you wanted artificial people playing at being Beats in movie set coffee houses you went to LA.  In San Diego the scene was like someone who had heard of Beats and setting up a coffee house on that hearsay.  They completely missed the point by called a coffee house:  ‘Socrate’s Prison.’  Really strange.

 page 1407.

     At the time Dewey was rigorously authentic.  As an outsider of society he was quite familiar with hip jargon and Beat attitudes if unfamiliar with them in context.  He was not only offended at the phony coffee house, but the tough Mafioso who regulated admittance of the clientele took offense at his appearance.

     Unlike the later Studio 54 of New York the coffee house couldn’t select its clientele from a long line of hopefuls but it could deny entrance to those it considered unsuitable.  The tough young criminal found Dewey objectionable about the same time Dewey was revolted by what he saw.

      Dewey was already leaving when the bravos moved toward him to drive him out.  Therein lay the corruption of LA.  The Anglo-Saxons were an inclusive people.  Having inhabited America they invited all the peoples of the world to come on over too.  But many of the peoples of the world like the Italians and the Jews were exclusive peoples.  They were narrow and discriminatory.  They only wanted to admit people who met their circumscribed standards of acceptability.

      Clubs may be exclusive but restaurants cannot be.  As the Mobsters drove out people they found objectionable the clientele diminished in proportion to the number of tough acting, though talking Mobsters who thereby dominated the clientele.  As the regular clientele disappeared there were only a bunch of criminals sitting around insulting anyone who walked in.  The Mob restaurants all went out of business one after the other.  They should have formed clubs.  But without any outsiders to impress with their tough tough ways there was no joy in that.

page 1408.

     Their attitude may have worked well in economic backwaters like Sicily and the Pale but in a booming expansive economy the attitude is counter productive.  Of the pool of potential customers the number of rejected is always much greater than those who are acceptable.

     As the Jews and Italians always want to be in the high profile areas the acceptable are too few to meet expenses hence the restaurants always go out of business.  Dino’s was the opening wedge in the destruction of Sunset Strip.  The hammer that drove the wedge in was across the street.  The Beats, who were not a respectable intelligencia were soon to evolve into the Hippies who were neither respectable nor intelligencia.  There was something happening here but no one understood.  By the mid-sixties all the glamor was gone from Sunset Strip.  the Mafia and the Hippies had driven everyone away.

     Rather than put his thumb out amidst the glitz Dewey walked on down to the corner of Laurel Canyon to begin there.  It was one of the longest walks of his life.  Once again his uniform availed him nothing; if anything it marked him as an inconsequential person to be ignored.  Ignored he was; the self-important people intent on entering a Mafia dive like Dino’s blinded by their desire to appear ‘in’ walked right over Dewey as if he weren’t there.  Women as well as men.  They didn’t brush by him they walked right through him.  Dewey was not aware of slipping out of their way but he must have as no physical contact was made nor was he knocked aside.  He saw men and women standing near the entrances looking in his direction and laughing but he never knew why.

page 1409.

     Continuing up Sunset through lights so bright the headlights of cars seemed dim Dewey found his way to the corner, crossing over Laurel Canyon to put out his thumb.  He was picked up immediately.  His ride wasted no time.

     ‘Unzip your fly.’  The homo commanded before the car had reentered the stream of traffic.

     ‘Zip your lip.’  Dewey commanded reflexively in turn.

      That was a fairly witty exchange but the fruit was not in the mood for witty repartee; he wanged to the curb at the first opening.

      ‘Put out or get out of my car.’  He demanded.  ‘Nobody rides for free.’

     ‘That’s right, Jack, and you ain’t got enough to pay the fare.’  Dewey sneered as he slid out of the car.

     He was pulling his middie down and arranging his scarf when a car pulled up before he’d even put his thumb out.  He got in.

     ‘He there, Sailor.  You’re a likely looking guy.’

     ‘For what?’  Dewey asked.

     ‘You can drive?’  His ride asked.

     ‘Are you kidding?’  Dewey sneered.  He’d been behind the wheel once a couple years previously.  He hadn’t done too well but he figured that was his first time.  The next time he’d be a regular Barney Oldfield.

page 1410

     ‘OK.  I’m going to pull up in front of a liquor store up here.  When I get out slide over into the driver’s seat.  I’m going to be coming out of the liquor store in a hurry.  When I do don’t even wait for me to slam the door; have it is gear and just get the hell out of there.

     OK.  Here we are.  See this corner here?  Go up to the next one and turn right.  Don’t let anyone slow you down.  Run ’em over if you have to.’

     The driver took a huge .45 automatic out from under the seat dramatically snapping a clip into place.

     Dewey quickly came up with the sum of four.  they both opened their doors at the same time as Dewey stepped out.

     ‘No, no, man.  Just slide over.’

     ‘This is where I wanted to get out.’  Dewey said politely walking away.

     ‘Aw, chicken shit pansy.  Nobody rides for free.’

     Where have I heard that before?  Dewey asked himself.

     Undeterred by Dewey’s defection his ride entered the liquor store exited in a hurry, got back in his car and shook his fist at Dewey as skidded around the corner.

     A block later the CWBs pulled up.  A pair of jackboots and dark visors grabbed him by the arms.

     ‘Just a second, Sailor, we want to have a few words with you.’  the voice of an anonymous Gestapo figure admonished from under his crash helmet behind the dark visor and dark glasses.  ‘We don’t like swabbies comint to our town and committing robberies.’

page 1411.

     ‘I wouldn’t either.’  Dewey said without thinking.

     ‘You getting smart with me, son?’  The officer said pushing Dewey backward across the other CWB’s extended foot.  Dewey crashed to the ground.

     Now if Dewey had been as stupid as Rodney King he would have come up cursing and swinging.  The CWBs would have made no bones about breaking his.  Sitting downtown in the can Dewey would have no recourse but the suffer the indignity and its accompanying jail term.  He would have been just another no account loud mouthed White Boy who deserved no considerations.  No riots for Dewey.

     ‘Now, you were seen getting out of the car of the man who just robbed that liquor store back there.  What’s your story?’

     At least they were nice enough to ask back in those days.

     ‘Uh, no story.  I was…’ Dewey was about to say hitchhiking then thought better of it.  ‘…in a bar back on the Strip and met the guy and we were going to somewhere else when he turned out to be queer.  He pulled over and I got out.  That’s all I know.’

     ‘What bar was that?  Your ID says you aren’t twenty-one yet?’

     ‘Coffee bar.  It was a coffee bar.  The big one back there across from Dino’s’  Dewey corrected himself.

     The CWB leaned close but could smell no liquor.

     ‘That’s it?’

     ‘Yeah.  Of course that’s it.  I’m no crook.’

     The cop had no real reason to hold Dewey, not that he needed one, so he gave indications of letting him go.

page 1412.

     ‘Teufelsdreck, hey?  Where’s your base?  San Diego?  You got an out of bounds pass?’

     ‘This is only LA.  Don’t need one.’

     ‘Maximum’s a hundred miles from San Diego, isn’t it.  Used to be when I was in.’

     ‘Just barely.  They told us LA is OK without a pass.  Exec doesn’t want to be bothered.’

     ‘Oh, ‘they’ did, did ‘they’?  Well, watch your step, bud.  Stay out of trouble.’  The CWB said throwing Dewey’s ID at his feet which seemed to be SOP for CWBs everywhere.

     Dewey let them drive off then put out his thumb.  A car wheeled across traffic from the other side of the street where the driver had been watching.

     ‘What was that all about?’  He demanded, his curiosity shooting out in blue flames.

     Nobody rides for free.  Dewey thought and nobody gets my story for nothing.

     ‘It’s a long story.’  Dewey replied laconically.

     ‘I got time.’  The driver said eagerly.

     ‘Yeah.  Well.  I’m trying to get to Lankersheim Boulevard in the Valley.  You heading in that direction?’

      ‘As a matter of fact, I am.’

     He made all the right turns weaving through the Hollywood Hills as Dewey spun his story out as long as he could beginning with ride from the Marine, Bill Baird.  He had just finished his story when the car descended the hills unto Lankersheim beside Universal Studios in North Hollywood.

     ‘Cops are a bitch.’  The driver said as Dewey got out.

     ‘Sure are.  Thanks for the ride.’

page 1413.

Love Letters In The Sand

     Lankersheim was the heart of the run through LA to the Grapevine.  It was one twenty mile gut through the Valley.  On Friday nights the street was vital as a drag strip.  It may have been the finest drag strip in the nation, wide enough for micro contests of bravado and long enough to exhaust your strength.

     The entire gut was thronged with high schoolers from all over LA.  Thousands of cars inched North while thousand more crawled South.  Boys hung out of cars hooting at girls.  Girls gave them that look promising everything if only they could get together across the throng.

     Cries of ‘Turn the car around, dammit, she wants me.’  abounded on all sides.  The girls knew they were safe but the vanity of the boys made them believe the impossible.  No car could turn around although some daredevil might try from time to time but this only resulted in traffic jams and cursing from the other boys.

     Boys hurled deadly insults to other boys knowing they were safe within the glacial flow of traffic.  In the anonymity of this melange of high schoolers drawn from hundreds of square miles of LA there was a slim chance anyone would ever see anyone else again.

page 1414.

     At strategic points self-appointed marshalls sat on their cars identifying and cataloguing cars they’d seen before.  With little else to do but interfere in other people’s business they plotted and schemed to control this incredible galactic happening that occurred every Friday night.  In whatever manner they worked they were able to determine who could and who could not take part in the parade.

      When they found someone they didn’t like the wheels went into motion and the Lankersheim version of the ADL or Mafia sprang into action.  the car was isolated by the organization; the driver either proved himself or found his safety very uncertain.

     This tremendous show was kids from the classes of ’59, ’60 and ’61.  Their conception of morality had changed drastically from the crowd of ’54,’55 and ’56.  There hadnot been too many saints around in the latter years but by ’58 concepts of the permissable had deteriorated drastically.

     There was scant respect for people or property.  Moral considerations had been swept aside.  Decency was a thing of the past.  More than ever if you couldn’t out tough the toughs there were no social or moral supports to restrain anyone.  Aleister Crowley’s moral: The whole of the Law shall be: Do as thou wilt was but a fact.  The only restraint was outraged public opinion and that worked but slowly.

     Even the, if convicted, and the scope of restriction on evidence was constantly made more difficult, the sentences were minimal.  As heinous as Caryl Chessman’s actions were it was ridiculous he got the death penalty when actual murderers were serving three years or even less.  For many men aboard the Teufelsdreck it was worth three years to murder someone they didn’t like.

page 1415.

     All over LA the youth were committing egregious crimes.  They burgled houses in broad daylight.  If caught they beat up the homeowners laughing them to scorn.  They had the strength to perpetrated while the homeowners didn’t have the strength to resist.  Crowley was taken literally.

     The Old Fuds couldn’t figure out what was going wrong.  Here these kids had everything and they were satisfied with nothing.  This wasn’t the Depression when things had been tough, the Old Ones lamented, these were prosperous times.  But still the kids ran wild in the streets.  Still, as they laughed at their elders and pushed them from sidewalks as they passed.

     The results of immigration and racial strife had come home to roost but nothing could be done about it so the Old Folks made plans to retire behind fences and walls in ‘planned’ communities.  They really thought they could distance themselves from problems in that way.  Crazy world.

     As Dewey looked down Lankersheim he gritted his teeth.  On the one hand all these dragsters meant that it would be difficult to get rides, while on the other it meant that it would have to tough it out to avoid fights.  If he had to fight his uniform would almost certainly be torn necessitation a return to the Base.

     Grimly he put out his thumb.  Here at the beginning of the gut things were at their mildest.  Mingled in all these kids were a myriad number of fruits.  Perhaps they found the gut a happy hunting ground for the young stuff.  At any rate a couple of them moved Dewey a couple miles into the center of things.

page 1416.

     He attracted a fair amount of attention from the dragsters who didn’t see many sailors on their strip.  Dewey fielded threatening comments from the marshalls sitting on their cars and laughed at the goofs hanging out the windows.  He only wished the girls blowing him kissers were half sincere.  In any event he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself by responding to them.

     then his gaze strayed across the street.  To he surprise he spotted Gonzo Lewis in front of a drug store.  Lewis was too preoccupied to direct his attention across the street so he didn’t notice Dewey.  Lewis was in uniform and he was panhandling.  Whether he was doing it to make for his lost income because of the advances or whether it was just a Man With The Twisted Lip routine couldn’t be determined but he appeared to be doing well.

     He stood with a forlorn expression which elicited more of a response than one would think.  People would ask what the matter was.  Lewis explained that he had had his pocket picked so that he no longer had the money to get back to the hsip.  People pressed money into his hands, not only change but folding cash.

     Gonzo was doing OK.  LA was the perfect paradise for him.  He pulled his stunt regularly, a different location each time so he wouldn’t become obvious.  Pasadena one time, Riverside another, Anaheim the next.  Disneyland was a terrific location especially as the clientele of tourists was never the same.  Gonzo was good too, he had his look and act perfected.  he more than made up for however much he had to repay the Navy.  Heck, he collected more each month than the Navy thought he was worth.

page 1417.

     ‘Oakland.’  Dewey said in response to the question of how far he was going as he opened the door.

     ‘Why Oakland?’

     ‘Know some people.’

     ‘On leave?’

     ‘Naw.  Just a forty-eight.  Weekend.  Gotta be back Sunday night.’  Meaning Monday morning but it was understood.

     ‘Already near midnight.  You’ll have to turn around and come back as soon as you get there.’

     ‘Think so?’

     ‘Sure do.  Seems like a waste of your time.  You should stay in the Valley and relax.’

    ‘Sure, but I don’t know anyone.  I can’t afford it.’

 

    ‘You know me.’

     ‘Not very well.  Just met.’

     ‘Time will remedy that.  What say you stay at my place.  We’ll party a bit then maybe I’ll drive you back to the base Sunday night?’

     ‘Aw, gotta get to Oakland.’

     ‘You’re short of money?  I could let you have some.’

     ‘Thanks a lot, but it’s Oakland or bust.’

     ‘You might as well get out there then, you’re wasting my time.’

     ‘OK.  Don’t say it:  Nobody rides for free, right?’

page 1418

      Several fruits later Dewey was standing at the foot of the Grapevine left by a not very considerate driver.  It was now one-thirty in the morning.

     The wise thing would probably have been to turn around and go back but that would probably have taken him all night anyway so he decided to go on.

     The heavy traffic of Lankersheim had disappeared.  It didn’t seem as though anyone was using the Grapevine this late at night.  The worst that could happen had happened, Dewey was on the Grapevine at night.

     The Grapevine was a fifty mile stretch of highway that led over the range of hills joining the Coast Range and the Sierra Nevada.  The Grapevine itself, the highway, twisted and turned through this barren moonscape.  Things could and did happen up there.  If anyone cared to look they would find burial grounds.

     The wisest thing to do was to refuse all rides that didn’t get you completely over the Grapevine down into Bakersfield.  Dewey was too new to understand that so he took a ride that dropped him off where 126 to Ventura to the West split off.

