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A Novel

Our Lady Of  The Blues

Book VII

The Heart Of The Matter

by

R.E. Prindle

 

     The Souls of Black Folk had taken definite form when Bert Williams captured the essence  in his magnificent song: ‘Nobody.’

When life seems full of clouds and rain

And I am filled with naught but pain,

Who soothes my funkin’ bunkin’ brain?

Bert In Blackface

Nobody.

And when winter comes with snow and sleet

And me with hunger and cold feet,

 Who say: Yars a quarta boy, now ya’ll go and eat?

Nobody.

Refrain.

Now I ain’t never done nothin’ to nobody

And I ain’t never got nothin’ from nobody

no time.

Until I get somethin’ from somebody sometime

Well, I don’t intend to do nothin’ for nobody

no time.

Then summer comes all cool an clean

And all my friends see me drawin’ near,

Who says:   Come on over  here, man, and have a beer?

Nobody.

Last Christmas Eve, ’twas about daybreak,

I was in that railroad wreck.

And who pulled the en-jine off my neck?

Not a livin’ soul.

Now, I ain’t never done nothin’ to nobody

And I ain’t never got nothin’ from nobody

no time.

Until I get somethin’ from somebody sometime

Well, I don’t intend to do nothin’ for nobody

no time.

     An excellent version of the song is available by the musicologist Ry Cooder on his disc: Jazz.

page 1810.

     Williams’ lyrics accurately portray the despair of the maltreated Negro in the heart of the Jim Crow period.  The formation of the psychic block that forms the ‘hole’ in the Black soul is also apparent in the frustration of being abused without recourse.  Dewey knew what Williams’ was talking about; he suffered from the same problem.

     The intense anger which could not be safely expressed during the era is suppressed and sublimated into a festering resentment.  At the end of the Jim Crow period and the beginning of the Self-Wareness Period this hurt, anger and resentment erupted in the Black revolt of the Long Hot Summer of ’67.

     Politically the result took the form of Affirmative Action:

And I ain’t never got nothin’ from nobody no time

Until I get somethin’ from somebody sometime

Well, I don’t intend to do nothin’ for nobody

No time.

     Thus Affirmative Action is an attempt to get somethin’ from somebody at the expense of someone else.  It is important to deprive a White person of something for no good reason to compensate Blacks for being denied and deprived for no good reason earlier.  As the slang has it:  What goes around, comes around.  But the resulting injury created against Whites will have to be compensated by Blacks later along.  What goes around just keeps coming around. So, hey, hey, baby take a whiff on me.

page 1811

     On the social level the attitude is reflected in the phenomenally high crime rate among Black  youth.  Rather than work which would be doin’ somethin’ for somebody, most likely White employers, a large percentage of Blacks prefer to do nothin’ for nobody no time.

     The problem considered in the abstract is, however quite different than dealing with it in the concrete.  Actual personalities are much differerent than hypothetical situations.  Whoever said:  In order to make an omelet you have to break a few eggs was not talking about his own eggs.  One only talks so blithely about breaking eggs when they belong to someone else and you’re going to eat the omelet.  The question was a serious one for White women who lived down along the interface where they were prey to Black men.

     ‘All those Black bastards want is our women.’  Black Jack thrust in demandingly while Dewey searched for an approach to an answer.

     Dewey had had little experience with Black people, and that all bad, as he had been fortunate enough to have been brought up in an entirely White environment.  this was so even though just across the River at Valley High the juxtaposition of the two races caused innumerable conflicts.  In many ways there was open racial warfare.

page 1812.

     A girl he had known and had a crush on in Junior High had transferred to the East Side where she had been raped by a Black guy and had his baby thereby destroying her life. Society looked at it as her fate as an inevitable sacrifice, especially as the egg broken wasn’t one of theirs.  But, you know, omelets.  That’s the way it goes.  Dewey had taken it personally.  Society forbade him to mention the race of the Black guy but his subconscious was not so easily intimidated.  You can shut a man up buy you can’t keep his brain from working.

     Dewey was not an integrationist.  He was opposed to miscegenation.  His notions on these issues were separate from his notions on equal opportunity and fairness.  His talents had been shunted aside to provide greater opportunity for the elite.  Even among whites the Aristocracy favored itself over the Other Half.  Fairness was not a concern of the Aristocracy.

     Thus Dewey did not oppose denying the Negro opportunity.  The reason d’ etre of the United States, officially at least, was fair play.  But you had to know how to get it.

     On the other hand any advance of the Blacks could only be done at the expense of Whites.  In order to raise Blacks Whites would have to be denied opportunity.  And we know which Whites.  The Aristocracy would not have to pay.  All the expenses would be borne by the Other Half of the social order where both Dewey and Black Jack Davy were.

     Dewey understood how Black Jack felt.  His mind went back to that dance at Castlemont when he had seen and overheard the girls talking.  The riots and battles down South had their effect on him.  While the Blacks might be fighting for ‘justice’ they were also creating injustice.  Affirmative Action meant that they would be given preferential treatment over Whites who had worked hard to prepare themselves and would now be denied.

page 1813.

     Dewey didn’t know the answer but he saw no reason to offer up his body as a sacrifice to appease Blacks and gratify the guilt of the Urban Aristocracy.

     ‘Well, I know it’s a problem out in California.  I spend a lot of liberty time in Oakland which is almost half Black.  I know that in high schools like Castlemont any girls that don’t clear out immediately after school are considered fair game for Black guys who scour the halls looking for the late ones.  The girls don’t even complain if they do get raped.  It’s just assumed they were asking for it or they would have cleared right out.  Boy, I don’t know what to do about it.  The best thing you can do is get as far away from the Black areas as possible.’

     ‘That may be the only answer.  They pull knives on girls in Chicago.  You have to watch out all the time so they don’t get the jump on you.  I know a couple girls who got the big thrill while a knife point was buried in their throat.  Cops won’t listen to you in Chicago either; at least not where we live.’  Dixie Darlin’ said matter of factly while she comtemplated the card of the Hanging Man.

     ‘That’s just it.’  Black Jack said.  ‘There’s a double standard operating here.’

page 1814.

     ‘Yeah, I know.  This is a country of double standards, triple standards, heck, quadruple standards.  Everything depends on who you are; there’s nothing honest in America.  What’s a virtue in one case is a fault in another.  No consistency.  Some go to jail some walk.  One guy kills somebody, he walks; another guy kills somebody he gets the chair.  Lots of duplicity all the time.  Doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with money either.’

     Black Jack didn’t want to drift from his theme so he brought the conversation back.

     ‘The Second Coming Of The Golden Dawn deals with all those problems.  It’s a modern religion for modern times.  It  won’t be too long before we’re more important than the Catholics.  We’re going to revitalize and rejuvenate America; bring it back to the ideals that made it great.  And you’re going to be in the middle of it as my lieutenant.

     Dewey was about to frame a reply when Black Jack spotted a wreck on the highway.  The crack up was a fairly serious one.  One car must have wandered over the meridian hitting  the other head on.  The cars were really nothing more than twisted metal.  The bodies lay around on the ground in sickening postures.  A number of cars had stopped leaving groups of people either milling or standing around.

     Dewey hoped that Black Jack would just drive through as the sight of mangled and torn bodies had no appeal for him but as a minister Black Jack thought his services might be needed.  The three Chicagoans bored in close to get a good look.  Dewey hung back disgusted and revolted.  Two Black men and a woman stood not too far away.

     ‘Say man.  You dig who that White guy in the plaid jacket is?’ One man asked.

     ‘I know him.  Tha’s that crazy peckerwood who’s walkin’ around the Stockade in black face, ain’t he?’  The other said.

     ‘Black face? Wha’s he do that for?’  The woman asked.

     ‘Nobody kin figure it out.  Funny dude, man.  Acts like we don’t know he’s white with burnt cork on.  Shit, he so dumb he even put blacking on the palm of his hands.’

    ‘No.’  The woman said laughing.

     ‘Shit yes.  Nobody kin figure what he be doin’.  He be tryin’ to get funny stuff on us he better be careful or the laugh is goin’ to be on him.’

     ‘I don’t know what else he kin be doin’.   Kin you?’

     ‘Hell no.’

     Dewey’s chest heaved as he suppressed the laughter welling up inside him.  He got back in the car where he could laugh in safey.  If those Black Folk had known the real reason they wouldn’t have known what to think.  Black Jack in black face; Dewey giggled away.  Then with a masterful effort he suppressed his laughter as Black Jack and the girls came back to the car.

     ‘I just can’t believe it.’  Black Jack lamented.  ‘I just can’t believe it.  A terrible crash on the highway like that and I didn’t hear nobody pray.’

     ‘Didn’t hear nobody pray?’  Dewey asked thinking that the last thing he had thought about.

     ‘No.  there was whiskey and blood mixed together in the glass where they lay but I didn’t hear nobody pray.  I was the only one who had the sense to call down the mercy of the Lord on those poor mangled souls.’

     Mercy of the Lord on those poor mangled souls.’  Dewey repeated in wonder at what mercy those poor mangled souls could expect.  They’d had little mercy in this world and in the next they were on their own.

     ‘Amen, brother.’  Black Jack intoned.  ‘We’re going to get along just fine.’

     Then Black Jack and Dewey came to that old fork in the road.  Black Jack said:  ‘Now, right up here we have to turn left to go into Chicago; if you go straight that will take you up into Gary.  Like I say:  I need you in Chicago to build the Second Coming Of The Golden Dawn and save America and probably the world.  What say, are you made of the right stuff?’

     ‘Uh, no, Black Jack.  I can’t.  I’m in the Navy.  I have to get back or they’ll courtmartial me.’

     ‘They can’t courtmartial some one who isn’t there, Dewey.  What’s wrong with you?

     ‘Sure, Black Jack but it would ruin my life.  They would come and get me.’

     ‘Oh, sheez.  No one’s going to come after you.  They wouldn’t even know where to begin looking.  You’d be like that A-Bomb in Darktown.  Why would they think you were in Chicago?’

     ‘Because it’s the center of the country?  Aw, come on, Black Jack, when I get a driver’s license or apply for jobs they’d get me right away, besides, let me tell you something you don’t know;  Chicago is no California.

     ‘Just change your name…’

     ‘Aw, Jesus, change my name!  I’m not going to Chicago with you Black Jack.  Now, let me out here.’

     Black Jack was a very disappointed guy because he had convinced himself that Dewey had been sent by God to be his lieutenant.  Providence had failed him or, perhaps, he had misinterpreted the signs.  Dewey’s wanting to depart seemed to Black Jack a betrayal on the order of the kiss Judas gave Jesus.

     He continued to half remonstrate with and half excoriate Trueman as he got out of the car.  Dewey took it all in good measure because, after all, he had been given a handsome and entertaining ride and besides, as screwy as he considered most of Black Jack’s ideas he liked him.

     Dewey knew what longing and frustration were.  He knew what it meant to be reviled and rejected for no good reason.  He took Black Jack’s raging as just the raving of an injured psyche.  If the wounds were aggravated then society would just have to pay the price of its sins whatever that price might be.  That was only just.  If the wounds were allowed to heal then Black Jack would probably be a pretty decent guy.

     In fact, Black Jack, or rather, Derek Drainsfield, as he did resume his original identity, turned out straight.  He was able to move away from the Interface as Dewey suggested.  As his women were no longer in danger from Black predators the pressure on his psyche decreased and as his mind cleared he once again realized that fear and revulsion were not bases for religion.

page 1818.

     He turned to a gospel of love and wealth.  He shed most of his repulsive majick elements of his approach leaving Aleister Crowley behind while miving closer to Rosicrucian Christianity.  he remained a preacher.  He was seeking to be respectable.  He attained his goal.  He had a congregation that varied between five and six hundred.

      They were well satisfied with him while he was content with tending his flock.  Circumstances required him to take a compassionate stand on race relations which he did but the misgivings he had acquired down on the Interface never left him.  As, why should they?

     ‘Good luck finding that A-Bomb, Black Jack.  Good bye Dixie Darlin’- Belle.’  Dewey said politely shutting the door.  ‘Thanks for the ride.’

     More hurt than angry Black Jack drove away muttering about the guy’s ingratitude under his breath.

Hitchhiking Is No Picnic

     ‘Christ, it’s cold.’  Dewey thought as the heat from the car left him.  A cold blast of wind whistled down across Lake Michigan to rattle his teeth.

     ‘Oh, not again.’  Dewey said to himself as a cop car pulled to a stop in front of him.  There was Navy on the Great Lakes so he wasn’t such an oddity to the Illinois State Police as he had been to those in Oklahoma.

page 1819.

     The cop was one of those tall big men of limited mental resources who really like to lord it over other men.  Maybe he was just amusing himself.  Taking Dewey’s leave papers and ID he sat for fifteen minutes in his car leaving Dewey to shiver in the cold.

     He got back out offering a few sneering comments then dropped Dewey’s papers to the ground and drove off.  That good strong North Wind caught Dewey’s leave papers sending them off like an eagle taking wing.  There was little sense in chasing them so Dewey stood watching as they wafted back down the highway.

     ‘Oh well, I probably won’t need them anymore.  Boy, cops must all be cut from the same mold.’  Dewey thought as his resentment against the police grew.  ‘And they wonder why everybody despises them.’

      It’s not so much that they receive the same education in police academies as that they all do come from the same mental approach to life.  They’re just bullies with badges made safe from retaliation.

     The sun was going down.  The temperature was dropping.  Once out of his face Dewey had other things to think about than coppers although he was acquiring a bitter understanding of the attitudes of men like John Dillinger and Pretty Boy Floyd the Outlaw.

     A couple rides later he was dropped off in front of a service station in Gary, Indiana.  Named after Judge Gary.  Night had fallen on the lakeside city.  A superb lake effect snowstorn was in progress from Gary up to Benton Harbor from which point Dewey intended to shunt East across Michigan to the Valley.

page 1820.

    Gary was not yet the Black town it would be.  Eventually it would become another East St. Louis.  For the present Dewey was safe from racial harassment.

     He took up a position under the lights of the station sign where he could really be seen.  It was a pitiless night.  No one would stop.  Every time a semi went by, which was every other vehicle, the big rigs swirled the snow wildly burying Dewey in the rearranged drift.  The hours passed.

     Finally a big rig pulled to a stop.  The tractor was a nice new cab over but the driver was crossing over to Cleveland.

     The driver seemed decent enough, tried to explain to him that there would be no traffic heading North.  He told Dewey that it would be better to cross over beneath Detroit and go North from there where there would be a lot more traffic.

     Dewey feared Detroit for a number of reaons of which race was one, while the time involved crossing then heading up the Dixie seemed excessive.  That coupled with the fact that his mind was slowing from lack of both sleep and nourishment determined his decision.  He had no idea that the highway would have less traffice than the Claremore road if possible.

     Without being aware of it Dewey had become quite dehydrated.  Suddenly his thirst hit him.  He looked over to spot the Coke machine in the gas station.  Really discouraged he walked over and drained five bottles of Coke in a row.  They were the old 7 oz. size.

page 1821.

     This gave the attendant who had been watching him an excuse to talk to him.

     ‘Wow.  You must really be thirsty.’

     ‘Yeah. I was anyway.’

     ‘How come you didn’t take the ride that trucker offered?’

     ‘Oh, he was going East to Cleveland.  Offered to drop me off below Detroit but gosh, that’s several more hours and I’ve been on the road forever.  This was supposed to be a forty-eight hour trip.'[

     ‘How long you been on the road?’

     ‘I don’t know.  I started last Thursday.’

     ‘Where you going?’

     ‘The Valley in Michigan.  Thought I’d cut over at Benton Harbor.’

     ‘Oh man, that’s a tough one any night.  Very little traffic.  In this storm there probably won’t be any at all.  Sunday night too.  You should have taken that trucker’s offer.  Tell you what I’ll do for you.  I’ll ask any driver going North if they’ll give you a ride.  You can stand out there if you want.  I’ll call you over if I find someone.’

     Dewey thanked him kindly but was so discouraged he forgot about it immediately.  He was digging himself out of the umpteenth snow bank when the attendant called to him.

     ‘Hey, hey Sailor, come on.  I’ve got a ride for you.’

     Dewey couldn’t believe his ears but he stepped smartly over.

     ‘He’s going to St. Joe.  Says he’ll give you a ride.’

     Dewey thanked the attendant but didn’t offer the tip he was obviously expected to give and hopped in.

Four Strong Winds

     As the saying goes:  Dewey was running on empty.  There weren’t even any fumes left.  He was going simply because he was going.

     There were several towns they had to pass through on the way to Benton Harbor not to mention the good sized city of South Bend but all Dewey would ever be able to remember was big white snow flakes falling from a patent leather sky and the blazing white snow banks illuminated by the headlights.  The night had the surreal aspects of the Hopper picture ‘Nighthawks At The Diner.’

     Terry Gaste, the driver, was the first respectable looking person Dewey had seen for days.  He was a pleasant looking man of about twenty-seven.  Plump, even quivering with baby fat, delicate, well dressed, well groomed, impeccably mannered, he was meticulously cared for.  Every hair of his dark head had a well defined place for which it occupied.  He looked like he had just shaved.  He had an air of refinement.  In fact, he was a high school English teacher at Benton Harbor.  Even out in the boonies Benton Harbor had more cachet than its twin city St. Joseph so Terry Gaste lived in St. Joe where rents were cheaper.  Hard to believe.

page 1823.

     If Dewey hadn’t been grappling to keep his grip on reality he would have thought that Gaste was a very creditable guy.  Having been five days on the road he mainly noticed that Gaste seemed very effeminate.

     ‘I offered you a ride because in this terrible weather I thought I might need your help if I got stuck.  You would help me if that happened wouldn’t you?  You wouldn’t just abandon me?’

     ‘No.’  Dewey said.  ‘That’s a very fair exchange.  This is a lot of snow.  We don’t get snow like this up in the Valley.  Cold, but no snow.’

     ‘We get a lot of snow here.’

     ‘I always noticed that.  There’s a strip right across Southern Michigan that always gets a lot of snow.  I mean look at these snowbanks, four or five feet high.  Couldn’t have been any worse than that storm in Flagstaff.  What are you doing out so late in this weather?’

     ‘I’m returning from Chicago.  I live in St. Joseph but I teach English in Benton Harbor.  My girl friend lives in Chicago and I visit her every weekend.  I make this trip every week.’

     Dewey’s mind was about to go free form.  It was about to take the same relationship to his body that the Milky Way takes to Earth.  Fortunately he still had enough control not to express an unasked for opinion of Terry Gaste.  His own thoughts were that Gaste was gay but he had enough sense to stay in the closet in Benton Harbor.  Dewey thought that he probably went to Chicago on weekends for sex.  Heaven was merciful to Trueman; he kept his speculations to himself but converted his opinions into a series of malicious comments.

page 1824.

     ‘Wow, that’s a long way to go to see your girl firend.’

     If Dewey’s mind had been functioning he might have reflected on that statement.  Gaste was driving only two hundred miles round trip.  Dewey thought nothing of an over night jaunt from San Diego to LA which was about the same distance.  He regularly traveled twelve hundred miles round trip to San Francisco on a weekend.  And then he had to hitchhike more often than not.  But in Michigan a hundred miles seems like a great long trip.

     ‘I don’t mind.  We’re in love.  She’s worth it.’

     ‘Really?  I don’t know if I could do that.  I’d get a girl in Benton Harbor.’

     Then Dewey egan to talk about things that, had he been rested, he wouldn’t have mentioned.  But under that patent leather black and white environment of shimmering snow flakes and dazzlingly white snow banks an inchoate fear seized his vitals causing unnamed specters to be released from the right side of his brain.  Perhaps his subconscious flooded his conscious mind.  No, that wasn’t it.  It was the right side.

     ‘I’m quite happy this way actually.’  Gaste said trying to edge off the subject.

    ‘Boy, I’d be afraid she’d be cheating on me.’

     ‘Oh no.  I have absolute trust in her.’

     ‘Oh, I don’t know.  Do you call her weekdays.’

     ‘Yes.  We talk.’

page 1825.

     ‘Is she always there?’

    ‘Well, no.  Not always.’

     ‘See.’

     ‘See what?  She can’t always be home.  That doesn’t mean she’s out with someone else.’

     Dewey’s emotional development had been arrested by the sharp break in his routines caused by entering the Navy.  He still had a teenage notion of fidelity.  Thus his fears now amounting to a panic kept him on the subject even though he could see the discomfort he was causing Gaste.

     He liked Gaste and could see his error but he couldn’t get his mind out of its rut.  He insisted to the point of being obtuse.  Gaste, who was kind and considerate to a fault was being driven to his wit’s end.  Perhaps for that reason his concentration wavered.  The car lost traction and slid up against the snowbank.

     Gaste couldn’t regain traction.  The tires spun uselessly.

    ‘I think you’re going to have to get out and push.’  Gaste said tersely fearful that Trueman wouldn’t keep his end of the bargain.

     ‘Oh well.  Nobody rides for free.’  Trueman replied with mock ruefullness, thankful for the intrusion into his feeling of nauseating panic.

     Pushing was out of the question.  Gaste’s De Soto, the marque of the car wasn’t mentioned but his was the last model year of De Soto, ’58 if I remember correctly, blue and white, was a heavy car but even had it been lighter Dewey’s feet would have slid out from under him.

page 1826.

     Dewey had no intention of being stranded for hours, there must be a way out.  He noticed that as slick as the road was and as high and firm as the snowbank was it was possible to perhaps wedge himself between the snowbank and the car and push the car sideways back into the road.

     ‘There’s no way I can push it, Terry.’  He ssid speaking rhough Gaste’s open window.  ‘This road’s too slick.  But we can try this.  I’ll wedge myself in between the car and the snowback, when I shout  Now! give it the gas and I’ll push sideways with my foot.  That might get it out of the groove it’s in and back in the road where the wheels won’t be in slick ruts.’

     ‘You don’t think you will hurt my car, do you?’

     ‘What do you mean?’

     ‘If you push with your foot on the fin the metal might cave in.’

     ‘Terry, in a contest between me and steel I’ll bet against myself every time.  You should too.’

     ‘Well, I suppose it’s worth a try.’

     ‘Sure it is.’

     Dewey got into position and shouted to Gaste to give it the gas.  Belying his apparent timidity Gaste gunned the engine mightily.  Dewey pushed.  Almost perfect; the DeSoto left the ruts and shot out into the middle of the road straight as an arrow as Dewey slid down the snowbank with a painful bump.

     There was a moment of anxiety for Dewey as he feared Gaste might drive off without him.  Such was not the case.

     1827.

     In the first place Gaste was much too decent a guy to even think of abandoning Dewey even though Dewey’s chatter had him running up walls.  Also if he spun out once he could spin out twice; why take chances, still he thought Dewey might have dented his car.

    ‘You didn’t dent my car.’  He asked Dewey as the sailor, smiling at his success, slid back in the seat.

     ‘No.  It worked perfectly, Terry.  We’re even pointed straight down the road.  I was afraid it might to into the opposite snowbank.  Let’s go.’

     ‘I’m going to check.’

     ‘It’s alright Terry, don’t check.  Let’s go before we lose traction again.’

     Gaste hopped out  to run around the car like a ferret to check Dewey’s word.  Finding the fender without a dent he got back in the car much relieved.  Easing the car forward slowly they regained traction.