     There Dewey stood in the dark night with the star spangled sky above him.  Navy blues are not a good outfit for hitchhiking in the dark.  Only that white hat stands out.  It didn’t matter too much because traffic had shut down for the night.  He arrived after two.  Only a couple cars passed between then and four thirty when he caught a ride.

page 1419.

     To amuse himself he stood out in the middle of the road daring a car to come along and hit him.  Even more daringly he sat in the middle of the road daring a car to come along and run him over.  He wandered from side to side standing for long minutes with his head tilted back on his shoulders gazing up at distant galaxies too far for the naked eye to see.  It was then his mind slipped into a different mode.  It wasn’t a dream and it wasn’t a day dream it was as though an automatic door opened allowing Dewey to step down a corridor into a house on the beach.  The house was exceptionally clean, neat and orderly, tastefully and sparingly decorated.  A fresh innervating breeze wafted through the open doors and windows.

     Dewey’s first real vision was entering the kitchen.  There was a woman he couldn’t see clearly standing to the left as he entered and another very beautiful woman seated against the far wall in a sort of high chair.  She was immobile, her face impassive, her eyes glazed and fixed; perhaps she was staring into the same invisible galaxy of the same distant super cluster into which Dewey was staring.  Perhaps their eyes met in that distant space.

     Dewey was delighted to find himself in what appeared to be his home as every nerve tingled with delight.  He spotted the sink, picked up a glass to draw some water and burst into song.  Strangest thing of all it was a Pat Boone song.  In the strong mellow unconstrained baritone he only wished he could command he sang:  ‘It was on a day like today, when…’  As he began ‘when’ the woman on the high chair came to life.  The glass and water disappeared.  In a happy joyful demeanor she appeared in his arms joining her voice to his in a soaring soprano.  ‘…we passed the time away, writing love letters in the sand.’

page 1420.

     ‘I thought you’d never come back.’  She exclaimed ecstatically.  ‘I’ve kept myself for you all this time.’

     Dewey was overjoyed to find his lost beauty again although he wasn’t aware she had been lost.

     He was about to say:  ‘Yes, Darling, I’ve yearned for you for so long.’  While leading her outside into the glorious blue of the sky, the buff of the beach and the innervating breeze.  He would have sat with her with the surf rolling in writing actual love letters in the sand.  But the other woman broke in to say what a miracle it was as Dewey’s Anima hadn’t spoken a word since she was thirteen.

     And then the Sheriff walked into the room demanding in a loud stern voice.  ‘What’s going on in here?’

     The stars appeared once again before Dewey’s eyes.  He had lost that beautiful buxom darling once again.  Nor could he find a trace of her as his eyes searched all across the universe from end to end.  The epiphany was over.

     The active memory faded from his mind immediately as his conscious mind descended into the Life in Death Hades of his daily existence.  Only the faint light of her glow remained out where his sight couldn’t see.  She was a hostess on a big mainliner out behind a cosmic cloud his vision couldn’t penetrate.  Where oh where could she be?

     Actually she was where she would ever be, only in his heart and in his mind.  Dewey didn’t have the psychology to understand his epiphany nor if Freud had been there did he have enough to explain it either.  While Freud put the understanding of dreamwork on a scientific basis he himself lacked the science to really develop his notions.  He understood the principle but he was never able to penetrate the veil.  All of his dream explanations in his dream book are less than superficial; at no time does he have an inkling of the true meaning of the symbolism.

page 1421.

     He was too preoccupied with Jewish political problems to actually probe the science of this subject matter.  If dreams can be considered the poetry of the psyche then daydreams are its prose.  Both dreams and daydreams deal with the same psychic traumata.  Both are seeking the same solutions.

     Daydreams since they originate in the subconscious and are manipulated by the conscious are in many way more important than dreams.  As a sort of novel they can be written down exactly as they occur if you are aware enough to capture them.

     With a catalog of a dozen or so the nature of your problem can easily be ascertained.  With that level of interference out of the way your conscious mind is free to probe further while your subconsicous is forced to send up fresh matter.  After a while you’ll bore yourself to death if you’re not careful, ending all your problems.

     Dewey’s experience was neither a dream nor a daydream but an actual ephiphany and a very pleasant one.  His subconscious mind had processed a mass of information so he actually believed rather than corrected for his tastes as one might in a daydream.  Daydreams have to be let flow without hindrance to show their full content.  Unfortunately the tendency is to correct them to bring them into consonance with conscious needs or fears.

page 1422.

     The meaning was quite simple to an analyst with the necessary information.  All of the information didn’t come from within the mind.  In those days there was a real controversy over Pat Boone vs. Elvis Presley.  Boone was the clean cut hero of the upper half of society while Presley was the common, vulgar hero of the other half.  At least that’s how the upper half perceived it and how the other half accepted it.

     As a member of the other half Dewey consciously passionately embraced the cause of Elvis but as he was never one or the other of anything, he shared characteristics of both.  Now, as his psyche, that is to say, his whole mind, processed the data concerning Boone and Presley in light of his own experience it dealt with all the details and not just the ones Dewey consciously dwelt on.  Thus his psyche came to different conclusions than Dewey’s intelligence.

     Dewey’s psyche did know how repressed he actually was.  Since his intelligence and psyche both admired the same thing his psyche fought to show his intelligence the way to freedom.

     Elvis as a member of the suppressed other half sang of their hopes and despairs as in such pre-Army songs as That’s All Right Mama, Mystery Train    and Heartbreak Hotel.  Dewey consciously related to both the despairing content of the songs and the hurt repressed style of delivery.

page 1423.

     On the other hand he sneered at the confident, expansive assertive style of Pat Boone’s  Love Letters In The Sand although he recognized the wholeness of the sound.  The open handed unimpeded baritone delivery from the deep chest was where he really wanted to be.

     The repressed high pitched wailing of the early Presley was where he actually was.

     It should be noted that something happened to Presley in the Army because when he came out he changed his hysterical frantic delivery for a more controlled baritone although not with the contented unrepressed openness of Boone.  It should also be noted that the Army never felt the need for the upper class Boone’s services.  Somehow he slipped through the draft even as an officer candidate.

     So the symbolism of Dewey’s epiphany was quite clear.  The house represents the self so Dewey had exchanged the prison of earlier dreams for a bright, airy, pleasant edifice.  the kitchen is the room of transformations, rebirth as in the loaf in the oven.  It too was impeccably clean.  The glass and water are symbols of the Anima or female.  The ocean and beach outside the windows is clear.  It should be noted that the windows were open to let in the fresh air.

     The woman on the stool who was about the same age as Dewey was quite obviously his Anima which had been repressed at the same time as Dewey’s Animus had been.  Thus as he bursts into song realizing the relaxed full chested baritone style of Pat Boone his Animus and Anima have been made whole again.  The glass and water coalesce into his Anima as she immediately comes back to life embracing his Animus in reunited bliss.

page 1425.

     They would have gone outside to write love letters in the sand had not the Sheriff of Dewey’s censorship  invaded the ephiphany to destroy it.  the Sheriff rlated to an incident in Dewey’s infancy when a real sheriff had just walked into the back door of the house saying the exact same words in his response to hier mother’s telephone call.

     One may presume that the woman who rejoiced at the Anima’s revival was somehow related to Dewey or it may have been the Terrible Mother aspect of his Anima.  Another form of censor.

     In any event the range of information of which Dewey was aware or unaware used by his psyche was both enormous and extremely subtle.  It is truly amazing that Freud with his pinch chested mentality never went beyond the level obtained in his dreambook which was indeed minimal.

     The epiphany vanished from Dewey’s conscious mind.  He had no idea what it meant he only knew he desired it.

     Still basking in his glow he moved back out of the middle of the road as he saw headlights approaching.  The laboring of the vehicle and the clanking of its bicycle chain identified it as a Volkswagen.  Caught between the despair and hope that not getting a ride leaves you with, Dewey just kind of flipped his thumb out in a hopeless gesture.  The little yellow Bug slowed to a stop.  Dewey didn’t have to take more than a half dozen steps to sardine himself into the little Beetle.

     Stan Leland was behind the wheel.  Stan was a desperate character.  He was prepared to kill the hitchhiker for the twenty dollars or less that he assumed Dewey had.  He was convinced the hitchhiker had twenty dollars on him.  That was why he stopped.

page 1425.

     Leland was twenty-five years old.  He had once been a strapping young man but his straps had been snapped for him.  Stan had attended Hollywood High.  He hadn’t come from the rich families but he had been allowed to hang around with them.  Not having the grace of legitimacy he had made up for it with the bravado of the interloper.  Having to be deferential to his group he made up for it by tormenting others.  He didn’t really torment them but he didn’t make any friends either.

      Graduation left Stan stranded.  His group melted away into the universities while he had to find a job.  Stripped of his social status he took up the pose of an aspiring actor.  He was only middling good looking although a lithe six foot two.  His brash self-confidence turned his middling looks into a species of handsomeness.  He thought he was good looking and therefore he was.

     Stanford tried to make up for his loss of social status with an aggressive brashness that tended to alienate rather than endear.  People tended to endure him rather than challenge him.  And then Stan turned twenty-0ne.

     He had secured a couple walk-ons in the movies, you know, carrying a rifle in buckskins along the wagon train and in one he spoke a line but it was cut out.  These successes convinced him of his future, increasing his aggressive demand for status.

page 1426.

     At twenty-one he went up to the Strip to celebrate.  Three or four drinks later his attention was caught by a cute little blond thing serving as a pendant to Fat Tony Carmino’s ego.  Stan compared himself very favorably to Fat Tony in an attempt to lure this worthless slut, but good lay, his way.

     Fat Tony, and he was not without friends, took exception to brash young Stan’s advances to his frail.  Stan didn’t fully appreciate the difference between the people he usually balked and the men of the Mob.  Fat Tony and a couple of guys who didn’t appreciate Stan’s mouth took him outside, drove him to a quiet place and practiced drop kicking him against a wall to see how far he’d rebound.  Stan wasn’t resilient enough to be much fun so they left him in a heap driving back to the strip and Fat Tony’s frail.

     Stan Leland’s body healed but his mind never recovered.  He had had the bravado kicked out of him.  He had lost his brash self-confidence having nothing left but his middling good looks and a slight stoop.  Where he had previously stood tall, almost with a back lean, he now walked, slightly bent and without any real elasticity to his step.  He was cowed.  His movie career was over.  He made money by cons and grifts that occured to him on the spot.

     ‘How far are you going?’  He asked.

     ‘Oakland.’

     ‘I can take you part way.  I’m going to Turlock.’

     ‘Great.  Thanks.’

     The VW clanked into action.  Dewey had never been in one.  While not new to the scene, in 1958 they hadn’t been around all that long.  The air cooled rear engine with its bicycle chain drive sounded strange coming from behind him.  The VWs had low horse power.  They went from 0 to 60 in 60, minutes that is.  Any rise in the ground slowed them to a crawl.  A Chevy would be in the next county before a VW crested the hill.

page 1427.

     ‘Really noisy.’  Dewey said.

     ‘My little Bug?  People’s car.  That’s what Volkswagen means.  People’s car.  Did you know that?’  Stan would never have driven a VW before Fat Tony and the Mob cut him down to size.

     ‘Volkswagen?  Folk’s wagon.  People’s car?  No, I never translated it; never thought about it.’

     ‘Ya.  It was designed by Hitler.  Did you know that?’

     ‘No.  I didn’t know Hitler doubled as a car designer.’

     ‘Designed might be incorrect but it was made by his orders.  People may talk bad about Hitler but he gave the Germans work.  Built the Autobahns for them to drive their Beetles on.’

      ‘Oh, wow.  Quite a guy.’

     ‘Yeah.  I’ve read everything there is on him.  History’s giving him a bum rap.’

     ‘Oh well, if you’re going to start wars you better be prepared to be criticized.’

     Stan thought back to Fat Tony and winced a little.  He’d always considered his treatment unfair, even criminal.  It was, of course, but society had given the Mafia a license to act that way while Anglos were supposed to be above all that and walk around Italians.  Stan’s interest in Hitler had begun on his hospital bed as his mind groped to deal with his pain.

     ‘Hitler gave Henry Ford a medal, did you know that?’

     ‘No.  A medal for what?’

     ‘A lot of people think he gave it because Henry Ford was an anti-Semite but that didn’t have anything to do with it.  It was because of this, the Bug.’

     ‘Uh, Ford financed the Bug?’

     ‘No.  But he made the first People’s Car, the Model T.  That’s really why Hitler admired old Heinrich Ford, because of his production methods and the Tin Lizzie.  That’s why he kept a life sized portrait of Ford not because of some silly Jews.  Those people always exaggerate their importance.  If nobody’s thinking of them they stand up and shout:  ‘Pay attention to us.’

     Ford was criticized for accepting the medal but I think he did the right thing.  Ford might have been run out of Germany if he’d declined the honor.  They made Model Ts for fifteen years and they’re still making the identical Bug over twenty years later.  That’s an achievement worth a medal.  His own country didn’t appreciate him enough to give him one.  What do you think of that?’

     ‘Never thought of it.’

     ‘How much money do you have on you?’

     Dewey turned his head sharply to watch Leland:  ‘None.’

     ‘Nothing?  No money?  Come on, how are you going to eat?’

     ‘I’m not until I get to Oakland.’

     Whether Stan believed it or not Dewey was telling the literal truth about eating.  He never ate or drank on the road.

page 1429.

     ‘Oh come on.  You’ve got to have a twenty on you.  You guys always do.  Nobody rides for free.  You can chip in a little for gas.’

     ‘What?  So far you haven’t even used up a gallon of gas.  These things must get about thirty miles or more to the gallon.  What do want a dime?’  Gas was twenty or twenty-five cents a gallon in those days.

     ‘Where do you keep it, in your shoes?’

     ‘No money.  I don’t have any.’

     Leland decided on a ploy.

     ‘I’m getting hungry.  Why don’t we stop for breakfast in Grapevine here.  Here’s the Grapevine Cafe.  Good food.  I’ve been here before.’

     ‘I’m in a hurry, man.  Go ahead.  I’ll just get back on the road.’

     ‘Hey, you ingrate.  I pick you up in the middle of the night on a deserted road and you’re in too big a hurry to eat with me?’

     ‘It’s not that, man.  But look it’s daylight already.  I’m way behind time;  I should be in Oakland by now.’

     ‘We are having breakfast.’

     Stan had touched Dewey’s guilt.  Dewey was a nice guy, he tried to appreciate what others did for him.  Also he reasoned that he might still be standing outside the Grapevine Cafe when Stan left.  He went along.

     ‘What’re you going to have?’  Stan asked amicably but craftily.

page 1430

 

A Novel

Far Gresham

Vol. I

by

R.E. Prindle

Clip 8

     When the Nazis assumed power in Germany in 1933 the struggle between Nazis and Semitists was already in progress within the constext of Judaism and Communism.  On the eve of the Nazi ascension the Semitists were already crying for the isolation and boycott of Germany.  The Semitists were distributed throughout all the nations and states.  They now tried to erect an international cordon around Germany.