     In the time he had been able to divert Dewey’s rattling chat Dewey had revealed some rather remarkable details of his journey.  He wasn’t aware yet of the effect of the trip on himself but Gaste was amazed even horrified at the details Dewey had given him.  The motorcycle ride with Rodeo Frank had made quite an impression.

     Now determined to keep Dewey off subjects offensive to himself, Gaste had a line of converstaion ready when he got back in the car.

page 1828.

     Dewey himself had had a transformation out in the cold.  Still obsessed with the legendary snowstorm in Flagstaff he could hardly  believe that that storm was worse than this one.  He therefore dismissed the story as some writer’s hyperbole thereby putting to rest a piece of ephemera that had bothered him for years.

     The combination of white snow and black sky blew through his mind like a gale.  The extreme black shininess of the deep browed sky seemed to him like Mother Space while the cold white flakes came down like bits of bone white death.

     The reason that the car had slid was that a snow plow had preceded them turning the road into a white carpeted path of packed snow which added to the sharp contrast accentuated by the ricocheting light from the headlamps.

     Dewey’s mind was overwhelmed by the white and black as he half slid and half skated back to the car.

     His despair caused him to conceive his situation as one of death in life.  A quiet panic festered in his mind.  His fatigue began to swirl his mind as though it were the center of four strong contending winds, like the great swirl of the Milky Way sliding backwards from the center of the Big Blast through space.  The white and black seared his mind.

     As the conversation developed Dewey made connections and expressed opinions that would have been blocked by a rested and conscious mind.  He expressed opinions and analyses he never knew he had.  He could never have repeated them on the spot nor could he have remembered them after rest.

page 1829.

     Meaning to seize the initiative Terry Gaste used the key that opened Dewey’s mind to a flood of opinion that Gaste had not expected.  There had been nothing said to this point that gave any indication of Dewey’s intellectual depth.  Indeed, his pimpled face and cold staring expression indicated just the opposite.  Gaste had expected to toy with him and dazzle him with his brilliance.

     Gaste was impressed by the idea of Dewey having hitchhiked all the way across country from San Diego.  Like many others in his class Gaste repressed such desires but greatly romanticized them.  He had also read Jack Kerouac’s ‘On The Road’ that had been out for over a year now.  He imagined there was some similarity between Kerouac’s and Trueman’s experience.

    ‘Have you read that new book ‘On The Road’ by Jack Kerouac?’  He asked expecting that Dewey had never heard of it.

     ‘Yes.’  Dewey replied.

     ‘You have?’  Gaste said raising the pitch of his voice in surprise.  Before he went on he sought to know how as he imagined not without reason that Dewey would have been cut off by Navylife from more recent literary developments.  ‘Umm, do you read a lot?’

     ‘Actually quite a bit.’  Dewey replied.  ‘That book you mentioned was one they passed aound.  I had to read it, as it were, I didn’t like it but it has made a terrific impression aboard ship.  They talk about it all the time.’

     ‘You had to read it?  Why’s that?’

page 1830

     ‘Well, being aboard ship is a pretty peculiar way to live.  There’s a whole big difference between what is called the  ‘officers’ and the ‘men.’  I’m obviously of that part called ‘the men.’  Being in the Navy is like being in the orphanage or in prison.  They don’t allow for a lot of individuality.  It’s very easy to be thought weird.  They don’t want you to know anything they don’t.  If you do that makes them feel insecure and inferior.  They don’t want you read, become familiar with literature like, oh say, Victor Hugo or John Dos Passos, so certain books are passed around that you are expected to be familiar with or not.  They don’t care if you don’t read the books; they do allow for greater ignorance than theirs.’

     ‘What kind of books?’

     ‘Well, mostly they’re kind of dirty, soft corn porn, you might say.  Although some have a quite serious side and even have a backhanded moral or, at least, lesson you have to a fringe person to get it.  One of them was about a guy who got knocked over the head, had amneisa, and becomes a criminal under an assumed name, naturally, as he can’t remember his own.  Happened to me I’d use the name of the guy who lived kitty corner from me, mess up his reputation.  His wife goes in search of him.  In the pursuit she becomes a prostitute because, even thought this course is repugnant to her, she believes this is the only way to find her beloved.  It goes on like that.  Some guy cornholes her and we get a description of  her patting her rectum back into shape.  Stuff you need to know to get through life.  In the end the boy gets his memory back but instead of being angry with his wife he cherishes her because she made this great sacrifice of her virtue just for him.  So crime is kind a natural part of life is the moral.  It kind of keeps your mind off the stars and in the muck so you don’t get to thinking you’re better than the scum you live with.  That’s what the French call ‘egalite.’

     ‘Do you mean as in the slogan of the French Revolution: Liberte, egalite, fraternite?

     ‘That’s it.  What egalite means is than anyone who tries to excel is put down.  Therefore egalite cancels liberte  and makes fraternite impossible because who would want to associate with such a bunch of bums.  Ha ha ha.’

     ‘But what was the moral of this book about the woman who became a prostitute?’

     ‘The argument goes that you would forgive your wife if she became a prostitute to save you, wouldn’t you?  Of course you would, is the correct answer.  And then, by extension, that if you would forgive her for screwing other guys to save your life then it is ridiculous to be jealous of your wife if she is screwing other guys for pleasure.  So you should just let anybody who want to screw her screw her and just shut up.  Nothing is good or bad but thinking makes it so, see?  My argument was that it may work well when you’re screwing the other guy’s wife but you aren’t going to be so tolerant when it happens to you.  I asked if they thought I should be jealous if any of them were screwing my wife, should I have one,  and they said no.  Then I asked how they would they feel if I were screwing their wife and to a man they said they would stomp my ass into dust.

     Anyway if you approve prostitution or promiscuity for one reason then it can’t be wrong for any reason.  So the tendency of these books including ‘On The Road’, seems to be in inculcate a tolerance for criminality.  Besides which all these guys are all hypocrites.’

page 1832.

     ‘Do you know how these books are selected?  Who does it?’

     ‘Not exactly.  But control seems to be coming from the midships area.  I tried to get a couple books inserted in the rounds but they were coldly rejected so I have to believe the books were selected for a political purpose.  Pretty undemocratic censorship, hey?’

     ‘What books did you try to insert?’

     ‘Well, from the content of the books I’ve seen passed around it wouldn’t do any good to try for books you English teachers think are literature, but, you know, there is much more pertinent writing than guys like Mailer, Roth or Herman Wouk going around.

    I mean they even gave a Pulitzer prize to that piece of crap, ‘The Caine Mutiny.’  What an impossible story.  I doubt if  Wouk was even ever aboard ship.  But then other stuff doesn’t get a chance with major publishers.  Actually ‘On The Road’ is an exception.  That book is outside the acceptable tradition of polite literature, what you might call ‘outlaw.’  It’s about the same mental caliber as this book called ‘Junkie’ that was passed around.

     There’s a couple of very interesting publishers who put out this kind of stuff in Kerouac’s style.  One’s Ace and the other is Gold Seal.  Ever heard of them?  No?  You’ve probably seen them on the paper back racks.  One despises them because they only come out in paper back, no hard cover.  Turned up your nose and walked away, eh?  I had to get over the prejudice myself.  Broaden out, it won’t hurt you.

page 1833.

     Gold Seals’s got one, out of several I’ve read, that’s particularly interesting called ‘I Am Legend.’  I tried to get this one in.

     (This book was later made into a distorted movie verson that completely betrays the impact of the novel, called ‘The Omega Man’ starring Charlton Heston.  This story was converted into a version acceptable to the Revolution.  It was again released as ‘I Am Legend’ after the turn of the century as the story of  Black and White race issues.)

     It’s about a world in which vampires start out as a small persecuted group, somewhat like the early Christians or present day Commies, but gradually enlarge in numbers until there are more of them than us.  Finally there is only one regular guy left, everyone else has been turned into a vampire.  Technically the vampires cannot suck each other’s blood without dying out as there is no fresh blood left but if that were allowed, no story.

     Finally there’s only one guy left.  He goes around by day killing as many vampires as he can find.  they turn around and persecute him by night.  They assault him in his impregnable, apparently fire proof wooden fortress all night long.  Never could figure when he got any sleep, must have been a bundle of nerves.

     There’s a real stalemate until the vampires learn how to survive in daylight.  Then they put on tanning lotion, must have been left over on some drugstore shelf, on the most beautiful of their women.  In my book she must have been fair of face, 40D, 25, 38.  Like them proportions?  But the author was vague.

page 1834.

     She infiltrates this guy’s lair, betrays him and he ends up being on the gallows.  The last sane man left alive, hence he is legendary.

     I don’t know why my shipmates rejected it unless it was resistance to the end.’

     That was part of it.  The book was interpreted as an anti-Communist allegory.  Dewey was correct in sensing that control of the books came from midships.  The Revolution’s agent on board was Teal Kanary and the Yeoman’s office was midship.

     At this time the Navy was very sensitive to Communist infiltration.  All swabbies were supposed to be on lookout for Communist agents and report them.  The Navy only understood the problem in terms of espionage not as social attitude.  The Revolution accordingly disparaged the notion of espionage but Russian agents did exist.

     The author was once stopped at gunpoint on Treasure Island because he had inadvertantly strolled into an unmarked restricted area at night.  The Navy didn’t post warnings so that attention wouldn’t be called to the area.  The Russian spies adopted the perfect camouflage; they were among the officers supervising the area.  Navy arrogance was such that they thought officers could do no wrong.  Any such spies were above suspicion.  It was ‘the men’ you had to look out for.

     The Communist Party was only the political arm of the Revolution.  the Revolution exists on many different fronts.  It is wrong to assume that the Revolution is interested only in armed revolt.  That method will succeed only under very special conditions which have been present merely two times in the last three hundred years: 1789 and 1917.  The better method is to bore from within.

page 1835.

     The Revolution takes place more effectively in literature, movies and records where White standards are systematically undermined and replaced by Red ideals.  Hence the books passed around the ship were subversive to White morality.  ‘I Am Legend’ was subversive or Revolutionary objectives.  Thus, the book was thrown back in Dewey’s face.  So much for the slogan of liberty, equality and fraternity except as double speak.

      ‘Well.’  Terry said, trying to get back on ground he understood.  ‘But, didn’t you think ‘On The Road’ was a terrific read?’

     ‘It bothered me.  I saw just a bunch of petty grifters involved in theft, drugs and illicit sex.  Have you heard of this guy Allen Ginsberg?’

      This was getting onto ground forbidden to Terry Gaste.  It might be OK to have heard of Ginsberg amongst the academic community but certainly not to be familiar with his work.  Ginsberg had after all used the word ‘fuck.’  In these antediluvian days before Lenny Bruce had made the seven forbidden works commonplace the use of the f word was enough to disqualify anyone from consideration.  Gaste had read Ginsberg’s ‘Howl’, even recently, but the knowledge was carefully concealed by the high school English teacher.  However here in his car with the heater going in a freezing snowstorm with Dewey he felt safe to talk freely.  He didn’t think Dewey would ever be able to turn him in.

     ‘You mean the poet who wrote ‘Howl?’  Terry said with awe of both Ginsberg and Dewey who he would never have thought would have ever heard of the ‘poet’ Ginsberg.  Terry didn’t seem to realize that the poem was directed at precisely the social class of Trueman and not at polite culture.

     ‘Poem?  Oh yeah, maybe.  I think the title, Howl, is the whole message.  He could have skipped the verbiage.  This guy is supposed to be the poet type guy in ‘On The Road.’  He was Kerouac’s friend.  He’s the model and in Howl he has this line about how he has seen the best minds of his generation driven insane of something to that effect.  If these guys in ‘On The Road’ are the best minds of his generation I think we should all check into the asylum right now.’

     In fact, one of the best minds, Neal Cassady, model for Dean Moriarty in the novel, had set up a major marijuana smuggling operation in San Francisco surpassing that of the Kreskins.  He, however, had been caught.  He was at this time undergoing trial and about to be sent to San Quentin.

     ‘You feel that strongly?’  Terry said, feeling disappointed. 

     ‘Sure.  the book is just another example of ephemeral fruits to my way of thinking.’

     The term was so unexpected in this little capsule inching along the frozen slippery path in the snowstorm behind the snow plow which they had overtaken but couldn’t pass that Gaste had to laugh.  ‘Ephemeral fruits?’

pare 1837.

     ‘Yeah.  It’s like so much happening today.  It doesn’t have any intellectual value.  I mean, they got this guy in San Francisco by the name of Lenny Bruce whose whole pitch is dirty words.  I mean, you know, his whole act seems to be to introduce the words Fuck and Cocksucker into parlor conversation.  The guy’s disgusting yet he’s a hero to some of these guys aboard ship.  I mean, that’s really something to strive for, isn’t it?  Really betters humanity, doesn’t it?

     All the things we’re doing, filling our minds with, are just shallow entertainment so-called, perhaps entertaining but actually demeaning.  After all a mind has only so much time a day for something to be put into it.   When all that is put in is nothing but stupid movies and crusades to say Fuck in normal conversation, that’s not very intellectually nourishing, don’t you think?  We’re just gorging ourselves on sterile information.’

     ‘What do you mean by ephemeral fruits?  Is this a term you’ve conceived.’

     ‘Who me?  No.  It’s something I picked up in Mrs. Hicks’ English class in twelfth grade.  Stuck in my mind.  I like the sound of it:  Ephemeral fruits.  You should know it being an English teacher and all.’

     ‘Evaline Hicks at Valley Melville?’

     ‘Mrs. Hicks is all I know.  One doesn’t inquire into the first names of old broads and English teachers; but yes, I went to Herman Melville in the Valley.  Valley Melville as you guys down here refer to it.’

page 1838.

     ‘Yes.  Now what about ephemeral fruits?’

     ‘Well, it comes from a Greek myth, she was big on Greek myths, King Arthur, Roland and all that, where the monster Typhon takes on Zeus, beats him up, takes out his tendons and leaves them in a sack somewhere.

     Then to help out Zeus in his exremity some nymphs feed Typhon with ephemeral fruits that look good but contain no nourishment so that the more Typhon gorges himself the weaker he gets.  you see the comparison I’m making, right?’

     ‘Yes, I do.’

     ‘Yes.  Well, Mrs. Hicks had this theory about Typhon.  She didn’t call it a theory, I think she said it was an hypothesis.  You have to take responsibility for theories but you can get away with hypotheses.  It’s kind of like a  joke.  Anyway, you’ve heard of the island of Thera?  Exploded some time way back when?  Bigger than Krakatoa, bigger than the H-Bomb to hear people talk who weren’t there.

     So, she figures if this happened that it would make such a huge impression on everyone that it would have to be mentioned in Greek mythology, but it doesn’t appear to be.  But, she says, it has to be.  So she thinks that maybe the story of Typhon and Zeus is a mythological account of the explosion of Thera.  but, uh, I don’t know.’

     ‘I’m sure I don’t either.  Evaline, uh, Mrs. Hicks has been injudicious enough to mention her, uh, hypothesis at a couple conferences I’ve attended.  I think she’s a delightful lady but she lost credibility over this issue.’

page 1839.

     ‘How’s that.’

     ‘Well, no one’s ever heard it before.  There’s no authority for it.’

     ‘Well, yeah, but she only said there must be a reference to Thera and I think there must and that Typhon might possibly be it.’

     In fact as subsequent events have shown the author, there is every reason to believe that the explosion of Thera is accounted for by the myth of  Hera, Zeus and Typhon.  Let us consider it a moment, especially as the myth would eliminate Thera as a place for Atlantis.

     At one time Zeus ingested the goddess Metis but found her not entirely digestible.  She gave him a great headache.  This was relieved when he gave girth to Athene through his forehead.  This birth without female aid made Hera very envious.  In a fit of rage she gave birth to the monster Typhon without the aid of a male.  Typhon had roots deep into the earth while his head touched the stars.  Great wings sprouted from his shoulders which hid the sun.  His name has been interpreted to mean stupefying smoke or hot wind.  He was said to emit great boulders from his mouth as well as belching fire.  Sounds like a volcano to me.

     There are some who say the thrashing of his tail roused great tidal waves.

     Zeus stared bugeyed when he realized that this giant was invading his realm of the sky.  The earth monster of the Earth goddess Hera was attacking the Lord of the Sky.  The Great One was not keen on battle but to battle he must.  The skies flashed and roared from Zeus’ thunderbolts as he hurled them against the wasting hot breath of Typhon.

page 1840

     The mighty monster brought the Great One down, crushing him as though a matchstick.  Zeus being immortal could not be killed so Typhon stripped the body of the tendons rending Zeus immobile.  Then Typhon put the tendons in a leather sack which he hid in a cave in Cilicia, a nation on the coast of Anatolia.  The body he chucked away leaving Zeus an immobile hunk on the ground.

     Typhon would have emerged triumphant except that the great gods Hermes and Pan located the sinews and restrung the inert Father of the Gods.  As they were doing so the Fates fed Typhon with basket loads of Ephemeral Fruits.  The more the monster ate the weaker he got, thus Zeus returning to battle was able to defeat Hera’s creation returning the cosmos to normal.

     The myth on the surface of it appears to be merely a pretty tale.  When Herodotus, the father of historians hence a father of mine, was in Egypt he told the priests the story of Phaeton and Helios.  The priests advised him that the myth undoubtedly concealed an historical event, as in their opinion, all myths did.

     The myth of Phaeton concerns his desire to drive the horses of the sun across the sky.  He approached his father Helios who reluctantly consented.  Phaeton was unable to control the great beasts so the sun wobbled in its course coming so close to earth that the resulting fires nearly destroyed mankind.

     One would have been hard pressed to give a natural explanation to that one until the Summer of 2000 when a scorching heat wave in Greece drove the temperatures up to 120 degrees igniting the dry brush into great fires burning out of control.  Such a season might be described by people with meager meteorological knowledge as the sun wobbling off course close to earth.

page 1841.

     Let us suppose the ancient Egyptians to be right.  Let us suppose that the myth of Hera and Typhon is based on an actual event.  The myth is, of course, undated.  It merely happened once upon a time.  The myth does however perfectly describe the eruption of a specific type of volcano.  Thera was a dormant volcano of the type of Krakatoa, St. Helens and Mazama.  Both St. Helens and Mazama are in the Cascade Range of the Western United States.

     World famous Crater Lake is located in the crater created by Mt. Mazama when it exploded in prehistoric times.  Mazama was a big one of 12,000 to 14,000 feet which is apparently about as big as the type of volcano gets.  The mountain of Mazama was bigger than the island of Thera.

     The author was present when Mt. St. Helens exploded in the 1980s.  He was about sixty miles to the South in Portland, Oregon.  The rupture occured nearly at the summit.  The explosion sent rocks flying for miles as though hurled from Typon’s mouth.  The hot pyroclastic blast of gases rolled down the Northeast slope flattening tens of thousands of acres of forest.  The volcano vented gases and ash for two or three days which rose billowing up to 40,000 feet or better until they flattened out like a thunderhead drifting with the prevailing wind which was a Zephyr.

page 1842.

      The falling ash blocked the sun in Yakima, Washington about fifty miles East where ash accumualted to a depth of about eighteen inches.  A terrifying situation even when you knew what was happening..  Spokane, three hundred miles away received several inches.

     Mt. St. Helens was a nine thousand foot mountain before it exploded and about 6000 after the eruption.  The missing three thousand feet was not blown away by the explosion but worn away the venting ash and gases.

     St. Helens and Thera appear to have been about the same size so there is no reason to believe that Thera was a more cataclysmic disaster than St. Helens.

     People who imagine a fantastic disaster say that Thera exploded with a force of hundred hydrogen bombs.  This is so much nonsense.  St. Helens didn’t go off with even the force of one hydrogen bomb.  Such a disaster is geologically impossible.  What must have happened at Thera was what happened in Washington State in the nineteen eighties, a very impressive eruption but nothing equating a hundred hydrogen bombs.

     Hera being an earth goddess was assigned the parentage of Typhon because she represented Gaia, or Earth.  The eruption must have been terrifying to people without knowledge of volcanic causes so the event was interpreted as Hera challenging Zeus, the sky god, through her creation.  As Zeus’ sinews were hidden in a cave to the East of the eruption that means that the Zephyr was blowing the ash East at the time.  The great billows of ash would be interpreted as blocking the sun.  The thunderhead would interpreted as the head of Typhon reaching to the stars.

     There is no chance that the ash covered Greece to the West or Egypt to the South.  The ash would have streamed East in a fairly narrow band.  Thus Cilicia would have corresponded to Yakima in Washington State.  Further to the East the Hittites have a myth quite similar to Hera and the Typhon.  Their relationship to the explosion would have been approximately that of Spokane, Washington so their myth lacks the terror of the Greek myth.  The Hebrew Yahweh may also be based on the eruption.

     Initially the Sky God was overpowered hence his sinews were deposited in a cave in Cilicia where the ash fall was undoubtedly the heaviest.  Caves are representative of Gaia, so one may say the sinews were buried in the Earth.

     The Fates feeding Typhon Ephemeral Fruits merely means that after a couple days the repressed gases were vented and the vented ash had worn away the mountain sides creating present day Thera, or Santorini.   The ash stopped and Typhon died.

     Mrs. Hicks’ hypothesis cannot be conclusively proven although as indicated above it must be true.  It must also be true that there is a thick layer of ash in Cilicia that can be dated back to 1600 BC or so when Thera erupted.  Comparatively however the eruption of Thera could not have been of greater magnitude than St. Helens.

     Dewey added to the explanation of Mrs. Hicks’ theory:  ‘But I don’t know whether she’s right or not.’

     ‘I’m sure I don’t.’  Terry assented.  ‘I think it was very foolish of Evaline to give voice to her opinion in public; that is something that can’t be done.  All people are hypocrites on that score.  Any crowd of people can find comfort only in a trite acceptable explanation of something.’ 

page 1844.

     Gaste cast a sideways glance at Dewey who was so exhausted his eyes were spinning.  Terry thought to himself that now was the time to vent all those opinions boiling inside him that he could confide to no one without risking his reputation.  He was positive that what he had to say would never go beyond the confines of his car.

     ‘I don’t mean to say that I personally thought ill of Mrs. Hicks for having a controversial opinion but I certainly had to side with the majority to protect my career.’  Terry cleared his throat.  ‘I’m certainly familiar with controversial opinions; I have one or two myself which I wouldn’t dare mention in public.’

     ‘I guess I was right all along.’  Dewey said to himself preparing to push Gaste’s hand off his knee without offending him so much that he would make him get out into the swirling snowstorm.

     ‘First, let me give you a little background on myself so you will know how I come by these opinions.  I was born in Battle Creek and grew in up in Grand Rapids.  Of course I have a sound academic education from Wesleyan but my real education began, as it were, at my mother’s knee.’

     Dewey relaxed.  It was clear to him that Terry was not going to approach him.  As the English teacher appeared to be off on a long explanation Dewey put his brain in overdrive just letting Gaste’s story flow around his mind like the the light from a distant star around our own sun.

page 1845.

     ‘My mother was almost, well, she was really an obsessed woman.  She drove my father away when I was five when she declared to me that I would be the little man of her life; a man who would never leave her.  Strange that we no longer speak, wouldn’t you say?