     The Germans fought back.  Germans, too, were distributed throughout the countries of the world.  Just as the United States had the largest Jewish population outside Europe, perhaps in the world, so it also had the largest German population outside Europe.  The Nazis hoped that German solidarity was not entirely dissolved; they therefore sent agents into the United States to arouse the German population to the sacred collective cause of Germandom.

     Thus the two national religious groups of Jews and Germans joined battle on American soil.  But that doesn’t mean there were any American Nazis.

page 351.

     Ben had heard of the international Jewish conspiracy but as usual he was ill-informed; it was something that he vaguely thought might exist and something which he vaguely feared if it did.  He just didn’t know.

     In Arthurian terms the international situation might be explained thusly:  The knights of all nations wore mantles on which were their national symbols, they carried a matching shield.  They were also confined to a geographical locality wherein their lord was sovereign.

     Mixed among all the knights of all the nations were a group of knights who wore mantles that were white with a blue Mogen David on the breast.  They however carried a contrasting shield that bore the symbols of the knights of the various other nations.  Thus no matter which shield they bore, and they exchanged them with each other as the need arose, they appeared to represent a different ideal than the other knights, which did not further the interests of the other knights lords but seemed to further their own interest at the expense of the other knights and their lords.

     Indeed they did, for they knew what they believed and salvation lay with them as their prophet, Jesus of Nazareth, said.  When the other knights challenged them, saying that no man could serve two masters, that they must choose between the nation on their shields or the Mogen David on their mantles, they put on the magic ring that made their shields and mantles match and cried:  ‘Ah, but this is only our religion; just as you have yours we have ours and every man is entitled to believe as he chooses concerning God.’  Then they took off their ring and their shields took national forms.  Thus they appeared to be working at cross purposes with the nations.  Indeed, it has been wisely said in the Bible:  No man can serve two masters.  Thus the Semitists were accused of conspiring against all the nations in the furtherance of their own belief system.  Yea, verily, and it was so.

page 352.

     Immediately as the Nazis tried to arouse Germans in the United States to their international destiny, the Semitists, in 1934, began to agitate for a congressional investigation of un-American activities.

     This was couched in language to seek out and expose anti-Semitists.  Semitism was to be made the official belief system intolerant of all others.  Four years the Semitists toiled.  In 1938 the House Un-American Activities Committee was established using almost the identical language that the Semitists proposed in 1934.

     The Semitists feared Fascism as their mortal enemy.  They interpreted the term broadly to include all those whose beliefs put them in opposition to Semitist beliefs no matter how innocently and legitimately those beliefs were held.  It was not in the interests of the United States to become embroiled in the European War.  Because of the Nazis’ attitude toward the Semitists it was in the interests of the Semitists to embroil the United States in the European war for their sakes.  Now this is where Ben became confused.  If the International Jewish Conspiracy didn’t exist then why should Americans who just happened to be Jews care about what happened to Jews who just happened to be Germans or French in Europe?  The Big Fella scratched his head.  Thus American nationalists who sought to keep America out of the European war were defamed as Fascists and anti-Semitists.  Many of these people had formed the America First Committee to agitate against American entry; their careers and reputations were sacrificed to Semitist goals.  They were defamed and ridiculed, discredited as mere cranks.  The United States did become embroiled in the ‘just’ European war.

page 353.

     The purpose of the House Un-American Activities Committee had been intended solely to expose the enemies of the Semitists not their allies.  When the Americanists were given control of the committee they lashed out at all enemies attempting to destroy American tranquility, Fascists and Communists alike.

     Now the Communists who, like the Semitists themselves, were an organization of international, rather than national solidarity, found it impossible to affiliate honestly with national organizations.  Communist interests were similar to Semitist interests.  Hence the membership of the Communist party was composed predominantly of Semitists; which is not to say that the Semitists were predominantly Communists, only that the majority of Communists bore the mantle of Semitism while carrying the Communist shield.

     Thus, while the Semitists were death on Fascism they were benevolently inclined toward Communism.  They made the enemies of Communism their own enemies.  So when the Radio Priest condemned Communism he was baited into anti-Semitism.  Secure as an anti-Communist he was vulnerable as an anti-Semitist.  Semitism was socially, if not legally, protected.  So the Semitists pursued all the anti-Communists, defaming and belittling them.

page 354.

     After the War it became apparent that Communists had been much too coddled.  While no Fascist had ever been a threat to Ameica, Communists were now found tohave infliltrated every aspect of governmental service, education and, it was feared, religion.

     Americans became hysterical about Communism.  In the wake of the war the Committee hauled up gobs of Communists.  Needless to say the overwhelming majority of these Communists were also Semitists.  But the Semitists successfully hid behind their American shields, claiming the benefits of the United States Constitution which they despised as human while still pursuing their own ‘God given’ Law.  This time, learning from the Radio Priest the Committee refrained from mentioning Jews.

     The battle raged through 1954 when a tacit agreement was reached that the Semitists would abandon Communism while Americanists would abandon ‘Fascism.’  As there was no Fascism the Semitists got the better of the deal.  Thus Semitism became the backbone of Americanism.  The nation’s ribs hung from the spine of Semitist desires.

     For Ben this was all a whirl that spun his head around and around.  Politics had nothing to do with coal.  All he wanted to do, his entire system consisted of selling coal.  In his way Ben knew what he believed as well or better than any Semitist.

     As simple minded as Ben’s hope was it was as good a belief system and certainly less destructive than that of the Semitists.  For Semitism is based on a false prophet.  Just as Nazism was based on the false premise of innate Aryan racial supremacy so Semistism is actually based on a belief in the innate racial superiority of Semitists.  This belief has been converted into religious terms but those religious tenets contradict objective truth.  Hence Semitists say that they prefer God over Truth, which indeed they must.  So also they must be the most intolerant of people; they must viciously suppress all other belief systems and objective inquiry, lest the fallacy of their beliefs be exposed.  Just as the Pope relying on the revealed word of God compelled Gallileo to deny the reality that the earth revolved around the sun.  History itself must be revised and falsified to allow only Semitist beliefs.

page 355.

     While they decried the Committee for suppressing intellectual beliefs it was only because their ox was being gored.  They raised their American shields to their breasts to conceal their Mogen David and demanded American rights that the Mogan David would never grant in a like situation.  As soon as they vanquished the competing belief system in 1954 they began to practice the very methods they had condemned.  All independent thought was condemned as anti-Semitism.  Men, women and careers were destroyed by the simple whisper- ‘anti-Semite.’  Actors and actresses found it difficult or impossible to find work if they took an independent view.  It had been only  yesterday when the Jews had cried: ‘Fie, fie, for shame on the blacklist.’

page 356.

     Ben didn’t care.  His digestion was bothering him.  As the post-war years passed he knew his coal business was in trouble.  Trouble after trouble piled atop him.  Communism at home, Communist triumphs rolled up in Asia.  Even what religion he had rose up to trouble him.  Millennarians were proclaiming the imment second coming of Christ.

     In about 1650 the Jews who had been expelled from England three hundred fifty years before were seeking legal readmission, the argument had been used that when Jews were dispersed throughout the world then Christ would return.  Rumor had it that the American Indians were descendants of the lost ten tribes of Israel giving proof that Jews were everywhere else but England.  If Jews were readmitted to England then conditions would be satisfied for the Savior’s return.

     The Bible, which is capable of many wondrous  conflicting interpretations now prophesied, or so it was said, that when the Jews were gathered in Israel once again, then would Christ return.  In 1948 the State of Israel had been established so now good Christians were singing hymns down by the riverside awaiting his return.  Ben quaked.  He didn’t believe it but he couldn’t be sure.  When Jesus didn’t appear the reason given was that Israel had indeed been reestablished but all the Jews hadn’t returned yet.  There were still some in the United States.  The great day was put off to some future generation or, perhaps, eon.  As the gas lines passed Warden’s house that fall costing Ben another couple dozen customers the result became clear to Ben.  There wasn’t going to be any coal business.  Ben got down on his knees beside his bed to pray to the Lord of Hosts, the God of the Jews, the God of the Christians, the god of Coal.  He had devised an elaborate plea but he just broke down sobbing:  “Please God, let me sell coal until I die;  Please, God, let me sell coal until I die.’  The pleas would have been perfectly answered if Ben had died then, but he didn’t.

page 357.

      Now, if one believes such things, God happened to be sitting idly on the edge of his bed at this exact moment clipping his toenails to perfection, listening to the odd prayer as his capacious mind was able to see all and hear all at one time, when Ben’s plea reached his ear. Yeah!  God couldn’t believe his ears.  His lips twisted into a smile at the ridiculous plea.  He suppressed a giggle. The giggle burst into a laugh.  The laugh became a bout of hilarity.  God rolled on the floor in merriment clutching his sides.  ‘Please God, let me sell coal as long as I live.’  Was anything as ridiculous heard since Sir Gareth asked Arthur to sleep in the kitchen?

     Barely able to stand from laughter, God scooped up his beard so as not to put his knee on it and tear it out, rose to his feet and went to his liquor cabinet for three fingers of manna.  On earth manna is called usquebaugh, although some style it Irish tea.  God strolled out amongst the gathered angels chuckling sipping his drink and guffawing:  ‘Please God, let me sell coal until I die.’

     Ben’s God didn’t answer his prayer.  Ben’s troubles were only beginning.  Solomon and David Hirsh’s were already well developed.  As 1950 was about to dawn Sears had cut deeply into Hershey’s business.  The fat part, the part that develops after you’ve met your expenses- the profit- had subsided beneath the paper thin level.

page 358.

    Solomon and David were fighting back as best they could.  They resorted to all the standard retail sales tricks, some which they had said that they would never use, but the post-war retail rules had shifted, at least temporarily, beyond the Hirhes ken.  Intense, even insane, competition  from massive over-expansion was only beginning.  Rather than being a grand seigneur dispensing  the right to shop to patrons, retailers would have to learn to be suppliants begging for their customers custom; in the years to come retailers would actually have to debase themselves before their customers.  Some called it a retailing revolution.

     Stores would now have to adapt their operations to the customers needs and wishes.  Hershey’s, and they were definitely not alone, had always pleased themselves.  They had closed Monday through Saturday at 5:30; they had closed on Sundays, some both Sundays and Mondays.  Like downtown merchants everywhere they resented extended hours.  Sears aggressively stayed open till nine weekdays while they were open after church, twelve to five, on Sundays.  The response was instantaneous; people who worked till 5:30 found the hours advantageous.

     Hershey’s made the weak counter of being open till nine on the ‘busy’ days:  Monday and Friday.  Shoppers interpreted the new rules against them.  Business continued to decline.  Cost cutting measures had reduced the staff, eliminated departments, even closed a floor.  In desperation about a year after that last load of coal had been delivered to the Wardens, David made a fatal move.  The Hirsh women were asked to help out at the store in yet another economy move.  Beverly Webster Hirsh took her place behind a counter.  A shop girl.

page 359.

     An electric thrill tingled the nerves of certain of Ben Webster’s friends who delighted in giving him bad news under the guise of informing him of what he should know.  Even though Big Ben was a common man with what he called the common touch, he didn’t want the Webster women associating with the common people.  He hadn’t approved even of Beverly’s having been present at the Christmas party at Fortress.  He had been molified, and only surlily at that, because it was ‘charity’, in Biblical parlance, ‘a good work.’  Beverly’s marriage had been serious and stressful business for him.  He would have preferred that she marry Christian, but of the choices available David Hirsh had seemed the one with the most inviolable future.  The Hirshes were bidding fair to become a Valley dynasty.

     Ben reacted to the news by catching his breath, his face went blind, his posture stiffened.  Ben couldn’t see his informant taking the greatest pleasure in his discomfiture.  The informant, his arms akimbo, the two fingers of his left hand resting on his chin, gave a little bow, a barely perceptible leaning forward of the torso and cooed:  ‘Just thought you should know, Ben Webster.’

     In his agitation the little insult or gibe flew through his conscious mind into his subconcious.  He wouldn’t ever remember it but it served to increase his agitation against David.  Ben felt betrayed, betrayed by everyone.

page 360.

     His country was in the grip of the Commies and the last days of the world might be imminent.  Everything seemed to be going wrong at once.  Gas mains were interlacing the city; convenience of use and hatred of Big Ben Webster found everyone accepting metered service.  Ben didn’t feel so big anymore, he felt superannuated.  Ben had already shut down the subsidiary yards distributed throughout the city.  At the main yard he was only using half his bins, the ones closest to where his rail spur left the line.  Ben still maintained the yards in super repair and excellent condition but he was only marginally profitable.  He could see the deficits coming.  Now his precious baby, Beverly, stood behind a counter like a common shopgirl.  How much should one common man be forced to stand?

     Ben didn’t bother to check up on the rumor, he knew it was true.  He went home and worried about it.  He had a couple drinks to help him worry.  Now, Ben should have taken his wife and gone up to his cabin in the woods at Tawas Bay.  He should have sat around for a week or two and sorted things out.  He should have, but he didn’t.  His frustrations descended on him hard, with a crash; he worked himself into a towering rage.

     Ben phoned to have his son-in-law and daughter visit him that very night.  Michael answered the phone to say they were at a dinner engagement but that he would leave the message to call.  Ben should have stopped drinking but he kept a head on all through the next day.

page 361.

     In his rage Ben cursed David Hirsh for having failed in his manhood; how could he put Ben’s baby girl to work waiting on her social inferiors.  Ben huffed and puffed, he roared in anguish.  All his anxieties came together to dance on the head of the pin of his fears.

     Now, believe me, what follows is painful for me to relate, for I too am a 100% American, but two generations later than Ben, so we have different reactions to the same situations; besides I know what I believe; Ben didn’t.  As little as I owe to people like Ben Webster and David Hirsh, my grudge is personal not genetic.  So was Ben’s actually.  I don’t want to defend Ben before you but what he said would never have been said in different circumstances.  Besides their dissimilarities had been accentuated by David himself.  He had called attention to their religious differences.

     David had responded to the shock of the Nazi extermination camps by reaffirming his Jewish beliefs.  This act necessarily entailed his withdrawal from the Christian community.  He ceased attendance at Fortress Of God.  Beverly followed him into the synagogue.  Whereas David had straddled the Jewish and Christian belief systems he now wholeheartedly embraced the Jewish belief system.  Just as the fear of Communism was making Americanists hysterical with fear, so the Nazis drove the Jews into hysteria.  David and his fellow Jews began to suspect that Americans were plotting to destroy them.  Whereas before the War they had fantasized a huge Fascist conspiracy in American they now created a huge Nazi organization waiting in the shadows for the moment to arise and devour them in ovens.  The anti-Communist activities of Americans were seen in this light.  Americanist anti-Communist fears reached such a fever pitch that in 1953 concentration camps had actually been constructed in an anticipated roundup of Communists.  To round up Communists was in essence to round up Jews.  Once the Communists were rounded up it was a short step for David and his fellows to imagine that an extension to round up Jews as Jews would be next.

page 362.

     Thus a certain coolness developed between the Hirshes and the Websters in the post-War years.  They began to distance themselves from each other.  A little picket fence arose between them.  Dave and Mike, as they had been affectionately known to the Websters, became David and Michael of a more sombre religion.  The two families had begun to find fault with each other.

     David and Beverly had responded to Ben’s request for attendance.  Beverly who had called her father back had heard the quavering urgency in his voice.  As both families were battling serious and grave economic problems Beverly was quite naturally apprehensive that some disaster had befallen her father; she had communicated that apprehension to David.  David’s mind was then occupied with the possible economic problems that might have befallen Ben.  Neither associated Beverly’s clerking at Hershey’s as the problem, but both had highly strung nerves as they drove over to Ben’s.

     Ben was half-stewed as he stood at the window watching for their arrival.  He saw the car turn into his driveway and stop.  He had intended to get them into the house where he could confront David with the accusation; or rather begin to berate him as a failure as a man; Ben was going to start in the middle where it hurt the most.  He hadn’t planned to take it further than that; he didn’t know what he would have answered to David’s objections, nor probably would he have given David an opportunity to object.

page 363.

     The two were halfway across the lawn when Ben impetuously burst the front door open, standing with one foot in the house, one foot on the porch.  His pride was shattered.  He assumed his most imperative posture.

     Internally Beverly said:  ‘Oh, jeez.’  Ben was wound tight.  His voice was incredible at any time but now his capacious diaphragm pushed the air over his thick wide vocal cords with typhonic force.  Glowering at David madly, his emotions rushing through his mind like Niagara over its falls, Ben bellowed:  ‘Get into this goddamned house, you Jew.’  But David, in his state of heightened anxiety had heard:  ‘Get into this house you goddamned Jew.’  He would swear forever that that was what Ben said, but Ben didn’t.

     Ben had always been peremptory so his manner didn’t offend David, but Ben’s words as he heard them did.  David stopped in mid-step as Ben’s blast reached him,  his foot hung suspended on a step of air.  His mouth dropped open, his breathing stopped and he went blind while his blood surged through his brain obliterating the universe.  Perspiration immediately soaked his clothes.  Memories of every event he considered anti-Semitic that had ever happened to him or to the Jews in general; every anti-Semitic thought that he believed anyone had ever harbored against him flashed through his mind.  Through this traumatic melange of memories and fears exploding in his mind wound the thread that his own father-in-law was an anti-Semite; the anti-Semitic conspiracy had reached into his own home.

page 364.

     It wasn’t true.  Ben had meant the term merely as a mild form of disapprobation, temporary at that; an ejaculation made in the choler of the moment.  Ben had meant it only as he would have called one of his own a brat.  Ben was perhaps a trifle insensitive, but David had been his son-in-law for fourteen years.  He thought he had a right to be familiar, besides, of late, David had constantly reminded Ben that he was a Jew.

     David had never been able to consider his own responsibility nor did he now.  For David it was a shattering realization that ‘anti-Semitism’ was every where.  It was even in the bosom of his family of which his hopes and fears had nourished the notion that it was the one place he was secure.

     To David’s stricken mind the universe could have begun and ended in the time he had been standing with his foot in mid-air.  Without putting his foot down he spun around and retraced his steps to his car.  Beverly who understood the seriousness of the situation nevertheless waved to her father that it would be all right.  She slid into her seat barely in time not to be knocked down by her door as David shot out into the street in a blind panic.  His feeling of revulsion was intense, he had to get away from there.

page 365.

     It wouldn’t be all right.  It wouldn’t ever be all right again.  David, who had been plunged into the abyss of despair, bobbed to the surface rather quickly under the concerned ministrations of his wife Beverly and her mother.  David visited his father-in-law’s house within a year.  There was no cordiality between he and Ben.  Ben had been hurt very deeply by his opinion of David’s conduct as regarded Beverly.  In his heart he could no longer regard David as a man and this consideration overrode all others.  This was quite as serious to him as David’s reaction to his being called a Jew.  He never had another opportunity to discuss Beverly’s clerking.  He knew that she still worked at Hershey’s.  His shame and degradation were complete but he bore them stoically, however he wanted to hurt David.  He didn’t know that he had given David a wound that would always stay fresh and raw, a wound that would never heal.  David wanted to hurt Ben also.

     Big Ben was soon forced to close down the coalyard.  Something went out of Ben’s life when he did.  He always retained the property in the hope that someday the past would return.  He always maintained the property in readiness to receive the shipments of coal.  The fences were maintained and painted every year.  The signing was fresh; Ben’s little white shack glowed whitely at night like a ghost.  Grass grew over the rail spur; the tracks quietly rusted away.  The future had consumed the past.

page 366.

9.

      I was having a big banana split at Trinkow’s drug store next to the Court Street theatre on Court St. and Caterina.  Trinkow’s apparently couldn’t conceive the notion of ‘banana split’ on their own so they had bought into a banana split franchise called the Pig Trough.  The split was served in a little wooden trough which was supposed to be of brabdingnagian proportions.  It was actually, according to my notions, conceived along more lilliputian lines.  As a reward for eating this supposedly mammoth Pig’s Trough one received a button that said:  ‘I made a pig of myself at Trinkow’s Drug.’  I don’t know if Trinkow thought I would wear such an absurd button but I was given one anyway.  The thing was a heck of a good banana split; its creator understood the finer nuances of ‘banana split.’  I don’t know if I would have paid him money for the information as Trinkow’s did, I could have done just as well with my own unaided faculties.  I guess Trinkow’s couldn’t.

page 367.

     I had had several over the last few weeks.  I had a button each to prove it.  I was now in a dispute with the clerk who was refusing to give me another on the specious grounds that I already had several.  As I paused in the discussion to scoop up some chocolate, which I had carefully segregated from the strawberry and pineaple, saving the best for last, I overheard two men behind me talking.

     One was saying:  ‘Whatever happened to Webster anyhow?’

     ‘Oh, he’s still around.’  The other said.  ‘He’s in the oil business over on Transit St.  Didn’t you know that?  He stands out in front of his shack watching the world go by.  You ought to go over and take a look at him.’

     ‘Hmm.  Maybe I will.’  Was the reply.

     N0 maybe about it.  I would.

     I was allowed to use Skippy’s old bike, an ancient Columbia, so I hopped on and found my way over to Transit St.  The street was on the North side of the Valley, not too far from the coalyard.

     There was Big Ben.  He was a far cry from the Big Ben of old.  He no longer felt important, so that, as he stood there, he seemed contracted into himself; he no longer stood tall like the Big Ben of old.  Instead of the wonderful bustle and noise of the coalyard there was just a big oil tank standing silently in weeds on its four tubular steel legs.  It was like a spent war machine from the War of the Worlds.  He had a couple of greasy trucks for delivery, bought second hand.  Very functional compared to the big clean rigs that delivered coal.  Even the drivers looked foul and sinister compared to the proud way the coal drivers carried themselves.  There was no rail spur or puffing blowing steam engine.  His wholesaler came by in the dead of night to fill his tank.  There was no magic.

page 368.

     Ben was a monopolist at heart.  Dominance was his game.  Cordiality was foreign to him.  They had had to buy coal from him.  He could treat them as he liked; show them who was boss.  He could be Big Ben.

     Now he was only one of a dozen retailers.  He competed not only with the other retailers but the gas main.  He had bought into a small pie of even smaller pieces.  So that was his problem:  Oil was competitive; he wasn’t.  Oil customers didn’t like to be talked to the way Ben was used to talking to his coal customers.  They could go somewhere else where they were treated better.  They did.  Ben was stagnating, running downhill, nearing the bottom.

     When the man in the drugstore said that you should go take a look at Ben a lot of people were.  There was a steady stream of cars turning the corner, then taking a slow driveby as they passed Ben standing on the weedlined sidewalk in front of his little shack.  They still feared him.  They didn’t turn their heads to gawk at him, but eyed him furtively from the corner of their eyes, the drivers leaning foward slightly, inconspicuously , as they hoped, to see round their wives.  The eyes of the little ones stared just above the level of the back windows not knowing what they were looking at but aware that he was a legend.

page 369.

     I rode up turning off the main walk to stop Skippy’s blue bike in the walkway leading up to the shack.  It was one of those temporary looking pre-fab jobbies sitting up on cinder blocks rather than a real foundation.  The thing was a non-descript brownish color with a door in the middle and a large picture window on the right.

     Ben probably thought I was impertinent as I leaned my elbows and forearms on the handlebars and stared up at him.  He looked at the old beat up Columbia, than at my shoes and ill fitting worn clothes.  His lower right lip drooped into a sneer as his upper lip curled to say something when his eyes met mine.  It was one of those rare instances when one’s vision penetrates the plane of individuality and reaches into the brain through the inner eye.  We saw each others contempt for the other.

     A couple of years had passed since I had last seen Ben.  My youthful innocence was vanishing.  I understood the implications of his curling sneer better.  As Ben’s prospects deteriorated he, like some convicted criminal, had turned to Jesus.  The religion of the Book.  The Book that preaches that unfortunates must exist, the poor will always be with us.  As a self-fulfilling prophecy, if the poor don’t exist naturally people must be pushed down to fill the ranks.  Ben’s religion insisted that rather than raising people up it is far better that the will of God be expressed by letting them seek the lower level.

     I was conscious by now of having been and being pushed down.  Ben had long been guilty of the attitude even before he got religion.  The notion was endemic to the belief system with which he had been brought up.  Finance capitalists believed that laborers were the poor.  They had no rights because they were failures in the pursuit of wealth.  God had divined that they must live by the sweat of their brows.  God had written it down himself, with his own hand, as they thought, in his Holy Book.

page 370.

     A young man had grown up in the generation preceding Ben’s who had watched these Biblical devotees with disgust.  The first forty years of his life had coincided with the evolution of finance capitalism, a period roughly from 1865 to 1900.  The period was one of the extension of the railroad networks throughout the United States.  America was a wild untamed country, its people severed from the civilizing influence of Europe were a wild and woolly bunch of boys.  They were uneducated, unrestrained and undisciplined.  Honesty was a concept to be found in a book somewhere.  Law was whatever you could put over.

     The finance captitalists created their own law which was paramount to federal, state and municipal law.  Governments adjusted themselves to the finance capitalists, the capitalists did as they pleased.  A fundamental law of theirs was that labor was a commodity.  The price of labor was the least amount that a man would accept to perform a service.  If only one man could do the job then he could set his own price; if anyone could do the job the finance capitalist set the price.  This was in inviolable article of faith.  The Bible backs up the whole program.

page 371.

     During the exploration of the United States all the great natural resources fell into relatively few hands.  The great mines belonged to them, huge forests, which a few years before had belonged to no one, became the private property of the few who grabbed them.  God’s bounty was taken from the many.  The few dug and cut the wealth of the land forcing labor to work for less than a living wage under execrable conditions.  Any rebellion was treated as a violation of the sacred word of God.

     When asked by what right they claimed the assets that until recently had been the property of all, the finance capitalists looked out and said with a straight face: ‘God gave them to us.’  Must have.  When laborers went on strike a judge screamed with a straight face: ‘Don’t you know you’re tampering with God’s divine order.’  He was right too.  For God, in his own voice, had said that laborers must win their bread, and bread only- no luxuries- by the sweat of their brow.  Luxuries were to be no part of their lives.

     Dissenters to this creed were clubbed and shot down.  They were put on a black list and found it very difficult to find a job.  At the least they had to adopt several aliases.  Then they lived in fear of being exposed and moving on to yet another job.

     In the West, in Colorado, during this man’s middle manhood, a bloody war raged between the hard rock miners and the mine owners.  This man shook his head in shame.  He thought that if he ever had a chance he would change all that.  There was slim possibility of his getting a chance for he was merely an unschooled skilled laborer.

page 372.

     Then too, he saw the stranglehold the finance capitalists had on the money of the nation.  The gold standard created a money monopoly which these finance capitalists enjoyed.  Like all populists he knew that the value of the country, the manufactures, the land, the crops in the ground far exceeded the value of all the gold in the world.  But the gold standard gave them control of the country; they fought furiously to maintain the gold standard.

     As the nineteenth century drew to a close the finance capitalists consolidated their position.  All the industrial resources of the country were under their dominion.  They had a corner on the United States.  Not very many families controlled the resources of the nation.  Companies in the various industries were organized into great trusts or cartels which set prices for their own benefit, not by supply and demand, not by the cost of the article, but for their own benefit.  You didn’t need a college education to see that it was wrong.

     This man tinkered away at building an automobile, thinking all the time that if he had a chance he would show them how to do it right.  He was probably simple enough to think that they would appreciate the instruction.  He was brilliant but untutored and not a little naive.

     He just didn’t think that things had to be the way they were.  For him history was bunk.  It was matter of of human will not divine destiny.  That man’s actions would speak louder than words in a musty book.  That man was Henry Ford.

     Beginning in 1903 when his efforts to form an automobile company began to bear fruit, Henry Ford was more than a manufacturer.  He was a visionary.  His system was not devoid of religious aspects.  In many ways Ford was a prophet.  He threw such a challenge to the system of the Bible Thumpers, Jew and Gentile alike, that they rose as one in their attempt to destroy him.  Ford had been watching them, analyzing their methods, criticizing them and preparing his own positive plan as he matured into a man.

page 373.

     It was clear to him that he had to stay out of their hands.  He had watched the bankers manipulate the railroads, ignoring the public weal, milking the value out of them by a succession of bankruptcies and reorganizations.  The value went into their pockets; the refuse remained with the public.

     It was clear to him that sole ownership was absolutely necessary, for if once he atomized his value by issuing stock to be traded on the New York Stock Exchange, his company would fall within the realm of speculation.  Ownership and control would pass from his hands into the hands of men who created nothing but turned the fruits of everyone elses labor to themselves.  Ford’s revulsion to bankers was founded on reality.  It was not a cranky quirk as bankers have always portrayed it.

     It has been aptly stated:  Change is now.  As the auto industry came into existence it marked a change in American business.  The railroads and exploitation industries had reached maturity.  The methods of the international bankers, the finance capitalists, had been appropriate to the great industries of the nineteenth century; they were not appropriate for the emerging industries of the twentieth century.  Success in automobile manufacturing would depend on more intangibles than railroading, mining or lumbering.

page 374.

     They would try the same tactics in the auto industry but would have to adapt themselves to running an ongoing profit making company.  The auto companies were profitable.  They were also self-financing.  Even though bankers intially adopted a hands off attitude in fear of the new product the auto manufacturers devised ways to get along without them.  Cars were in such demand that there were at first more buyers than cars.  Ford and others had sixty day terms with their suppliers while receiving deposits from the dealers with immediate payment on delivery.  Ford learned to turn a car out in days, delivering it to the retailers and having payment in the bank long before his sixty day credit terms came due.  Ford was more careful than most, he never had a public stock offering and never borrowed.  Unlike other manufacturers he was totally independent; he was not subject to the influences of the financial community.