     We were inseparable.  She took me along with her everywhere.  She made me her assistant and trained me in her researches at a quite early age.  She was obsessed with Astrology and by reference to the so-called Occult.  the Occult is merely a counter religion without its own pope; there is nothing inherently evil about it.

     She actually supported us in relatively decent tyle by casting horoscopes.  You would be amazed at the number of people who use Astrology.  Wealthy successful people too.  I was never able to develop the gift of gab that is necessary to be successful as an Astrologer but my mother could reel off these incredible analyses that were quite often correct: past, present and future.

     She wouldn’t admit that she was superstitious so she clothed her interest in scientific dress.  She learned enough about Astronomy and mathematics so she could pinpoint one’s natal horoscope.  She became quite learned in Greek, Mesopotamian and Egyptian mythology and consequently so am I.  That’s why I’ve always liked Evaline so much.

     My mother’s patter as a consequence of this really substantial learning was very impressive.  Her clients really got their money’s worth.  She astounded them with revelations of their past and present which gave credence to her predictions for the future.  You might think that she researched her clients but she didn’t.  She had a remarkable ability to read a person’s character from their appearance.  She used to say that a person carried their whole history about them in their physiognomy, posture and dress.  Every fold of the clothes, every drape, every gesture and twitch, every line of their face tells who they are and what’s happened to them she used to tell me.   Vocabulary and speech patterns also give one away, the tone of the voice.  She was as remarkable in her way as Sherlock Holmes in his.  I once saw her identify a man as having gradutated from Ohio State on verbal clues which have always escaped me and I still think about it almost every day.

     She considered herself a genius but she couldn’t differentiate between academic standards and Occult methods.  She was always hurt because the academics not only rejected her but wouldn’t even listen to her.  She was right in thinking she was more learned too.

     When we were in Grand Rapids she cultivated a relationship with Cornelia Steketee Hulst.  Have you heard of her by any chance?  No.  Well, she was a very learned woman in Ancient History, gone now, but she lost her academic standing when she sided with an out of favor group of scholars who believe that a period of Matriarchy preceded the Patriarchal society in which we live today.  They are opposed and derided by the controlling Patriarchal academics who take a very narrow view of Greek history and mythology.

page 1847.

     They project a vision of the Greeks which fills their emotional needs but isn’t supported by the facts.  They willfully disregard many salient points so as not to damage the fabric of their beliefs.  But being numerically superior they succeed.

     At any rate Mrs. Hulst no longer had official standing.  Her very intelligent studies were published by what amounted to her private press ‘dedicated to freedom of speech.’

     My mother and I learned a great deal from her.

     So, now you know how I know what I know.

     Now I’m going to lead into a very controversial subject through the story of the Great Flood.  This is strictly my own opinion.  It has little relationship to the thought of either Mrs. Hulst or my mother.  As Mother was into Astrology I had a lot of time to study and think about the Zodiac.

     No. No.  I know Astrology as a means of predicting the future is a lot of hooey but, remember, the Zodiac is a historical fact having had a great influence on hstory as I hope to show you.  Poor old Mother couldn’t even get the academics to admit the Zodiac was an historical fact.

     The question is, did the Flood really occur and, if so, how and when did it happen.  I’m not talking about the version in the Bible but about the earlier Sumerian account on which the Bible story is based.  Have you ever heard of that?  No.  Well, the story is related in an epic poem called the Gilgamesh.  It precedes the Biblical story by thousands of years.

     My researches have led me away from a riparian explanation.  Scientific studies tell us that the planet was in the grip of an ice age that ended something like ten thousand years ago.  During the ice age the seas are thought to have been several hundred feet lower than they currently are when untold millions of tons of water were stored in glaciers and ice caps.

page 1848.

     Back in those ante-diluvian times it was said that a civilization existed that was known as Atlantis.  No. No. Please, just listen.  This civilization was referred to by the Egyptians and hinted at by the Mesopotamians.  The myths of the Greeks and Hebrews do not share this ancient tradition but merely reflect it as they are much too recent on the stage of history to have authentic traditions.    

     I hesitate to mention some of these things because some of the people who hold some of these views or views like them have been so discredited.  But my Mother was influenced by people like Edgar Cayce and Madame Blavatsky.  You know the names but that’all…well, they were privy to a lot of knowledge which is not academically accessible or acceptable.

     I say this confidentially, but in the light of our present knowledge of evolution and such matters if you compare the discredited Madame Blavatsky with an academic scholar like J.G. Fraser I think you will find in certain areas that Madame B. was light years ahead of Fraser and he was on the academic cutting edge, barely acceptable in his time.

     Madame B’s ‘Isis Unveiled’ came out thirty years before Frazer’s ‘Golden Bough’ but her understanding of the the meaning of Genesis is so much more profound than Frazer’s that she sounds modern while he sounds archaic.  Reputations are such that the two roles will never be rectified.

page 1849.

     As I say, my Mother was exposed to opinions of which very very few people are aware.  There are people who actually believe that the Sphinx was carved during the Zodiacal Age of Leo.  At the time the Greek legislator Solon was in Egypt the priests told him that Atlantis had existed some nine thousand years previously.  That would be under the sign of Leo the Lion.  The Sphinx was carved in the form of a lion.  Coincidence?  Perhaps.  But let us go over to Mesopotamia and examine some of their legends.

     I don’t know how much knowledge you have Dewey but some of the names I’m going to mention may be unknown to you.  If they are don’t let that bother you.  You won’t need specialized information to understand the import of what I’m saying.

     Now, in the Gilgamesh epic of Sumer Gilgamesh lives during the reign of the Fifth King after the Deluge circa two thousand BC.  We have tended to disregard such information as mere fancy or fable.  If that were true it would mean the Ancients were just talking from the backs of their necks for no other reason than to amuse themselves.  I don’t think that’s true.  I think they’re talking sense but we just don’t know the frame of reference.

     The fifth king?  What can that mean?  Well, if we interpret each Age or Sign of the Zociac as a king and move back four signs from the Age of Aries which was just dawning in the period of Gilgamesh one finds Taurus, Genini, Cancer…and Leo.  So the Egyptians say that Atlantis disappeared under the sign of Leo and the Mesopotamians say that the Great Flood occurred during the reign of King Leo.

page 1850.

     This means that the Zodiac as a means of time reckoning is very old indeed.  It also indicates that the system had an existence before the Flood being inherited from a predecessor people.  it is interesting that the Mesopotamians said that the Gods existed before the Flood.

     The Gilgamesh epic itself on one level depicts the transition from one ‘king’ to another.  The transition is from the Age of Taurus to the Age of Aries.  The mind of man depicts the transit as one of conflict between the two signs.  For instance, Gilgamesh rules in the guise of Taurus while his successor, Enkidu, although the story seems garbled by later redactors who didn’t understand, is named a Wild Man living beyond the pale of civilization who is drawn into civilization where he serves his apprenticeship as a shepherd, a function of Aries, before going to Ur to challenge Gilgamesh, the representative of the old Age in a wrestling match.  There are differing outcomes to the match but I’m sure the version that has Enkidu triumphing is the original.

     In fact, after becoming friends, Gilgamesh and Enkidu combine their efforts to kill the ‘Bull of Heaven.’  What can this mean but that the Age of Taurus has been replaced by the Age of Aries.

     Thus a shepherd ushers in the Age Of Aries the Ram just as Christ ushered in the Age of Pisces becoming a Fisher of Men.

page 1851.

     Consider Greek mythology.  We know that Zeus did not always exist.  We are given the details of his birth.  We are further told that he will not rule forever but will be replaced by one of his sons.

     We know that Zeus did not survive the transition from Aries to Pisces.  When exactly was Zeus born?  It must have been two thousand years earlier.  In other words Zeus was an Arien god who could not survive the transition into the Age of Pisces.  A different age requires a different archetype.  He had replaced his Taurean father, Cronus.  Being immortal Zeus merely slid back a notch in the Zodiac until Aries returns twenty three thousand years later. 

     The period around two thousand BC was also a time of troubles in Egypt.

     The Jewish god, Yahweh, was also an Arien god.  Is it a coincidence that in the transition from Aries to Pisces that Jewish religious fanatics believed that the ‘End of Days’ was transpiring and that in the new world order they were to come into their own?  Is it possible that the terrible Jewish wars were based on Astrological motives?

     Why the Jews should have become so inflamed at that precise moment is a question to be investigated as it appears that no other people took the changing of the Ages quite so seriously.

     Judaism therefore is a survival of an Arien religion into the Age of Pisces and will even survive into the Age of Aquarius.  This makes the religion an anachronism and a real curiosity.  Could Jewish problems in the Age of Pisces be related to their refusal to accept the archetypes of the New Age?

page 1852.

     The rest of the world accepted the Piscean gods but not without travail.  By the time of Constantine the Piscean religion of Jesus the Christ had triumphed.  We can look for a major change in relgious outlook when the Aquarian archetypes replace the Piscean ones of Jesus and Mary.

     May I be so bold as to offer a prediction as to the nature of those archetypes?  The character of Jesus is a strange one.  He is curiously effeminate.  He is also a god of bread and wine as is indicated at the Last Supper when he offers the disciples a wafer as the flesh of his flesh and wine as the blood of his blood.  By that act he associates hemself with the rites of Eleusis, hence connecting himself with the Greek god, Dionysus.

     In later years the wine god Dionysus was connected with the rites of Eleusis where he was associated with the bread of Demeter.  Jesus is related only to the gentler effeminate side of Dionysus who was nearly half man, half woman.  Thus only half of Dionysus was associated with the Piscean incarnation of Kyrios Christos.  the other orgiastic wild nature side of Dionysus was absorbed by the Medieval creation of the Green Man.

     The Green Man is eternal resurgent nature.  Now, Aquarius is the the water bearer.  His rule in the Olympian Zodiac is Hera the goddess of Earth.  The Age of Aquarius is almost upon us so I predict that when the archetypes of the Piscean religion are replaced by the Aquarian, those archetypes will be the Green Man and Hera in the person of Gaia.  Remember, you heard it here first.

page 1853.

     But I digress.  Nor was the influence of Astrological beliefs, as distinct from the Zodiac, limited merely to the replacement of Aries by Pisces.  As you may have noted if you read the astrological column in the newspaper the sign of Pisces is two fish facing in the opposite directions connected by a cord.  One is male, one is female.

     Now, this is really extraordinary.  The first thousand years is ruled by the male, Jesus, while rulership reverses in the second half of Pisces to the female, Mary.  This actually happened.  Beginning sometime after the year one thousand the importance of Christ in the Catholic Church was superseded by Mary so that during the last half of Pisces the female spirit has been uppermost.  This is most extraordinary.

     Does this make sense to you so far?’

 

     (Terry, while adept in Greek mythology and astrology was not versed in Arthurian lore.  If he had been he would have noticed the supersession of the male principle in even more dramatic form.  Merlin, who had been the magician of the first thousand years of Pisces falls in love with Vivian, The Lady Of The Lake.  She induces him to transmit his lore to her.  Merlin knows what his fate is to be but he makes no attempt to avoid it.  When Vivian has obtained the lore, she imprisons Merlin in the female Earth under a great rock where he remains today, alive and expecting release.  One may assume that he may be assimilated to the Green Man and that his release will occur during the Age of Aquarius, the seventh king from the deluge.

page 1854

     There are probable other evidences of this remarkable change in direction in mid-Pisces.  What is outstanding is that the course of history is being influenced by subterranean currents which are not visible and do not appear to be directed by known secret societies.

     Further the entombment of Merlin was recorded by Church figures.

     This mystery is not imaginary but actually occurred and continues into the Age of Aquarius.  Ask yourself why the song ‘The Dawning Of The Age Of Aquarius’ was placed in the musical ‘Hair’ which song heralds the actual dawning of the Age of Aquarius.  Consider the relatively intense interest in the Green Man who appears to be emerging as the male archetype of the Age.  Consider the emergence of the cult of Gaia who is the female archetype.  The days of the Piscean archetypes are indeed numbered.  Who directs or how such movements are directed is a mystery and well worth investigating.)