     W. C. Durant, who formed General Motors, was.  In 1910 he was forced to go to the bankers who plundered the company and took control away from him for five years.  In 1910 Durant’s Buick and the Ford were equal sellers; in 1915 Ford’s management had pushed his company so far beyond General Motors under banker management that it wasn’t funny.

     Ford was lucky; he had realized his dream.  In the gestation of the auto industry his vision triumphed.  Ford had envisioned selling a low priced car to millions of buyers when cars were a rich man’s toy selling in the hundreds.  Ford perfected his production methods to the point where he could make tens of thousands of them and then just made them without prospective buyers in sight.

page 375.

     His backers were frantic.  They called him crazy and meant it.  They tried to have him ejected from the company, but the cars sold as fast as Ford could turn them out.  Henry Ford had been right, the buyers were there waiting.  For Ford to have persisted in the face of such opposition took great courage.  Ford had been right, everyone else had been wrong.  Henry Ford thus became inured to criticism.

     The Ford Motor Co.  prospered mightily.  Its value grew astronomically.  It was real value.  Henry Ford called his system service production as opposed to finance capitalism.  Rather than price his car at what the market would bear, regardless of cost, Ford took advantage of economies of scale and actually reduced the price of his car as his sales increased.  Ford was a wild card and a threat to the system.  The finance capitalists shook their heads and eyed him warily.

     By 1915 Ford had succeeded to the point where he could begin to implement his whole plan.  He had watched the manner in which the international bankers had treated labor with disgust.  He had foreseen a day when everyone had enough for necessities with more left over for luxuries besides.  He was creating a day when machines took the heavy work from the backs of men.  Men no longer had to live from the sweat of their brows.  Ford wanted to raise men up, to improve their condition, to make them healthier and happier; he didn’t want to push them down.

     In 1914 Ford violated the most sacred tenet of the finance capitalists’ code.  He refused to treat labor as a commodity receiving the lowest wage that they would accept.  They already couldn’t understand Ford.  He had perplexed them by increasing his profits while lowering his prices.  He had already made all of them look bad through the comparative management of GM and Ford.  Now he voluntarily raised wages to better than twice the going rate for unskilled labor.  The man was a class traitor, he had to be stopped.

page 366.

     But how?  His five dollar day had made him such a national hero that he was untouchable by slander and defamation.  He was financially beyond their reach.  He didn’t need their money; he had cash reserves of over one hundred million dollars.  He eyed them warily too; he knew what it took to stay out of their clutches.  He didn’t intend to be a W.C. Durant.

      He couldn’t be touched competitively; he had over fifty percent of the market.  But there was a joker in the deck that could take the trick.  He could be made to defame himself.  Ford was impetuous.  He was a loner, he hadn’t learned to discipline himself in social situations.  He was something of a wild man in the social sense.  He would say things; perhaps do things.  Ford plans had been visionary.  His notion of making millions of cars that everyone could afford had been so far ahead of the times that he had been told History showed  it was impossible.  Ford had replied:  ‘If that’s so, then History is Bunk.’  They fastened on the phrase: History is Bunk to depict Ford as an illiterate boob who had merely stumbled onto a good thing.  It was a beginning but his reputation was sound.  It would take more.

page 377.

     In the first decade of the twentieth century a General Bingham had been made a reform commissioner of police in New York City.  New York City had always been a great factory  turning out criminals.  Reformers wished to change the situation.  As police commissioner General Bingham published a magazine article in an honest attempt to analyze the situation.  In this article he made the remark that half the crime in New York City was committed by Jews.  This remark was not vindictive or fallacious as time has proven.  It was ill considered, true or not, for the Jews of New York City rose up in wrath.  They denied the facts, of course, but more importantly they got General Bingham fired.  They defamed him as an ignorant bigot.  Bingham was chastened but he wanted his job back.  He still had plans to clean up New York City.  In an effort to show that he had reformed or, at least, gotten the message, a few years later he published a short book on the white slave trade.  The White Slave trade was inappropriately chosen as the Jews were dominant in the trade and very sensitive to criticism on the issue.  Even though they dominated the trade they refused to acknowledge it on the basis that Judaism  had always insisted on purity of morals and the sanctity of the family.  Whenever truth and dogma collides, truth has to give.  In his book, General Bingham showed his intent by never once mentioning Jews.  They were conspicuous by their absence.  None of the names of criminals mentioned even had names that could be construed as Jewish.  All the names had been Anglicized.  The leading criminals were still Jews but it was not to be mentioned.  Oh now, there was power.  Bingham still didn’t get the job back.  He was finished.

page 378.

     Just as the Radio Priest would be lured into attacking Jews at a later date and court destruction, if now Ford could be led into attacking the Jews there would be no way that he could avoid destruction.  Getting someone into a fight is easy.  Anybody who has ever prowled a schoolyard knows how easy it is to involve someone in a fight while putting the onus on the other fellow.  For it was necessary to strike but to conceal the hand that struck.

     All you have to do is get a bunch of guys to surround the victim and tip his hat off from behind.  If that doesn’t get a rise do it again while punching him in the back.  When the guy turns around jump back defensively while shouting to draw public attention:  ‘What’s wrong with you, buddy, I didn’t do anything to you.’  It’s pretty easy.  It wasn’t hard with Ford either.

     Henry Ford had attained the position he had always sought.  By 1914 when he changed the wage structure of American industry Ford Motor Co. had attained a position of industrial security.  Ford’s daring predictions of the industry’s viability had been proven; the future of the industry was clear to Ford.  How own self-confidence in his thinking and abilities was powerfully validated.  He therefore felt confident to express himself in all his beliefs.  Ford, while not a pacifist, was opposed to war.  The Great War had begun in 1914.  Much of the Old Guard was pressing to enter on the side of the allies.  Ford took out full page ads in leading newspapers against US involvement.  It was commonly thought at the time that peace could be negotiated between the combatants.  Thus in 1916 a Hungarian Jew, showed up on Ford’s doorstep with the proposal that he sponsor a peace mission.  Ford was but too enthusiastic; by December he and an entourage were on the way to Europe with the slogan that they would have the boys out of the trenches by Christmas.  His mission was met by general ridicule.  so much so that it looked like it might have been planned.  Aboard the ship, in addition to the Hungarian Jews was another Jew by the name of Herman Bernstein.  Bernstein had connections with the AJC and other Jewish ‘defense’ groups and may be contrued to have been there as their representative and privy to much inside information of Jewish intentions.

     While at sea, as Ford told it, they told him that he was wasting his time as only the Jews could bring about peace.  Bernstein later denied the statement so one is left with the choice of believing either Ford or Bernstein.  Bernstein has a rather shaky record for veracity; I choose Ford.

     Ford returned home immediately on arrival, his faith unshaken, although he was subjected to devastating ridicule in the press.  Now, I don’t think there’s a real argument to this: the press was and is controlled by the Jews.  Ford still made no comment about the Jews.  After America’s entry into the war Ford observed and was troubled by the very close association of the Wilson administration and the Jews.  A casual review of history of the period will easily demonstrate the veracity of his view.  He had serious disagreements with the Jewish administrator of the powerful War Industries Board, yet Ford made no comments about the Jews.

page 380.

     After the war, as the twenties dawned, the dominant position of the auto industry in the economy became apparent to everyone.  Even the bankers recognized that the financial future would be dominated by the industry.  The international bankers, the finance capitalists, thus made moves to bring the industry under its control just as the industries of the nineteenth century had been.  The difference was that the auto companies couldn’t be repeatedly bankrupted and reorganized without destroying them.  They had be operated as profitable ongoing businesses.

     W.E. Durant was ejected from control of General Motors in 1920 as renewed pressure was placed on Ford.  Horace and John Dodge, third in importance after Ford and GM, both died in 1920 placing their company in limbo to be devoured at monstrous profit to the finance capitalists five years later.  A board of bankers and Duponts replaced Durant at GM.

     Ford had borrowed money, even the wise do foolish things, to buy out his backers.  He was given a very short time to come up with the money else a multi-billion dollar company had fallen into the hands of the bankers for sixty million.  Ford did pay the debt on time.  But his information indicated that the pressure had come from Jewish investment bankers.  There may have been little or nothing sinister in this fact.  International bankers were international bankers.  The House of Morgan, which was not Jewish, was installed at General Motors.  Perhaps a just division of the industry among the international bankers required Ford to go to the Jewish houses.

page 381.

     But in examining the events from the time of the Peace Ship to the present Ford came to the conclusion that he was under attack by the the Jews, which to all appearances, he certainly was.  The attacks would not have ceased in any event; the bankers wanted Ford Motors.  Ford had no alternative but to counter-attack.  He chose the method of expose.

     This post-Great War period was one of even more intense anxiety than the post-1945 period.  The Bolshevik triumph in Russia had completely unnerved the Western world.  A series of Bolshevik revolutions outside Russia had been suppressed or overturned by counter-revolutionaries.  Hundreds of Reds had been expelled from the United States while thousands had returned to Russia of their own accord.

     It was widely believed that the Jews were behind the Bolsheviks and that the Bolsheviks were part of a Jewish plot to realize an ambition of world domination.  There was intense world wide antipathy toward the Jews.  A large number of books were written exposing Jewish influence in the world revolution.  Thus the Jews were occupied in defusing world wide antagonism to themselves.

     Ford bought a newspaper, the Dearborn Independent, which he used as a vehicle to propagate his beliefs and expose what the called the International Jew.  He divided Jewry into two groups.  Good Jews who weren’t aware of what the others were doing in their name and International Jews who were the problem makers.  A series of articles demonstrating Jewish involvement in various aspects of American life were printed and later collected into four volumes known by the collective title of The International Jew.  While less scholarly in format than the other expose books, Ford’s articles are nevertheless well researched, accurate and well written.  The books are not vile, indeed, none of the exposes were vile- what the ordinary person means by ‘anti-Semitic.’  All merely present a viewpoint differing from that of the Jews.

page 382.

     Well, Ford had stepped into the maelstrom.  Both Jews and those of the ‘better classes’ reviled him.  Those of the better classes abandoned him.  His reputation had suffered irreparable and degenerative damage.  It was the considered opinion that he was an eccentric addle pate, a manufacturing genius but hopelessly at sea in intellectual matters.  It was suggested that perhaps his egregious opinions were caused by a lack of formal education.

     The notion was that if he had been to college he could never have formed these opinions.  It was said that such opinions could only be held by uncultured, unlettered, ignorant persons.  Well, untrue at any time in history, unless of course one thinks that history is bunk.  Actually Ford was in the best of company in his antipathy to the beliefs of the Jews.  The Roman historian, Tacitus, who has a magnificent reputation as an intellectual, was much more personal in his rejection of Jewish claims to universal dominion.  Even in the time of Christ, considered opinion opined that the Jews were seeking world dominion.  Voltaire, the father of the Enlightenment was much more coarse in the expression of his opinion of Biblical religion, both Christian and Jewish.  He really knew how to express himself too.  The two greatest historians of all times have rejected Jewish claims.  Arnold Toynbee, the lesser of the two is haughtily disdainful of Judaic claims while the greater, Edward Gibbon, dismisses their claims with his usual disdainful bemusement.  Von Treitschke the great…but why go on; lack of a formal education had nothing to do with Ford’s  opinion; he was facing the facts as he and countless others before him had done.

page 383.

      It might be more easily argued that only the most ignorant and illiterate accept the Bible at face value.  In this decade of the twenties the famous Scopes Monkey Trial would be conducted in Tennessee in which the Biblical theory of creation was upheld.  The religious colony of New Zion, North of Chicago was in full flower.  The New Zionists like the Old Zionists made it dogmatic that God had indeed made a flat earth; and flat they maintained it was, even in the twenties.  Bishop Ussher of Ireland using biblical data computed the age of the earth at 4004 years and so publicly announced.  This age was at variance with the Jewish calendar which proclaimed that, in fact, (fact being here understood as their belief) the earth had been created by their tribal god some 5700 years ago.  The Jews hold Bishop Ussher in error by nearly two thousand years.

     How did the Jews account for dinosaur bones and other evidences of greater antiquity?  This ancient Biblical folk assert that God placed them their to test man’s faith.  How crazy was Ford?  Well, in this inane quarrel, it is insane to ask.

page 384.

     Still, a man has a right to defend himself.

     Ahhh, but does he?

     In defending himself against an ism, Judaism is this case, is defense legitimate or is it heresy punishable by law or the ism?  The issue shows that Ford was guilty of heresy, that he practiced ‘anti-Semitism.’  From the point of Judaism this is true.  But according to universalist standards is it in fact a crime?  Remember Ford had developed his own belief system which may be summarized in his term- service production.  His ideology directly contradicted the Biblical ideology of finance capitalism practiced by Jews and goys alike.  Thus the actual battle was between two exclusive systems with Ford and the Jews as point men.  Anti-Semitism has absolutely nothing to do with it except as a red herring.  When in doubt shout:  ‘Anti-Semitism.’  Ford was not obliged to accept the point of view of the Jews.

     Now, all the leading industries of the nineteenth century had been run along the established methods of Biblical attitudes.  The attitude toward labor and its wage policy highlighted the differences between the two systems but Ford had carried the exposure of the fallacy of the finance capitalist system further.  Rather than buying his needed supplies from their plants Ford had built his own system of suppliers.  Each plant showed the bankers how their evil ways could be exchanged for better.  This was in itself a mortal insult.

     The key to Ford’s activities was to improve working conditions.  Primarily he invented machines to take the heaviest and hardest work from the men.  He was a fanatic for cleanliness and order.  He stepped back and looked at each industry to see how its methods of production could be improved.

     He showed them how to better run a steel factory.  Circumstances dictated that he had to buy a railroad whose right of way crossed the Ford River Rouge plant.  The road had been repeatedly bankrupted and was in reorganization when he bought it.  The road had never made a profit.  Ford reconditioned the dilapidated equipment, cleaned up the line, raised wages and made it so profitable that he applied to the authorities for a rate reduction.  The regulators were in the hands of the finance capitalists; needless to say his request was denied.

     When he was compelled to buy coal mines in self defense, he showed how they might be cleaned up and run properly.  The coal miners had been most scandalously used by the famous capitalists.  Ford raised their wages but more importantly he raised the miners up.  He built decent housing for them and painted the houses white.  This was unheard of on the line.  He did the same with the hard rock miners of the Upper Peninsula.  He repeated the efforts for the Timber Beasts in the forests he bought.

     The conditions of seamen were vastly improved on his ore boats that brought the materials down from the North.  Glass manufacturers using antiquated methods were unable to supply the vast quantities of plate glass Ford Motor needed.  Ford bought a glass company and revolutionized glass production. His men had plate glass flowing endlessly down the line.  Do you know who introduced the soy bean crop to America?

page 386.

     In other words, he thought he was demonstrating by example.  The finance capitalists took his efforts as a repudiation of their methods, not that they didn’t adopt his methods.  They didn’t want him to defend himself, they just wanted him to go away.  In 1925 international bankers offered him one billion dollars for his company.  They had learned from General Motors how to run an auto company without an entrepreneur.