 

     ‘Sure it make sense but I’m sure I don’t have enough knowledge to judge whether it’s true or not.’

     ‘I’m sure I don’t know whether it’s true nor not either but this is where my thoughts are leading me.  Now, Mrs. Hicks’ notion of Thera being accounted for by the myth of Hera and Typhon is satisfying because it eliminates Thera as a possible site of Atlantis.  There is no need to have two myths do the same thing besides which the myth of Atlantis is not integral to Greek culture.  The myth only makes its appearance in Greece from six hundred to three hundred BC when Solon brings it back from Egypt and Plato popularized it.

     Besides Thera couldn’t have made an impression so far South as Egypt.  There is no evidence of the explosion in their mythology.  At least I haven’t found any.

     If we accept the evidence of the Sphinx and the idea that the ‘five kings’ of Mesopotamia represent astrological ages then it follows that the Zodiac was operative before the Flood.

     Some other people or civilization devised it.

     The Mesopotamians also list epochs of thousands and tens of thousands of years before the Flood.  Because of the influences of the Hebrew Bible with its absurd chronology these epochs have been dismissed as hyperbole.  Folk myths.  As I think the notion of the five kings makes sense as Astrological ages then probably too do these eons which add up to about a hundred thousand years.

     What happened in those hundred thousand years?  I reason that the Zodiac originally represented the story of the terrestrial year.  After all the signs mean nothing in the celestial Zodiac but the signs accurately represent the progress of the terrestrial year.

     Now, the celestial Zodiac is imagined as a belt of astral constellations that surround the horizon.  what it means when we say that we are in the Age of Pisces is that the constellation of Pisces is in the due East position of the Zodiac so that the Sun rises in it.  When the year two thousand or so arrives as a result of precession Pisces will appear to have moved back while Aquarius will appear to slide into the sun position.  Thus as the Age of Taurus was slain by the Age of Aries, Aquarius will flood out Pisces.

page 1856.

     Yes.  Precession.   The Precession of the Equinoxes is a term that describes the effect of the Plane of the Ecliptic.  Yes.  The planet is off center or tilted by about twenty-three and a half degrees.  On the vernal equinox one might expect the sun’s ray on the equator to strike the same spot every year.  This is not the case because of the ecliptic.  The ray actually strikes several hundred yards behind the previous year’s place so that  a period of twenty-five hundred years or so passes before the Sun’s ray strikes at the beginning point.

     This immense period is known as the Great Year.  The notion with the Ancients is always as above, so below.  It therefore follows that as the Zodiac applies to the terrestrial year so also must it apply to the Great Year.

     The Hermetic philosophy is a belief system that evolved out of the collapse of the Egyptian belief system after the Persian conquest.  Its characteristic saying was as above, so below and vice versa.  Thus the concept of as above, so below may appear to be much later than the origin of the Zodiac but just as the embryo contains the individual from birth to old age so every idea man has or ever will have is contained in the seed of his origins.

page 1857.

     As a teacher we are taught that the word educate is from the Latin term ‘e-ducere’ which means to lead from.  thus every idea leads from or is developed from its seed at the beginning of time and can be traced back to it.  It may be that no Atlantean ever used the words as above, so below but the translation of the Zodiac from Earth to the sky proves the concept was in his mind.

     Where was I?  Oh, yes.  The celestial Zodiac progresses backward or counter-clockwise through the Great Year.  A circle is of three hundred sixty degrees now as then so that it takes seventy-two years to pass through a single degree which would be scarcely noticable to the small number of priests who lived as long so I don’t believe any one priest was so quick as to note one degree of movement, extend that out to the whole process and formulate the concept so that his fellows could accept it, understand it and pass it on.  That’s rubbish.

     So I think the phenomenon of the Great Year had to be observed at least four times.  The first time to notice it, the second to formulate it, the third to prove it and the fourth to establish it.  That amounts to about a hundred thousand years which coincides with the Mesopotamian dates.

     The purpose of the celestial Zodiac was obviously as a counting and mnemonic device.  By noting the position of the celestial Zodiac immense notions of time could be kept.  Before writing, events of importance could be associated with each degree of an age while previous ages were visible with their memories attached.  For instance, the Flood is said to have occurred five ages back.  Had it happened in the previous Great Year it would be said that it happened seventeen kings back.  Twelve plus five.  Or, alternatively, thirty-five thousand years ago.

page 1858

     So much for the origins of the celestial Zodiac.  The signs we use to represent the ages of the Zodiac go no further back than the Greeks.  Still the notions behind the signs are undoubtedly identical to the notions of the originators.  As the embryo grows in form it changes but the genetic identity remains the same.  Do you see what I mean?

     Science has always been present in the world but its idea has to be drawn from point to point in sense of e-ducere.  That’s why it is ridiculous to compare the nineteenth century views of primitives with Mediterranean mythology.  The Med mythology is an education of a hundred thousand yeawrs in the most active speculative area on Earth with results obtained no where else.

     Idea after idea was drawn from previous thought in the clash of opinions leading to intelligence.  In backwaters like Australia there was no real means of advancing thought so the society stagnated.  One might think of e-ducere as cross fertilization.

     The discovery of fire was not scientific because as the Ancients say, it was the ‘gift’ of the gods.  Fire hardening a stick to make a spear is science no matter how primitive.  However the greatest scientific advance of  early man was the development of the ability to measure the length of the actual solar year.

page 1859.

     Possibly early man used the moon as his first calendar.  If so, however long it took him to discover it, he learned much more quickly that the moon had little value as a timekeeper.  He needed something better which he recognized in the solar year.

     Once again I am extrapolating Greek mythology back in time.

     The first thing man noticed was the two halves of the solar year.  In one half the days lengthened with his hopes while in the other half the length of the days diminished increasing his fears.  Thus in Greek mythology you have the myth of Castor and Polydeukes or by his Latin name, Pollux.

     In the Greek myth Zeus coupled with an Earth goddess named Leda when he assumed the form of a swan.  Leda then laid two eggs.  Out of one emerged the two halves of the solar year, Castor and Polydeukes.  Castor was mortal while Polydeukes was immortal.

     Castor who was a trainer of horses represents the first half of the year from December twenty-first to June twentieth.  He is probably associated with horses because one has the impression that the first half of the year passes so quickly and horses are so fleet.

     Polydeukes rpresents the second half of the year as a boxer.  He was a boxer because, as I read it, he fights the shortening of the days while battling against the Hydra to prevent the Unconquerable Sun from being extinguished.

     Castor is mortal because his half of the year is terminated when the days begin to shorten.  Polydeukes is immortal because in his battle to defeat the Hydra he is successful in that the days begin to lengthn at the end of his term.

page 1860

 

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A Novel

Our Lady Of The Blues

Book VII

The Heart Of The Matter

by

R.E. Prindle

Clip 11

     The cop had pointed down Main to the bus station and told Dewey that he didn’t want to catch him on the road again.  Dewey had been stupified by the distance into Claremore.  He had also been conscious that they had been no other cars on the road.

     He was so turned around that, as in Berdoo, he didn’t know the right road.  Actually Main was the highway but as the highway took a left as it entered town from Tulsa Dewey had put his thumb out on a street to nowhere.  Fascinated by Claremore Saturday Night he didn’t even try to evaluate his situation.  Perhaps his thumb went out automatically as he stood there.  At any rate the kids noticed him.  He smiled when a car full of girls pulled up beside him.  One of those good looking Claremore chicks leaned out the window and breathed in what she thought was the most sultry of voices:  ‘Hey Sailor, want a ride?’

     She was sultry enough for Dewey but he knew he was being put on.  The dream of what might have been charmed Dewey so much that rather than hurt her feelings he played along.

     ‘Sure.’  He said reaching for the door.

     The girls pulled away rapidly as he knew they would.  At the same time the boys who had toyed with him on the highway noticed him.  The one shouted out:  ‘There’s the murderer.’  Dewey thought it best to step on down to the bus station.

page 1761.

     The bus station was also known as the Claremore Hotel.  The Hotel was a big ramshackle houselike affair.  The waiting room, sales office and checkin desk was like a big living room.  There were some half dozen men and women sitting around.  As in OK City some folks in Claremore considered the bus station and hotel a social gathering place.  They must have been looking for action because none of them subseqently got on the bus.

     Dewey stood silently while both sides looked each other over.  Then he walked over to buy a bus ticket to St. Louis where he could have been found the next morning if you looked quick.  The attendant who also owned the hotel ran a judicious eye over the Sailor.

     Dewey was running on adrenalin and he had that weary look about him.  His head was thick from lack of sleep.

     ‘I’ll take a ticket to St. Louis.’ Dewey said, incautiously opening his billfold in front of the hotelier to take out a twenty while revealing the sheaf of ten twenties.

     The eyes of the hotelier lit up.  Why should he not have all the money?  He looked at Dewey more closely.  It was apparent that Dewey had been on the road for days.  The exhaustion his excitement concealed from himself plainly showed.

     The hotelier put the ticket he had half withdrawn back into the drawer.

     ‘I’m afraid I can’t sell you a ticket.  We close this window at ten o’ clock.  It’s now eleven thirty.’  He said pointing to a clock on the wall over his shoulder.

     ‘What am I going to do?  I have to keep moving.  Get on that bus.’

page 1762

     ‘Here’s an idea.’  The hotelier said more slyly than he intended.  ‘This is a hotel, you know.  I’ve got rooms.  You look like you could use a good rest, shave and shower.  A room is only five dollars.  You’ve got plenty.  Why not stay for the night and catch the bus in the morning.  There’ll be another bus along.  There always is.’

     Dewey wasn’t going to lay over five minutes if he could help it besides a deja vu vision flashed through his mind of someone entering his room as he slept and stealing his money.  A deja vu is merely a mental projection of an interpretation of impressions.  The hotelier had merely been so obvious that Dewey’s subconscious had been able to ascertain the hotelier’s intentions and telegraph them to his conscious mind.  The projection had been so strong that it created not only a deja vu but a false memory.

     All his life Dewey would have a memory of the visual impression of laying asleep as a person entered his room and rifled his pockets.  He could see himself the next morning complaining to the hotelier.  He could see himself standing on the street without a dime in his pocket or a way home.  He saw no reason to make such a false memory a reality.

     The hotelier had a key in his hand pushing the registration book at Dewey while placing a pen in his hand.

     ‘No thanks.’  Dewey said.  ‘I’ll pay the driver.’

     The bus pulled in on time.  Dewey stepped up; the driver asked for his ticket.  Dewey explained why he didn’t have one and offered to pay cash.  The driver explained that he wasn’t authorized to accept cash telling him to go back into the hotel to get a ticket.  Dewey said this time that the ticket window closed at ten 0′ clock.

page 1763.

     ‘That’s news to me.’  The driver said getting out of the bus to check.

      ‘Hey, Bill.’  He said once inside.  ‘How come this sailor doesn’t have a ticket?  What’s this about closing the window at ten o’ clock?’

     ‘Oh, that guy, Bob.  He just doesn’t have the money.  He’s been hitchhiking.  The State Police brought him in and told him to get on the bus and keep moving.  I’d be happy to sell him a ticket.  He just doesn’t have the money.’

     The hotelier made a last effor to keep Dewey off the bus hoping to rent him a room.

     ‘He says he’ll sell you a ticket.’  Bob said getting in his bus.

    ‘Well, he wouldn’t and I’m not going to try again.  I’ll just pay you.’

     ‘I’m not allowed to take cash.’  Bob said closing the door in Dewey’s face.

     Dewey watched the tail lights disappear in the distance.

Bad Motorcycle With The Devil In The Seat

     As Ollie said to Stan:  ‘This is a fine kettle of fish you’ve got us in.’  Dewey put his hands on his hips watching the receding tail lights as he wondered what he was going to do next.  Hitching was impossible while he was not going to rent a room.

page 1764.

     The revelers of Claremore Saturday Night had all gone home with the exception of a few stragglers who gathered loosely around to watch the stange oddity of a sailor.  Dewey had been pacing up and down for a half hour or so when with a roar a big customized Harley Davidson crashed down the drag, chrome forks way out in front.  The rider pulled up in front of Dewey.

     The rider was a big burly guy with a face that looked like Iwo Jima after the Naval bombardment.   The guy must have been through a couple wars because nature never in the history of mankind had made a face that way.  He had a World War II German helmet on his head while the back of his jacket proclaimed that he was one of the Screamin’ Demons.

     He placed his size fourteen engineer’s boot neatly at the toe of Dewey’s shoe.  If Dewey hadn’t been so groggy he might have looked frightened but his reflexes were so delayed he was cool as a summer breeze.

     The biker stood surveying him for a minute or so with his mouth half open as though he were about to laugh.  Finally Dewey flipped his chin up by way of acknowledgment.

     ‘Hi.  I’m Rodeo Frank Danesworth.  I heard ya was in town.’

     Dewey took that to mean that someone had told Frank that there was a sailor lounging around on Main.

     ‘Hi.  Dewey Trueman, Frank.’  Dewey shouted over the burps and blats of the motorcycle of which Frank had apparently removed the muffler.  ‘Yeah. Passin’ through.’

page 1765.

     ‘Miss your bus?’  Frank asked giving the gas hand a couple of twists that created a roar that shook the ground beneath Dewey’s feet.

     ‘Guy in the hotel refused to sell me a ticket.  Said the window was closed.  Driver woudn’t take cash.  Here I am.’

     ‘Tell ya what.  If you want to ride on my hog I’ll take ya into Joplin where ya can buy a ticket.  How’s that?’

     A man standing in the heart of darkness with only one way out no matter how questionable ought to take the chance.  Rodeo Frank had a terrifying aspect but a terrifying aspect can conceal a heart of gold.  As Dewey always repeated:  There’s time enough to bid the devil good morning when you meet him.  He bit his lower lip as if ruminating.  Which he was.

     ‘The bus has got over a half hour head start.  Do you think you can overtake him?’

     ‘Put your hat in your pocket and hop on.’  Rodeo Frank replied making his hog sound like a 707 lifting off.

     Dewey placed his bag between he and Frank and got into the seat behind the Screamin’ Demon.

     Frank popped the clutch and with a slight rear the mean machine plunged down Main and the darkness at the edge of town.

     Frank was not a cautious rider.  If Dewey thought you were overdriving your headlights in a car the little headlight on the Harley was practically useless except as a signal for oncoming traffic of which there wasn’t any.  Frank ran his hog up to ninety miles an hour which was the same as driving blind.  Maybe Frank could see the road ahead of him but Dewey could see only where the asphalt joined the shoulder.

page 1766.

     The noise was deafening.  Mile after mile wore away.  There were no cars on the road coming or going.  After twenty minutes a huge semi passed rocking the bike while creating terror in Dewey’s heart.

     Then far in the distance the glow of tail lights could be discerned.

     ‘We got him now.’  Rodeo Frank roared.

     Frank closed with the bus rapidly.  As time to pass it approached the lights of sixteen wheeler came towards them in the other lane.  Dewey thought that Frank would slow down until the semi passed but Frank hadn’t earned that face by backing down.

     He goosed that hog up to a hundred.  He started around the bus just as the semi closed with it.  Eyes wide in terror Dewey made the mistake of shifting in his seat.  That loosened the tails of his raincoat allowing the wind to enter pulling the skirts loose where they streamed out behind him snapping in the wind.

     The enraged truck driver let loose with a deafening blast of his air horn as the din of the bike reverberated off the sides of the bus and semi.  In a space no more than five feet wide Rodeo Frank Danesworth let out an exultant scream of ‘yahoo’ which flew back past Dewey’s ears.  Dewey was just screaming in terror which fortunately did not carry forward over the speed and din of the three vehicles.

page 1767.

     An angry Bob driving the bus looked down to recognize Dewey as the bike sped past rapidly disappearing in the black of the night covering Joplin.

     Frank wheeled through the parking lot of the station stopping smartly in the front door.  I don’t mean in front of the door; I mean half in and half out.

     ‘How was the ride?’  Frank shouted as Dewey tremblingly climbed off, carefully trying to sense whether his pants were loaded or not.

     ‘That was terrific Frank.  You’re quite a rider.  How much do I owe you?’  Dewey asked politely knowing or at least hoping Rodeo Frank wouldn’t want anything.

     ‘Hey, I was glad to do it, pardner.  I was in the service myself.  Korea ’52.  Good luck Buddy.’  Frank said revving the bike wildly making the whole building shake as he backed his bike out.

     ‘Korea ’52.  Must have been where he got that face.’  Dewey thought as all eyes were riveted on him as he walked to the ticket counter.

     The Joplin station was never empty.  Joplin was a major crossroads; buses came in all night long.  The cons were thinned out but they sat and waited.

     One nudged the other:  ‘See that guy?  Remember him?’

     ‘No.  Who is he?’

     ‘Came through here summer last year.  He was real rude to some nice guys.  We should fix him.’

     ‘Think we oughta?  Know who that guy on the Harley was?’

page 1768.

     ‘No.’

     ‘That was Rodeo Frank Danesworth.  He’s with the Sccreamin’ Demons.  If this guy is a friend of Rodeo Frank’s I’m not messin’ with him.’

     ‘I’ll find out how well he knows him; might be a chance acquaintance.’

     Dewey was sitting on a bench reliving the passage between the bus and the Semi when the con approached him.

     Dewey recognized him from last summer too.  Not in the mood to talk Dewey replied in a curt manner that seemed as tough as Rodeo Frank looked:  ‘Back off.’

     Thinking Dewey was maybe that tough through his association with Frank the country con backed off.

     While he and his friend stood a ways off studying Dewey Bob wheeled his big Grey Dog into the station.

     Heaving a sigh of relief Dewey climbed aboard.

No Relief

     ‘Say, ain’t you the guy on that motorcycle that come near to scaring me to death back there?’

     ‘I don’t know.’  Dewey said trying to evade the issue.

     ‘There was only one bike out there from Claremore to here.’

     ‘Must have been us then.  We were out out there.  Me and ol’ Rodeo Frank Danesworth.’

     ‘He’s one of those Screamin’ Demons, ain’t he?’

     ‘If you can believe the logo on the back of his jacket.  I’m not one of them.  The guy was decent enough to get me to Joplin which is what you should have done in the first place.’

page 1769

     ‘Didn’t have a ticket.’

     ‘Well I do now so I’m going to sit down.’

     Dewey found an empty bench halfway back sliding into the window seat where he propped himself up to sleep into St. Louis.

     No sooner had he dozed off than he was awakened by a hot weight pressing against his left shoulder.  Opening his weary eyes he looked to determine the cause.  He found himself looking into a pair of bulging eyes.  He knew what they meant.

     Gathering his failing wits about him Dewey pushed the man back.

     ‘Get over in your half.’

     ‘My name’s Lyle.  I need some companionship.’

     ‘Not in my seat you don’t.  Get away from me.’

     ‘You don’t understand.’

     ‘That’s what you think.’

     ‘No you don’t.  See, I work in a top secret government project.  I spend three weeks at a time in rooms seven levels underground.  I work all alone one hundred feet below the surface.  I never see the sun.  I don’t have any companions.  Every third week I get out and then I just have to have some companionship.  This isn’t just for tonight.  I have a whole week off.’

     ‘They don’t have any buildings seven levels underground in Joplin.  There isn’t even any government in Joplin.’

     ‘You don’t know.  I do.  There are dozens of super secret installations all across the country.  I should know.  I work in one, don’t I?’

     ‘I don’t care if there’s a super secret installation every square mile.  Get back in your seat.’  Dewey said giving Lyle another shove.

     But Lyle needed companionship and was not to be so easily dissuaded.  He continued to pester Dewey until raising his voice in exasperation Dewey disturbed the other passengers.  they complained to Bob.

     Bob stopped the bus.  He walked back authoritatively to Dewey’s seat and said:  ‘Oh, you again.’

     ‘Why me again?  This guy won’t stay in his seat.  He wants mine.  Make him move.’

     ‘I’ll tell you what, Sailor.  Why don’t you move?  Here, come sit in this seat behind me or get off the bus.’

     Dewey didn’t want to do it but to resist the injustice meant that he would be thrown off the bus.  The lesser of the two evils was to accept the seat behind the driver.  He got up and moved.

     He now sat next to a little old lady who eyed him suspiciously.  Dewey felt the futility of trying to explain so he just shut up.

     There was a faint glow on the horizon.  He asked Bob how far to St. Louis.  Told it was about sixty miles he sat glumly having been forced to give up his sleep.  Rosy fingered Dawn illuminated St. Louis as the bus headed for the terminal.

page 1771.

THE OTHER SIDE OF BIG RIVER

East St. Louis Toodle-pp

     Dewey stumbled down out of the bus glad for the opportunity to leave Lyle behind him.  Having put off his weariness for three days he was not conscious that he had been up that long.  The trip had become a mania.  He should have taken the bus directly to the Valley but the notion of hitchin’ had become an idee fixe.  He couldn’t shake it.  His judgment had become a little cloudy and confused.

     Oklahoma would be the last State that would provide reasonable weather.  The route up through Missouri had been the transition into the cold of winter.  Northern Illinois, Indiana and Michigan were in the grip of a cold front of which Dewey had no knowledge because he hadn’t the foresight or interest to buy a paper and find out.  It couldn’t have mattered; facts couldn’t have influenced his fantasy anyway.

     Stuck in the bus station in St. Louis he didn’t know how to get to the highway anymore so he determined to buy a ticket to East St. Louis across the Mississippi to begin fresh from there.

     Dewey did not know that East St. Louis was a completely Black town- Little Africa.  Nor would the racial ethos of the nation allow the information to be published warning Whites for fear of antogonizing Blacks.  The Urban Aristocracy like to condemn Southern Whites as bigots.  They pretend that the North welcomes Blacks.  In fact when Blacks fled the South in numbers during and after the Great War their entry into the North had been deeply resented and stoutly resisted.

page 1772.

     While the North had no experience in disciplining Blacks they nevertheless tightly restricted Black residence to a certain area which they were only allowed to leave for certain purposes.  This caused a great deal of resentment among the Blacks which resulted in several extensive and bloody race riots in the years around 1920   You can read that ‘Race War.’

     One of the worst had been in East St. Louis where it became celebrated in song:  The East St. Louis Toodle-oo.  As a result the Blacks won the town.  Thus Dewey was preparing to get off the bus in what was in fact a Negro city state.  In the era of integration no Whites were allowed, day or night.  Whites were not only expected to get out of town by sundown, there was no excuse for them to be there during the day.

     Naturally in the American way this fact was not acknowledged in public nor spoken of openly as that would have been ‘racism.’

     America conceals this sort of secret well.  Dewey was unaware of what he was doing.

     ‘I’ll take a ticket to East St. Louis.’  He announced to the woman in the ticket booth.  She evinced some surprise at this destination.

page 1773.

     ‘Do you know where you’re going?’  She asked, taking his uniform into consideration.

     Dewey merely thought she was questioning his sense of direction.

     ‘Yeah, sure, of course I do.  Why?’

     ”It’s just that not too many ‘people’…’ She meant White people.  ‘…go to East St. Louis..’