     According to Biblical prescriptions an antagonist is not allowed to defend himself.  Indeed he has no possible defense.  Once charged you are considered guilty.  The Biblical peoples are in possession of God’s own truth, all else must be false, hence heretical.  A non-believer has no defense.

     Prohibition which had just been enacted at this time simply outlawed the views of drinkers and made them criminals if they persisted.  A vocal minority had imposed its will on a passive majority.  In America the self-righteous always seek to limit the rights of those they have made antagonists.  In the war against the tobacco industry every attempt has been made to restrict the offensive powers of the smokers.  Certain forms of advertising have been outlawed; had they the strength I am sure the anti-tobacco forces would outlaw the cultivation of tobacco in the United States.

     The anti-abortionists violate all laws in their attempt to outlaw abortion.  It makes no matter what the majority believes; these biblically oriented bigots believe that their views are paramount and are derived from God himself.  Heck they’ve got it in His own writing.

     Thus in Ford’s efforts to present his views his Jewish antagonists believed that Ford should be outlawed, that he should be compelled to silence, murdered.  The American Constitution must give way to Biblical Law.  Their views and their views alone were sacrosanct.  To oppose them was criminal; the crime was anti-Semitism.  They would observe no morality in their opposition to Ford.  The Jewish attitude to opposition and their methods were never more succinctly demonstrated than by the founder of the first Jewish defense organization, the French Alliance Israelite Universelle, Adophe Cremieux.

     At the beginning of the nineteenth century Cremieux characterized his opponents as an insane fraction who appealed to the masses with daring and to the authorities with treachery.  The insane faction wanted to bury freedom of conscience under the weight of a single religion, freedom of the press under censorship.  HIs opponents, so he said, should be tracked down relentlessly, its hypocrisy undermined, it must be attacked in its hopes, its acts, its projects.  The Jews must wage a daily, even a moment to moment war against it.

     Jewish methods have not changed in the two hundred years since Cremieux made his statement.  Ford was depicted as insane.  He may have disagreed as to who wanted to bury freedom of  conscience under the weight of which single religion or who wished to end freedom of the press under censorship but he was subjected to a relentless attack in his hopes, acts and projects.  He was depicted in the most unfavorable light as a bigot.

     Henry Ford was a good, decent, honorable man.  His wish had been only to make his tormentors stop.  The writing collected into the volumes of  The International Jew were immediately disparaged as anti-Semitic, by which is meant irresponsible, violent and mean attacks.  But they were not.  The articles were well researched dealing with viable and realistic criticism of his tormentors.  But there is no such thing in Semitist minds as honest criticism of their beliefs; all criticism is heresy, or in secular terms, defamation of their belief system.

page 388.

     The Jews responded by considering  but then withdrawing a lawsuit against Ford for defamation of their belief system while continuing to defame him.  They invaded the libraries and stole copies of his books to be incinerated.  Of the hundreds of thousands printed the books are virtually unobtainable in libraries today.  As Catholicism had its index of forbidden knowledge so a Jewish index of forbidden knowledge was created.  Ford’s books led the list, followed by books of Dickens and Shakespeare.  The period was one of high emotions.  A few years later the Nazis would institute an index of forbidden knowledge.  They would build a bonfire in the middle of the street into which they threw all the books by Jewish authors.  The Communists too, had their index of forbidden knowledge.  Heading their list was the most Holy Bible.  What did all these books endanger?  Why, simply the foundation of the particular ism.  For in truth, the Truth is anti-Semitic; the Truth is anti-Catholic, the Truth is anti-Nazi and anti-Communist.  All these isms stand as the Pope with a repentant Gallileo before him.  The world isn’t what they would have it.  The earth does revolve around the sun; it isn’t flat.  Dogma cannot change reality.  Heresy is nothing more than the Truth, or the pursuit of it.  What was Ford’s offense?  He pointed out the false basis of Judaism.

     Like all hypocrites and bigots, Ford’s enemies sought to discredit him by his own hand while concealing theirs.  That’s what undermining one’s enemy’s pride, disclosing his false humility and unmasking his hypocrisy means.  When you have driven him to the point of distraction, you point and calmly say:  ‘See, I told you so.’  The amazing thing is that mankind still hasn’t learned to see through the sham.

     Strike! But conceal the hand that strikes.  Ford demanded that the Jews come forth to defend their pants.  He issued his challenge and laid his charges before them.  The Jews would not come forth to defend their pants.  The God of the Flat Earth acted in the stead of the finance capitalists; or at least that is what the sons of Moses and servants of Jesus would have the world believe.

     Strike! But conceal the hand.  Obtain victory but in the name of God, for God moves in mysterious ways and uses strange vessels to obtain his ends.  Avoid responsibility for your actions; put them at God’s door instead.  Plans were set afoot to destroy Henry Ford as though by act of God for Henry Ford’s own guilt.

     Strikes were concocted at the coal mines that fed Ford’s furnaces.  Ford’s coal reserves were consumed as the strike dragged on.  Ford’s mighty empire ground to a complete halt as his coal supply failed.  Tens of thousands of workers lay idle and destitute as the Children of God waged His war against one man.  All must suffer because of their anger at one.  The finance capitalists were so intent on one victim that they would destroy the world in their attempt to subdue him.

page 390.

     The strike was such that it probably could not have been engineered by the Jews alone.  It must have involved the goi faction.  Ford was allowed to see only the Jews.  A counter-attack on his own kind would be dismissed as rivalry.  The strike would be seen only as a dirty trick.  Only the Jews could bring Ford down.

     Ford was a leader, if not the initiator, in the creation of the international business empire.  His plants were in Ireland, England, France, Germany, Italy…Palestine, Japan; Ford blanketed the world.  No one was in a better position to know what was happening financially in the world.  His sources of information rivaled those of the Jews.  Where there were Jews there was Ford; where there was Ford there were Jews.  His interests were opposed to those of the international bankers of whatever stripe of nationality.  He was not part of the money cartel.  When he blamed international bankers for certain things who was in a better position to know?  Yet he was derided by his enemies as a mere crank, a crackpot, a simple minded man.  Could a simple minded man devise a complex innovative international manufacturing firm where none had existed before?

     The truth was quite different.  Ford, once again, showed whoever would see what his enemies were.  Ford was now completely armed against financial attack.  His company was almost totally vertically integrated.  He owned his company lock, stock and barrel.  He once again had a reserve of a hundred million.  Profits in the tens of millions continued to roll in.  Once again Ford was secure.  He had made himself well nigh invulnerable to attack from above, attack by financial methods.

page 391.

     Ford’s enemies were rich in resources and persistent to the point of fanaticism.  Ford had shown himself to them as an unrepetant heretic.  If he had desired it of them, it would have been impossible to obtain release.  Not only would he, as an arch-heretic be pursued to the grave but the goal was to blacken his name for all eternity.  The 614th rule for all Jews is to allow Hitler no posthumous victories.  The same may be said of Ford and all their enemies.

     Jewish resources exist both within and without the nation.  Gois consider it anathema to be accused of anti-Semitism.  They are more than willing to persecute their own on Jewish behalf on no more evidence than a whisper.  Ford apparently did not understand this aspect of his problem.  If he had, one might question whether he might have attempted another avenue of defense, or, perhaps accommodation with the finance capitalists, both Jew and goi. But then to surrender an iota is to surrender the whole.

     One of the resources the Jews tapped was the goodwill of the newspaper and magazine publisher, William Randolph Hearst.  Hearst had been a longtime friend of immigrants in general and Jews in particular.  In the latter half of 1922 the Jews used the pages of Hearst’s International Magazine to publish a series of lurid, shameless articles on Ford titled:  The Inside Story Of Henry Fords Jew-mania.  A prominent goi journalist of the time, Norman Hapgood, lent the use of his name as a by-line; the articles were almost certainly written by a Jewish defense agency as it is improbable that an Anglo would have been aware of much of the information contained in the articles, or have shared the sentiments expressed.  The articles are merely slanderous and defamatory.  They are a confused melange of Jewish fears and hatreds, most of which had nothing to do with Henry Ford, but which were intentionally confused with him.  The content ranges from a fear of the restoration of the Romanov Dynasty in Russia, a ritual murder case in the Ukraine, the killing of a Jewish-German diplomat and the persecution of Albert Einstein in Europe.  Ford’s connection with these events was never explained, indeed, they were non-existent.

     Further Hearst’s International endorsed the articles as policy and offered to lend its pages to the denenciation of any other Jewish opponents.  For all his evidences of good will, Hearst would fall foul of Jewish heresy and like Ford be pursued to and beyond the grave.  No man can serve two masters as the Bible says; Hearst was forced to choose between his Judaistic sympathies and his Americanism.

     Now, the Jews invariably deny any sympathy for or connection with Communism, yet, when Hearst evidenced his disapprobation of Communism he became as marked a target as Ford regardless of his contributions to the Jewish cause.  Heresy is punishable by oblivion.

     Judaism is a collectivist nation.  Jewish values and attitudes are inculcated in the individual from birth to death.  Like carnys in the carnival when the cry of ‘Hey Rube’ goes up, all the carnys flock to the defense of their own.  When the cry was raised against Ford there was no lack of volunteers to punish him in whatever way was available to them.

     The movies were a Jewish business.  By 1920 all the studios, with the possible exception of Mack Sennett, were Jewish houses.  At this time the dominant figure in the movies was William Fox.  The finance capitalists consumed him and his empire a few years later.  He is noted, if not remembered, as the Fox at the end of Twentieth Century-Fox.  There’s a joke in there too.

     At that time Fox had an actual legal monopoly on the right to produce newsreels.  Fox Movietone News was the sole producer of newsreels.  When Fox heard the cry against Ford he set about to find a way to injure Ford.  Defamation.  He attacked him in his pride.  Fox instituted a conscious policy of photographing every Ford car involved in an accident with the intent to demonstrate that Fords were unsafe.

     At the same time the other movie producers banned the use of Ford cars in their movies.  Movie historians may wonder why the number one selling car is never used in the films of the twenties and thirties.

     In terms of a conspiracy there was no actual meeting in a cemetery where a decision was made and directions given to Fox and the other producers.  The movie people were not knowing members of a conspiracy in the accepted meaning of the word.   They were like piranas who, smelling the blood of a stricken victim, move in the direction of the scent to contribute their bit of destruction.  No one had asked them for their bit, but the Volk had been attacked.  Ford had violated the Law; not the law, but the Law, the Law of the God of Moses.  He had been induced to attack the sacred people of God.  He had condemned himself out of his own mouth, by his own actions.  The hand that had provoked him had been concealed.  No one had seen the first offence given to him; they saw only his retaliation.  Ford appeared to be the aggressor.

page 394.

     Every Jew would move in to do his bit.  There were no ‘good’ Jews and International Jews, there were only Jews.  Reversing the procedure of ants bringing their little bit to the anthill, each would take a little of Ford’s anthill and carry it away thus realizing God’s will on Earth.  Ford had been excommunicated, he was now legitimate prey for theft, slander, cheating, even murder.  He was outside the protection of the Law.  It was the duty of every communicant to interfere with him in whatever way possible.

     Oh, the big organizations would be hard at work on the observable side; now that Ford had showed what kind of guy he really was their actions were now justified.  The Anti-Defamation League of B’nai B’rith, the American Jewish Committee would make the big plays, the obvious moves, the visible ‘defensive’ acts, the hard hits to bring Ford to his knees.

     The cry had gone out:  ‘Is there no one to help the sons of the widow?’  The education of centuries began to express itself.  The mother had been struck.  The collective body moved into action.

page 395.

     They stood beneath the blue and white of their flag.  Blue to represent their most high god; white to represent the supposed purity of the chosen people.  There was no color to represent the Truth, nor was their need for any; for God was more important than the Truth.  Truth must conform to God and not he to it.  Which was more important?  Truth is irrelevant, reality is immaterial, God is all.

     Like Hearst, Fox did yeoman work for his Jews.  His activities were of no value to spare himself when the finance capitalists stole his company and dumped him in the trash can of history at ten cents on the dollar a few years later.  The remnants of Fox’s empire went to loyalists like Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and Twentieth Century-Fox.

     Jews led boycotts against the purchase of Fords.  Ford’s reputation carried him over their attempts although he was being increasingly seen as an eccentric crank.  No man’s reputation can withstand such relentless defamation.  His innovations began to be turned against him.  Ford was actually the first promoter of what has since become one of the largest cash crops in America: Soybeans.  Soybeans are a versatile crop; Ford used the product to make plastic door handles; others have used the beans to fabricate steak or crab.  At any rate his effort to establish the crop was now ridiculed rather than approved.

     More importantly, as secure as he was financially, he was just as vulnerable in his work force.  Legions of troublemakers entered his plants to sabotage production.  He was forced to discontinue much of his benevolent policy.  He had to take more of a protective stance.

     His son, Edsel, proved incapable of understanding the nature of the battle.  Ford therefore turned to a man named Harry Bennett who was tough, ready and able to defend Ford’s interests.  As Ford turned to Bennett, his enemies had turned the tide of the battle.  Ford had lost the offensive, the rest of his life would be spent on the defensive.  Confusion and consternation ruled Ford’s workplace.

     Then followed the Great Depression.  On the eve of the Depression Ford had been paying eight dollars a day which was a source of great pride to him.  The Depression forced him to halve it in the struggle to survive.  Tension in the plants increased.  It was aided and abetted by the Communists.  The Communists had survived the reaction of 1920.  They were now a legal party.  they had regrouped and were becoming a powerful subversive force.  Stalin had consolidated his position in Russian by 1928.  He was now directing the world revolution.  Part of the plan was to disrupt American industry.  In 1932 in the dead of winter Communists led a march on Ford’s River Rouge plant.  Had the march succeeded the Communists would have occupied the plant and sabotaged and destroyed the machinery.  The resultant unemployment would presumably have aggravated social unrest to bring about the Bolshevik revolution in America.

     The marchers were met by the police who turned fire hoses on them:  shots were fired; Communists died.  Ford was blamed.  Ford was completely defamed as a wrong headed man, a contemptible crank.  In America there is only one side to any story; the newspapers were not controlled by Ford; his side of the story was never told.

page 397.

     Ford’s great brave dream of a world in which men were bettered rather than battered was all but lost, buried in the realms of darkness.  Ford could see the light but he didn’t have the prophetic skills to transmit it.  He could see a glorious future but he couldn’t reveal it enough to others to make them want it.  As always they were victims of Communist charlatans.

     Oddly enough the most serious blow to his reputation came from a most unexpected quarter.  There was one man who saw what Ford had actually accomplished.  In the peculiar way of futurists he was extremely conservative.  He disapproved of Ford’s dream, or at least his method.  Brave New World by Aldous Huxley was released in the early thirties, just about this time.  Huxley perceived the religious underpinnings of Ford’s activities.  In his novel, Huxley dated time B.F. and A.F., Before and After Ford.  He referred to Ford’s contribution to the advancement of civilization as only a conservative, perhaps even a reactionary, can.  In gentle and pernicious satire he belittled and ridiculed Ford.  Even Huxley’s human beings were turned out on a Fordian production line.

     Oh, I suppose if Ford had followed the Jewish method he might have sued Huxley for defaming his belief system.  He might have sought an injuction against the publication of the book.  He might have looted libraries of their copies as the Jews had done him.  He might have, but Henry Ford was an intelligent man; he was decent; he was good.

     Henry Ford was growing old.  The Wars came; his son died; Henry Ford retired.  He left behind the Ford Foundation.

     Henry Ford had never been big on charity.  Charity was the way finance capitalists did business.  First they ground the working man down, then they gave the excess profits taken from the workingman’s hide as charity for their own greater aggrandizement: put their names on streets and buildings.  It worked too.  People forgot how the money was acquired while lauding these fellows as benefactors of mankind.  Rockefeller and Carnegie on the goi side left hundreds of millions.  Jacob Schiff, Julius Rosenwald of Sears, the Guggenheims and others on the Jewish side of finance capitalism gave and left millions for the benefit of the Jews.

page 398.

     Had Ford embraced finance capitalism or even classic supply and demand capitalism he might have made billions more than he did which he could have distributed as ‘charity.’  For those of you who have never received charity, you may believe me when I say that it is indeed better to give than receive charity.  Charity elevates the given while depressing the receiver.  But then, you see, that’s the way God planned it.  The poor shall always be with us.

     Instead Ford devised his system so that he doubled prevailing wages, giving men pride rather than despair.  He lowered the cost of his automobiles to the point where everyone benefited.  His largesse was as a matter of course, accepted, but ultimately unappreciated.  Ford still left more behind than Rockefeller and Carnegie combined.

     But now on the eve of death Ford’s companies were beset by many enemies.  Ford was struggling to survive.  The finance capitalists thought they had victory in their grasp.  Truly the Lord moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform,  Man proposes; God disposes.  One might say that the God of the Bible gently removed Ford Motors from the grasping fingers of Ford’s enemies and placed the company in the hands of the very capable and appropriately named Henry Ford II, Edsel’s son.  One might say that God willed that Ford Motors should survive.  Why did not his putative adherents accept his apparent will?

page 399.

     According to Biblical methods one’s fate is determined by adding up one’s good works and balancing them against one’s sins.  Surely Henry Ford’s virtues far exceed his faults.  Surely there was a place in Biblical heaven for Henry Ford.  If flights of angels be, may they have carried the man who wanted to raise mankind from poverty to a juster reward to that great auto plant in the sky.  There is surely a place in bliss for God’s Own Manufacturer.

     Big Ben had been opposed to Ford along with the rest of his ilk.  Why pay bums more than they were willing to accept?  Push ’em down.  Push ’em down.

     Our gazes were interlocked as we saw into each other’s mind.  My feeling of contempt for Ben and what he stood for welled up from my mind and found outlet through my eyes.  Ben and I dueled it out in the beam of light between our eyes.  My contempt waxed stronger as I realized the brutality of Ben’s outlook.  The strength of my contempt dashed against his, driving him steadily back until he gave up.  He broke eye contact, viewing my person with fear.  The big belly rotated to the left as Big Ben turned to flee to the security of his shack.

     He ripped open the door, slamming it behind him as he plumped into his seat in front of his picture window.  He didn’t look at me again.  He clasped his hands before him as if in prayer, staring as though into the future; or perhaps he was seeking a vision of a past that could never return.

     Of course I had not backed down Big Ben Webster of the Immaculate Coalyard; I had only backed down his shadow, Big Ben of the Weedgrown Oil Tank, who was sunk in despair.  I studied him through the window for a moment while he studiously avoided further eye contact; then I slipped my foot up onto the pedal, turning in a wobbling arc through Ben’s weeds and off down the street.

pages 400-401.

A Short Story

 The Price Of Freedom

In Both Lira And Dollars

by

R.E. Prindle

 

From The Archives Of

Yesterday’s News Service

Our Motto:  Real News Never Goes Stale

 

     Lincoln Adams sat quietly sobbing in the dark.  He now realized what he had done.  His best intentions had been turned back on him.  He wasn’t thinking but his actions passed in crowded review through his troubled mind.

     He remembered the proudest day in his life when he and Ginnie Wolfe had exchanged vows.  He had taken the vow to protect quite seriously.  Thus when a few days after returning to work from his honeymoon his boss had told him to clean out his office and leave he had been devastated.  He then found that his former employer was blackballing him.  So-called theft.  Not a charge that he could defend himself against as he was never publicly accused but a mere hint that there were irregularities in his accounts.  Unless he got a lucky break he either would have to leave Chicago or accept a laboring job.  He didn’t want to declasse himself.

     He sat on his bench hunched forward his eyes turned upward as though expecting help from above when a kindly looking fellow appeared, a well dressed and groomed gentleman sat down beside him.  He was holding the help wanted section of the Tribune in his hand.

     Clearing his throat gently he said:  ‘Tough times.  Jobs aren’t easy to come by.’

     ‘You don’t know the half of it.’  Link groaned out half tearfuly looking over at the man.  He saw a kindly handsome face that was unseamed given the man’s apparent advanced years.  The man seemed genuinely concerned about him.

     ‘Oh, I think I do.’  He said, quietly oozing commiseration.  ‘When I was your age I might have been in the same situation myself.  Might have been?  I was…’

      ‘I’ll bet it wasn’t quite the same.  You don’t…’

      ‘Oh sure, your boss fired you to cover up some cash shortages and now he’s blaming it on you, out of consideration for you of course he’s not pressing charges.  Now you can’t get a job.’

     ‘How did you know?’

     ‘I didn’t know for sure.  I just guessed.  These things are so common.’

     ‘Yeah?  What do you do about it?’

     ‘I may be able to help.  You see, I believe in you.  I don’t know what it is about you but you just seem like a man who deserves a break.  That looks like a wedding ring on your finger.  Just get hitched?’

     ‘Yeah, three weeks before I got fired.  I don’t know how I’m going to take care of her like she deserves.  She’s the most beautiful girl in the world.  Now I’ll probably lose her.’

     ‘Now, now.  I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.’  He smiled benignly, reassuringly.  Just looking at him restored your confidence.  ‘I should introduce myself.  I’m Richard Cole, you can call me Dick.  What would you say if I said I could get you a job, a good job, this is in the bookkeeping field though you might have to take some night classes…’

     ‘I’m an accountant.’  Link blurted.

     ‘CPA?’

     ‘No.  Just an accountant.’

     ‘You might be perfect.  This is a good job, good pay and most importantly you don’t ever have to worry about being fired.  If you take it it’s a lifetime job.’

     ‘Who’s it with?’

     A firm called Statistical Tabulating Company.  It’s not an ordinary company.   They take a real interest in the lives of their employees.  Would you like to talk to them?’

     Lincoln Adams did talk to them.  He accepted the job.  The first thing they had done after a six month probationary period was to transfer him to St. Louis.  Link didn’t like it but he was in no position to refuse.  He had to take care of his Ginny.

     She was worth caring for.  She was a beautiful young woman just coming into her full womanly perfection as she approached the magical age of twenty.  She was truly in love with Link too, until…

     Through his muffled sobs Link heard a car door slam.  He looked at the clock.  Four-thirty in the morning.

     He went tothe door, opened it to find his beautiful Ginny staggering up the walk, drunk, dazed and confused, in a highly excited condition so blind she couldn’t actually see where she was going.  Link reached out to guide her.  She pulled her arm away in instinctive revulsion, growling under her breath.

     It was then that the full weight of pain, of self-loathing, of self-hate, oh god, oh god, it was as though a sledgehammer fell from the sky crushing the right side of his brain nearly paralyzing the right side of his face.  His Anima had also been assassinated.

     Pain!  There’s the excruciating pain of breaking bones, of crushing blows, of screaming anguish and then there’s the pain of psychic wounding.  The enervating, paralyzing numbness of knowing you have damaged and been damaged in ways that can never be repaired.

     For three days Ginny didn’t get out of bed or say a word.  For three days Link sat in his chair paralyzed as he sobbed quietly.  Physical pain could heal…but this?

     Then on the fourth day the doorbell rang.  Barely able to rouse himself Adams dragged himself to the door opening it a crack:  ‘You!’ He exclaimed.  ‘What do you want?’

     ‘May I come in?’  Dick Cole asked in his quiet controlled manner pushing the door open as he did.  ‘Are you alright?’

     Lincoln Adams looked at his recruiter through tear bleared eyes.

     ‘I came down from Chicago right away when they said there might be some problems.  Can I help?’  He cooed as though, no, he was,  he was  genuinely concerned.  He was a kindly man.  That’s why he had been chosen; he was the right man in the right job.

      ‘I…I…I don’t want this lifetime job anymore, Mr. Cole.  I’m turning in my resignation.’

     ‘I don’t think you understood properly, Link.  this is a lifetime job.  It’s yours for life whether you will or not now.’

     ‘I don’t want it for the rest of my life.’

     ‘There is no rest of your life beyond the tenure of this job, Link.  You have a lifetime contract.  Contracts are sacred in America.  The day you violate the contract they will exercise their option and terminate your life.  That’s what lifetime means.  The termination of your life is in their hands where you placed it.  Voluntarily I might add.  You didn’t have to take this job.’

     ‘But nobody told me that I would have to let them use my Ginny, my beautiful Ginny, as a prostitute.’

     ‘Well, there may have been certain details overlooked at the time but it’s so hard to mention everything.  Besides you must have realized there would be strings attached to guaranteed lifetime employment?  There’s no such thing as a free lunch, young man.’

     ‘But they must have done horrible things to her.  You should have seen her and now she won’t even recognize me.  She just turns away and stares at the wall.’

     ‘I know, I know.  It’s awfully hard on them the first time but they get used to it, learn to enjoy it.  If it’s any comfort to you they really liked her.  They thought she was beautiful too.  After an injection and she was relaxed I can assure you she seemed quite gay.’

     ‘Injection?’

     ‘Yes.  A little heroin make them more pliable and, of course, a habit guarantees compliance.’

     ‘A heroin habit?  My Ginny?  Besides we can’t afford that.’

     ‘We’ve taken that into consideration Link.  There’s no reason you should be burdened by the expense.  I’ll tell you what we’ll do.  We’ll take Ginny off your hands taking the financial burden ourselves.’

     ‘What?  You’re going to take her from me?  But she’s my wife, you can’t just take her.’

     ‘You’re right Link.  That would be theft.  Here, I’m authorized to give you two thousand dollars for her to make everything legal.  I’ll just go get her.  And Link, you’re expected to be back on the job tomorrow.  Be there or be square.’  Dick Cole said with a chuckle.

     Lincoln Adams was too stunned, too confused, too paralyzed by guilt to object as Dick Cole led Ginny past him from the house.

     Ginny passes out of the story now.  Several years later in 1962 Link and the whole St. Louis office was transferred from St. Louis to San Francisco.  Tabulating cards were not becoming passe as the new computers muscled in on information storage and retrieval.

     The Outfit was always on the cutting edge of technology.  Oh yes, If you haven’t already guessed Lincoln Adams was employed by the Chicago Mob, the Outfit.  The organization was now fronted by the most repulsive of its thugs, Sam Giancana.

     Just as Dick Cole had learned to accommodate himself to his enslavement by the Mob so Lincoln Adams had attempted to sublimate his enslavement.  For that is what the lifetime job meant.  Both men had sold themselves to the Mob in the exact same way an ancient Greek debtor sold himself into slavery.

     However his betrayal and the loss of Ginny was like a knot of asphalt forever lying in the pit of his stomach.  His feeling of guilt and shame was too immense for him to psychologically digest.  He wanted to vomit it all over someone else; pass the monkey from his back to another’s.  Intellectually he believed this psychologically impossible feat was possible.

     At the beginning of 1963 Dewey Trueman walked into the office of Stat Tab looking for a job.  Lincoln Adams took one look at Trueman and recognized the man he intended to dump on.  There was something in the sorrowful hangdog expression on Trueman’s face, that in his posture that expressed a resigned hopelessness and a muted fear that indicated to Adams that he would be successful in passing his burden on. 

     He controlled his excitement as he casually interviewed him.  He asked Trueman if he was married.  When Trueman replied no but that he was engaged with the marriage set for September when he would need time off for a honeymoon.  Adams actually relaxed closing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair in relief.

     The applicant got the job.

     Trueman went to work attempting to settle into the job.  He was taken back by the mysterious way the company did business.  His office headed a long row of cubicles on each side of an aisle not unlike a prison block.  I guess if you’re in the Mob certain architectural details you’re familiar with stick in the mind.  The cubicles were occuped by ten ‘salesmen.’  All Anglos.  As salesmen however they never left the office to sell nor did they ever obtain any sales.  They merely sat at their desks waiting.  From time to time one, two or three phones rang and the corresponding number of salesmen got up looking very tough, adjusting their clothing, then marching out in a very determined way not exactly befitting a pesuasive sales demeanor.

     As an accountant Dewey was mystified how a company with so few accounts could maintain such a large staff.  Even then he was never able to find any of the accounts in the phone book.

     Even the computer technicians seemed peculiarly inept acting almost as though they’d never seen a computer before.  Of course, in those days computers were a new phenomenon.  Few people had any experience with them while fewer still could be said to have an intimate knowledge of them.

     Dewey was pondering all this one day as he sat eating his lunch in a nearby hamburger shop.  San Francisco had a knack with food, even simple food like a hamburger, which couldn’t really be found anywhere else in the country.  Even though he was not well traveled Dewey knew he was getting hamburgers such as he would never enjoy again.

     Back to the point, having finished his lunch he stepped out from the door from which he could see the entrance to his office.  As he looked he saw Capt. Richard Walker leaving the building with a satisfied air.  Walker had been Trueman’s employer at Overseas Shipping, his last job.  Dewey had left voluntarily but with indications that he was no longer wanted.

     Capt. Walker had visited Stat Tab to tell them that Dewey had absconded with $20,000.  This was an absurdity as well as a lie as Trueman had stolen nothing and wouldn’t be working at Stat Tab if he had.  Twenty thousand was a lot of money in those days.  Four or five times Dewey’s annual salary.  What Trueman had done was uncover a scheme in which about $20,ooo a voyage was being skimmed from overcharges by Capt. Walker and his clique in the office.  That was $20,000 a voyage and overseas ran twenty-two voyages a year.

     Capt. Walker fearing exposure although none in fact was possible from Dewey’s quarter was intent on hounding Trueman out of San Francisco.  His intent at Stat Tab naturally was to get Trueman fired.

     Unaware of the situation that Stat Tab was a Mob front and unaware that Trueman’s situation as he told it now exactly paralleled that of Lincoln Adams, his interview had the opposite result he intended.  As Adams and his boss believed Capt. Walker who was a very impressive man well practiced at appearing impressive as any sea captain must Adams now could feel Trueman was in his power.  He realized now that it was impossible for Trueman to quit.  Thus he formulated a plan.

     For his part Trueman gradually came to understand that he was employed by the Chicago Outfit.  His contact in the Chicago office was none other than Dick Cole.  Cole was the same genial man with a confidence inspiring manner of speaking.  Still, there was something guarded in his manner while he would never answer the questions that puzzled Trueman.

     Then it was announced that the owner, Luigi Bigwini, was to make his annual inspection tour on June 18th.  This was a big deal.  The Mafia was able to get labor to do what they objected to anywhere else without a complaint.  On the key day Trueman and the salesmen were stood at attention outside their cubicles as though soldiers on parade.

     Bigwini himself was out of central casting; in fact he might have been rejected for being too authentic, nearly a caricature.  He was a short homely Mafioso wielding a big cigar- big fat long cigar- almost as big as he was.  He spoke in that gruff throaty tone like any good fella of the movies.  Strangely he projected a strong aura of someone who wanted to be liked.

     Dewey responded to this stepping forward to pat Bigwini on the shoulder.  The salesmen’s head turned in amazement while Adams and his boss, Ralph Schlesinger, gulped in anticipation of Bigwini’s response.  Trueman was still on the outside.  He worked for Stat Tab but wasn’t on the payroll of the outfit.  Bigwini was flattered by the response marking Trueman as a possible comer in the Dick Cole mold.

     After Bigwini’s visit things changed for Trueman .  Bigwini on his return to Chicago recommended Trueman to Dick Cole.  Cole’s attitude change to Trueman reached Adams.

     Emboldened by he belief that Trueman was a thief who couldn’t affort do quit he began demanding that Trueman stay on the job until seven-thirty at night while demanding he come in on Saturday mornings.

     Trueman lived in the East Bay city of Hayward which was an hour and a half trip by bus so working late would eliminate his chances of seeing his fiance during the week while ruining his weekend.  Dewey complained that he wouldn’t be able to see his girl but Adams only smiled.

     Dewey knew he couldn’t quit but for different reasons than Adams thought.  His previous job had lasted only nine months while his job before had been two years.  He realized that having been referred to a company like Stat Tab by the employment agency meant Capt. Walker had already sabotaged his reputation.  He knew he was in deep but hoped that if he held on for two years he would be able to move.

      As his wedding date drew near word came from Chicago to offer him a lifetime job.  Since June 18th Dewey had put a lot of twos together, he was well beyond four.  He now realized why the salesmen never left the office to sell.  He understood the grim look on their faces as they went off to persuade their victims.  Both Vegas and Stateline as well as Reno provided a number of people who had to be persuaded to pay their gambling debts.

     Trueman had made a very good impression on both Dick Cole and Bigwini so they realized that the offer of a lifetime job wold have to come from someone other than the basic thug.

     They selected a member named Herb Allen.  Herb was a literary type who was writing a crime novel.  He now became friendly with Trueman.  If he could succeed as a recruiter that would give him more stature and security within the Outfit.  He himself was more hangdog than Trueman with the reason Adams had.  In time he might have become as suave as Dick Cole.

     Aware of his own precarious situation Trueman listened with bated breath as Allen outlined the lifetime job.  Over the years the Outfit had become a little more sophisticated outlining some of the pitfalls.

     ‘If you accept,’  Allen said.  ‘You’ve got to remember you have to give something for something you get.  Once you’re in you can’t quit.  You belong to the Outfit for life.’

     He cast an inquiring look at Trueman.

     Trueman’s immediate response was no but he wanted to make it look like he was deliberating so after looking at the ceiling for a few moments, inspecting each corner of the room he said:  ‘Hmm.  Sounds interesting.  Can I think about it for a day or two, talk it over with my fiancee?’

     ‘Oh, and one other thing.’  Alled ruefully said.  ‘Once you’re in your wife is in.  They might want to borrow her for an evening every now and then.’  Allen passed his hand across his brow rubbing the left side as he thought of the times his wife had been ‘borrowed.’

     Dewey looked at him reflectively for quite a while as he let the enormity of the suggestion penetrate his mind.  Slowly he realized that he was to allow his wife to be protituted.  That he was to be his own wife’s pimp.

     ‘That’s out of the question, Herb.’  He said sotto voce realizing the extremely dangerous situation Capt. Walker had gotten him into.  He realized there was no difference between Capt. Walker and Luigi Bigwini except the surface sheen.  Bigwini was probably the better man and more honest.

     ‘Well, you think about it, Dewey.’  Herb said.

     ‘I don’t have to think about it, Herb.  It’s out of the question.  I don’t want a lifetime job.’

     When his reply got back to Lincoln Adams Link sat quietly rearranging his plans.  In his mind’s eye he had seen himslef taking first dibs on Trueman’s wife.  He wanted to see Trueman suffer the same anguish he had suffered.  He didn’t want the guilt and shame of selling Ginny anymore.  He wanted to pass it on, he wanted it shared.  He was disappointed that Trueman had declined the lifetime job but he should have quit at the same time.  Adams therefore still had a card up his sleeve.

     Trueman married, honeymooning on Mt. Lassen at the South end of the Cascades.  The Outfit had connections everywhere.  Adams had one of his men siphon battery acid out of the battery of Trueman’s car.  On the return trip the battery meter fluctuated wildly from discharge to charge.  Pulling into a dealership in Eureka Trueman was fortunate enough to find an honest repairman who put water in the battery sending him on his way with no charge.

      Adams had hoped and Trueman had feared the cost would break him.  On the day of Trueman’s return Adams nailed Trueman as he entered the office telling him he was fired, just turn around and leave.

        If Adams had expected Trueman to beg for his job thus allowing Adams to bring him into the control of the Outfit he was mistaken; Trueman just turned around and left.

     As he had been in the same situation as a young man Adams slandered Trueman unmercifully but that has nothing to do with our story.

     The story resumes two years later at the Cal-Neva Lodge at Lake Tahoe.  For whatever reasons, the outfit had the San Francisco ofice of Stat Tab closed at the end of 1964 with the lifetime employees being dispersed.  Lincoln Adams was reassigned to the Cal-Neva.

     While Gus Russo in his book ‘The Outfit’ describes the Cal-Neva as some sort of very profitable plum it was nothing of the sort.  The resort is situated in the perpetual shadow of mountains both East and West.  The place was grim and foreboding.  Further the place was situatied at the North End of Lake Tahoe to which there was no other reason to go.  Harrah’s and Harvey’s at the South End were the places to go followed by the invasion of the Las Vegas mob with the erection of the Sahara about this time.  The Sahara was so obviously mobbed up that it stood a poor third to Harrah’s and Harvey’s.

     Adams himself was bumked up in a huge Mafia compound on the East Side of the lake a few miles above the South End.  Large numbers of mobsters were coming and going at all times from the compound which blighted the East Side if not the entire lake.

     Adams might have been able to settle in without too much discomfort but for the fact that Chuckie Ulsio took a visceral dislike to him.  Chuckie thought that for an Anglo Adams put on airs.  Chuckie decided to put Adams in his place.

     Now, these mobsters not only had a license to kill but being more enamored of the physical rather than the intellectual they took advantage of body building methods to become not only big but bulked up with bulging muscles.  If as Arnold Schwarzenegger said:  A good pump is better than sex some of these guys were well prepared to forego women.

     Chuckie’s sidekick Angie Penisio although only five-five had shoulders and chest nearly equal to his height.

     So, one day Chuckie blocked a door Adams was trying to pass through; ‘Back inside punk.’  Chuckie sneered.  ‘We got somethin’ to talk about.’  Angie followed him in closing the door behind him.  Adams gulped being now confronted by the Incredible Hulk and the Near Incredible Hulk.

     ‘I don’t like your attitude around here, Adams.  I mean, you don’t show enough respect.’  Chuckie said planting the very broad expanse of his trousers on half the desk while angie stood leering cracking his knuckles.

     ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’  Adams began ass though talking man to man rather than slave to man.

     ‘That’s it, Adams.  Your tone of voice ain’t submissive enough.  You don’t cast your eyes down to the floor.  You walk around here like you won the place rather than being here on sufferance.’

     I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I work here.  I’m not a slave.’

     ‘What did you say?  You’re not a slave?  Then why don’t you try to quit your job?  I’ll tell you why.  Because we own you.  You give us any shit and they won’t ever find even the nail on your little finger.’

     Adams opened his mouth to say something but found he had nothing to say.  He realized that he was a slave.  Still he seized the hips of his pants hoising them up with a defiant:  ‘I’ve got my rights.’

     ‘No, you ain’t got no rights.  You’ve got obligations and duties whatever I say you do you do and you better hope I’m in a good mood when I say it.  Let me give you a little history lesson, Lincoln Adams.  Let me show you where the real power in this country lies.  Adamses may have founded this country and Lincoln may have freed the Negro slaves but we Sicilians have taken this country over and enslaved you pussy Anglos with all your stupid laws.

      Whe we Italians came to this dumb country, I mean America, you Anglos had the whip hand.  You treated us Italians, especially us Sicilians, like we was dirt beneath your feet.  We got all the shit work, the pick and shovel crap, while you Anglos kept all the cushy jobs in those big high rise offices to yourselfs.’

     Adams was going to interject that the Sicilians were illiterate and not qualified for anything but pick and shovel but then thought better of it.

     ‘But there was a flaw in your system.  You thought people are better than they are.  You tried to keep people from their natural tastes like gambling and whoring.  Prohibition.  What kind of fools do you think try to keep people from doing what they want?…That’s the question Adams.  I need an answer.’

     ‘I don’t know.’

     ‘The correct answer is:  Dumb shit Anglos like us.  Say it.’

     Adams writhed but with an eye on Angie said:  ‘Dumb shit Anglos like us.’

     ‘Yeah.  That’s right.  Dumb shit Anglos like you.  We ain’t as dumb as you think just because we don’t waste the best yers of our lives shut up in stupid schools that don’t teach you nothin’ about livin’.  You left the field wide open and we stepped in.  We got the money and power and we call the shots.  I’m going to tell you something few people, even in our world, know.  You think some loony named Oswald shot Kennedy, don’t you?  Uh huh.  It was us.  You know why?  Because those asshole Kennedys double crossed us.

     In 1959, Joe Kennedy, the old man, comes to Chicago to inplore our boys to get his boy Jack elected President of the United States of America.  We thought it would be the next best thing to having one of ours in the Oval Office.  If Jack Kennedy then why not Bill Bonano, huh?  That’s what we couldn’t figure out.  What makes Kennedy legit and Bonano not.  Figure that one out, hey?

     So we got this bootlegger’s son elected.  We voted the graveyards so many time in Chicago those old bones turned to dust.  We provided that asshole with his margin of victory.  So what does the little shit do?  He sics his brother Bobby on us.  Makes him the Attorney General.  What a double cross.  But we got him good.  Not only does he catch a couple slugs but before he does we humiliate him so bad he almost pushed the Red Button in anger.  The asshole didn’t know whether he was coming or going.’

     Adams interest was piqued.  He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

     ‘You ever heard of Marilyn Monroe?  Well Jack and Bobby was both fucking her only I don’t know if Jack knows Bobby’s getting some too.

     You remember when Monroe goes on TV singing that breathy Happy Birthday, Mr. President?  Well, Sam sees it too.  He gets an idea.  He says:  ‘If she’s good enough for the President of the United States she’s good enough for me.’

     So, the Rat Packers are a little off form now but then they were in top form.  Two of ours, Frank and Dean run this pack with the Jewboy, the one-eyed nigger and this Anglo pimp and gopher who they let hang around named Peter Lawford.  What’s this guy Lawford ever do but stand to one side either being ignored by the immigrants or being abused by them, his mouth hanging open waiting for orders just like you Adams.

     But this guy Lawford is married into the Kennedys so he’s some sort of pimp or go between between this Monroe broad and the President.  You see how good we are.  We share Lawford with the President of the United States and he knows to do what we say or he ain’t such a pretty boy anymore.  He’s our slave just like you, just all them tushes walking around makes you drool so much.  All Anglos, no Italians among ’em.  All Anglos tush.  We buy and sell ’em, trade ’em like baseball cards.  You know what I mean?’  He said looking at Adams sharply.

     Adams held back a guilty retch.  He knew.

     ‘So Sam and Frank have this Lawford guy bring this Monroe broad up here to the Cal-Neva for a fun weekend.  The Anglo pimp brings up his Anglo whore.  Get it?  Ha, Ha.  That’s funny.

     If Sam is sore at the Kennedy’s Frank is very unhappy too.  I mean, both these bust their ass to get this son-of-a-bitch elected.  Imagine Frank Sinatra pulls out the stops, brings Sam Giancana in, even organizes balls a and this…this more than a son-of-a-bitch says Frank can’t even attend the party because he’s a political liability.  Sam is so totally embarrassed y this thing that he has to do a real song and dance with Accardo and Ricca to survive.  For a minute there it looks like old Frankie boy is going to take a hit.

     Then Sam sees this Monroe broad singing Happy Birthday Dear Mr. President and it’s like a light bulb goes on in his head.

     Like eveybody knows Frank’s got Lawford by the hangers so he has ‘Petah’ bring Monroe up for the weekend.

     Before she even knows what’s happening they got her so zonked on downers she’s just a puppet.  I don’t personally approve of doing this to no broad myself figuring a good backhand to the chops gets the same results and they’re alert enough to put their hearts and souls into it or else but then Sam and Frank have got their own ideas.

     Jesus Christ, you should a seen it.  It was like they was banging the President himself.  Sam is banging her in the ass screaming:  ‘Take that you double crossing bastard.’ while Frank is laughing like a maniac shouting out:  ‘How does it feel?’  The poor broad is out of her senses so loaded with shit she can’t stop puking, later they had to pump her stomach to get some of the shit out there so she could go on breathing.  All in all Sam and Frank have themselves a very rewarding and entertaining evening.’

     ‘You sound almost like you seen it.’  Adam said ruefully.

     ‘I did see it.  Me and Lawford both of us.  Petah took the pictures they sent to the bastard.

      ‘How could you do that?’

     ‘Oh, you’re new here yet.  There is underground passages connecting all the huts, peep holes, doors in closets whole thing.  So we make Lawford watch this whole thing, take pictures, then send him back to tell Jack and Bobby with the snapshots.

     They go crazy, Jack especially.  A seek later this Monroe broad is back in LA but she is in depression like you wouldn’t believe.  I mean, she is destroyed.  She calls up her boyfriends to tell them to do something about it, like, you know, hit Frank and Sam, but they send this Lawford shit to tell her she is disgraced and they don’t want to have anymore to do with her.  Who could face life after that?  Maybe somebody does kill her, I don’t know.  But for myself I don’t see how she has any choice but to kill herself.  In a way I feel sorry for the broad.  That was a lot to take.

     So you see, Lincoln, I tell you these things so you know your position among us.  Think!  He was dishonored through his broad, Jack Kennedy took a shot a couple years ago.  None of our boys have been accused and they never will be. We elect Presidents by the ‘democratic’ process and we kill them with impunity.  Sam’s doin’ OK; Frank sings to sold out auditoriums.  Kennedy’s in his grave.  Know your place.  I don’t want to hear no more of this Chuckie crap.  I’m Mr. Ulsio to you.  Same goes for Angie.  Now get the hell out of here before I mop the floor with you.  Move!’