     ‘Oh well, I’ve just got to get across the Mississippi.’  Dewey said nonchalantly.

     The ticket seller began a remonstration but then thought better of it, not wanting to appear ‘racist’ and justified herself with the thought that Dewey was on the lam and had to get out of Missouri.  She said no more.

     Not feeling too tiptop Dewey stepped off the bus in the little East St. Louis station.  The driver made an involuntary move to restrain him, throwing in arm in front of him looking at him as though he were a madman.  Dewey gave him a strange look and brushed past.  He was surprised to find that everyone was Black, even the ticket seller.  He’d never seen a Black in that position before.  He noted the looks of astonishment he received on their faces so he smiled politely but didn’t know what to make of it other than that few people got off the bus in East St. Louis.

     ‘Now I’ve got to find the highway.’  He grumbled to himself as wide eyes watched him leave the station while three youths got up to leave through the back.

     He stepped outside to find numerous highway signs.  It seemed that every highway in America converged on this station.  There were several.  Not having looked at a map while being very groggy Dewey had no idea which highway he needed.  Just as well.  He picked a number with a shield around it indicating a US route which required him to cross the street.

page 1774.

     Dewey’s appearance on Black Main Street snapped heads around.  Several pairs of Black eyes glared darts of hatred at him.  They were hungry for white meat.  While Dewey was studying the signs a big Black guy 6/3, 280 brushed by him forcing him from the sidewalk into the gutter.  ‘Better keep movin’ White Boy.  Don’t want your kind in my town.  Better be gone by sundown, if you know what I mean.’  The man said with barely stifled rage and hatred that not only implied but stated danger.

     All innocence, Dewey looked after the departing Black man.  ‘Wow!  Pretty aggressive, I’ve never heard of that before.’  Dewey said without too much concern, especially as the guy was three times his size.

     Tired and turned around Dewey stuck his thumb out on a East Bound highway.  The three Black youths who had circled around him from the bus station drifted up to stand uncertainly around behind him on the sidewalk eyeing him with obvious malicious intent.  Dewey’s little pearl handled Japanese knife would have been no match for their shivs which they fondled in their pockets as they worked up the nerve to attack.

     Dewey got lucky, very, very lucky.  It was the shortest wait for a ride he ever had.  As soon as the driver of the ’58 Chev saw him from a block away reading the situation very accurately he sped up then screeched to a stop in front of the sailor.  Flinging the door open he shouted:  ‘Get in, get in, hurry.’

     Dewey was aware that he was about to become dead meat as the youths edged slowly closer as Dewey inched out to middle of the street which is where he was when the driver stopped.  Dewey was not loath to leap in the car but he thought that a sudden movement would break the spell of the snake like weaving of the Blacks so he as casually as he could got in the car.

     ‘Push down that lock.  Hurry. Don’t waste time.’  The man appeared to be terrifed reaching past Dewey to slam down the lock post.  He was not a moment too soon because a black hand was already on the door handle.  It was possible that they might have pulled Dewey out.  The driver floored it nearly taking the Black’s hand off.

page 1775.

     ‘Are you crazy?’  The driver chastised him.  ‘What in hell are you doing hitchhiking there?  Did some bastard drop you off?  Man, this is East St. Louis, I don’t even like to drive through it.’

     ‘Well.’  Dewey began mystified.  “Im hitchiking home for Christmas and I just got off the bus from St. Louis.  It seemed the easiest way to get across the Big River.’

     ‘Wow, are you ever lucky I came along at the right time.’

     ‘Oh yeah?  Why’s that?  I mean, thanks for the ride but why am I luckier than that?’

     ‘You really didn’t know where you were?’

     ‘Yah.  East St. Louis.’

     ‘East St. Louis toodle-oo.  That’s where you you were.  White men don’t live long in East St. Louis.  That’s a Black town.  They hate White people.  They kill them.  Back in the twenties Blacks started to take over the town and they had one of the worst race riots the country has ever seen.  Bloody fighting in the streets.  Since then the Blacks have taken over and White man’s life isn’t worth a plugged nickel.’

     ‘Aw, they wouldn’t have killed me, would they?’  Dewey asked incredulously.

     ‘Listen another five minutes and those three Black guys near you would have sliced you to pieces right there on the street.  Didn’t you see them?  Next thing you’d be body surfing down the Mississippi to New Orleans.’

     ‘Wow.  Driftwood on the river.’  Dewey said, thinking back to the hatred on the face of the guy who had shoved him into the gutter but still incredulous unable to believe that such a thing could be true in his own country.

page 1776.

     ‘Uh huh.  Discrimination may be a terrible thing but it cuts both ways.  Black guys may be charming and OK when they’re outnumbered in a White environment or one on one but a White guy in where he’s outnumbered and discrimination takes on a whole new meaning.  Shoot man, you might as well have been standing in the middle of the South Side of Chicago.

     Or one of those white hoboes who got in the freight car car with those eight Black guys.  Ever hear of that?’

     Dewey racked his nearly addled brain:  ‘You mean the Scotsboro Boys?’

     ‘Yes.  You don’t think they weren’t really guilty do you just because some Commies and Liberals decided to go to bat for them to embarrass the Southerners, do you?’

     ‘Jeez, I don’t know.  I just thought maybe they were and maybe they weren’t.’

     ‘Well, think about it.  You were dead meat back there among all Blacks.  Now, picture a White woman and two White Boys getting into a box car and finding eight Black guys there.

     I’m not saying she was a virgin but how much proof has been offered that she was a prostitute as the Commies claim.  Even if she was that doesn’t make it ‘all right’ for the Black guys to rape her.

     Eight guys to two with a White woman involved and hatred shooting out of the yes of both Blacks and Whites?  Come on, those Black guys saw their opportunity and took it.  Innocent my ass.  I don’t think the first judgment was a miscarriage of justice but I think the second one was.

page 1777.

     I mean…’  The driver couldn’t get over it.  ‘…you don’t know how lucky you are that I came along at that moment.’

     Dewey didn’t realize how lucky he was but he took the driver’s word for it as he watched him shiver and shake in his stead.

     Dewey began to muse on this as he carried on a desultory conversation.   Then looking out the window he saw a sign on the highway that read:  Louisville, 160 miles.  Turning to the driver he said:  ‘Louisville?  Louisville? Is that the same Louisville as in Kentucky?’

     ‘Yes, that’s where I thought you were going.’

     ‘Oh well, you know what?  I’m going the wrong way.  I’m trying to get to Michigan.  I don’t mean to be a nuisance but could you stop and let me out?’

     ‘Oh sure.’  Said the driver who was a genuinely decent man.

     Dewey hopped out crossing to the other side of the highway.

     Once again he didn’t have to wait very long.  A blue and yellow ’55 Buick pulled over.

    ‘How far you goin?’  Dewey asked as he climbed in.

     ‘Chicago.’  Said Black Jack David Drainsfield who was driving.

Black Jack David Came Down From The Hills

…rather drink muddy water

and sleep in a hollow log,

Than hang around Mobile

And be treated like a dirty dog.

Trad.

Ain’t I A Dog?

-Ronnie Self

page 1778.

     ‘Great.’  Thought Dewey.  ‘I’ll ride right through East St. Louis.’

     ‘Hi.’  The driver said amiably almost apologetically.  ‘I’m Black Jack David Drainsfield and the lady in the back seat with you is Dixie Darlin’ and this is my wife up front, Dixie Belle.  We’re traveling from Mobile to Chicago and you’re welcome to ride with us.’

     ‘Thank you very much Black Jack Davy.  I’m Dewey Trueman and I’m on my way from California to Michigan on Christmas leave.  Your lift is very much appreciated.’  Dewey replied in kind amazed at the florid politeness of Drainsfield while looking curiously at the Dixie Darlin’ and the Dixie Belle.’

     As can be told from their monikers the trio was having a difficult task adapting to the rigors of getting on in the world.  When one’s own name seems to be be an inadequate entree into one’s world one adopts a pseudonym that one imagines adds luster to one’s person.  It was on that basis that David Hirsh renamed himself Yehouda Yisraeli which might be translated something like the Quintessential Jew of Israel.  The trait is quite common in Jewish circles where one finds such names as Israel Israelson.  One young Jewish lady in the US in the early nineteenth century named herself Suzy American and actually functioned under that name.

page 1779

     Dewey too was under pressure to escape into an alternate identity but his were were all so grandiose that he lacked the chutzpah to adopt them.  One which would later be used by Peter Fonda in the movie ‘Easy Rider’ was based on the comic book character Captain America.  One has to credit the Rovin’ Gambler with the good sense not to fall into that trap.  Even in the movie Easy Rider Fonda as Capt. America cut a laughable figure.

     As it wa Dewey knew the sources of the name Black Jack David, Dixie Darlin’ and Dixie Belle so he knew immediately their psychological history.  All three names came from songs.  Black Jack David or Davy depending on the version was the hero of an old Scottish ballad.  David comes down from the hills feelin’ so gay and merry.  There, although he is a pauper who can offer his beloved nothing but a pallet on the ground, he meets, woos and wins the wife of the Lord of the Manor on nothing but his manly vigor.  Dewey knew Drainsfield’s whole history in that moniker.

     The two women took their pseudonyms from a hillbilly song called Dixie Darlin’:  ‘She’s my Dixie Darlin’; She’s my Dixie Belle.’  So, Dewey knowing who he was with relaxed.  Not of hillbilly origins himself he had an aunt who married one of the hill folks who had migrated to Michigan to work in the auto plants.  That aunt had doted on Dewey so through his Uncle Paul he was acquainted with the mental rhythms of Hillbillies not to mention the fact that his early eyars had been lived with his ear glued to every Hillbilly radio station in the Midwest.

page 1780

     Those were a considerable number because the great Midwestern basin in the US has no mountainous obstruction for over an area of a couple thousand miles wide and a couple thousand in depth.  At night signals from the super powerful Mexican stations run by Americans in such places as the legendary Del Rio, Texas that had a signal big enough to beam to Mars and maybe Jupiter came in crystal clear.  The great hillbilly stations in Tennessee, Shreveport, Louisiana, Waterloo, Iowa, WWVA in Wheeling, West Virginia and WCKY in Cincinatti, Ohio were all favorite stations.  The CKY obviously stands for Cincinatti/Kentucky.

     Dewey was with his people.

     ‘Comin’ up from Mobile, huh?’

     ‘Yep.’

     ‘How long have you lived down there?’

     ‘Only a couple years.  How’d you know I wasn’t from there?’

     ‘Well, you call yourself  Black Jack David and Davy came down from the hills feelin’ so gay and merry so I assume you’re from the hills somewhere.’

    ‘The Smokies.  Yeah, it got too hard to make a livin’ up there so my folks moved down to Mobile trying to better themselves.’

     ‘How’d they do?  Got a new car anyway.’

     ‘Tsha.  No thanks to them.  Got this in Chicago.  Man, people in Mobile treat hill folk like dirty dogs.  I wasn’t going to stand for that.  Not me and not my wife and not my sister.’

page 1781.

     ‘No, sir.’  Dixie Darlin’ who playing solitaire with funny looking cards on the seat beside Dewey piped up.  ‘Not no way.  I’m better than them curs anyway.  I’d a left without him.  I ain’t no White Trash.  I don’t care what they say.’

     Much is made of the migration of the Southern Negro to the North but there were actually two streams of internal migration following the Drinking Gourd to ‘freedom.’  Of the two peoples the most despised were the men and women known down South as Poor White Trash.

     Except for the fact that they were White the Hillbillies were as culturally different if not more so than the Blacks.  Even in their home country they were an odd lot.  The immigrants who accupied the hill regions of Amrica were what is known as Scotch-Irish or the Border people of England and Scotland.  Rob Roy types.  They were a quarrelsome, feuding, illiterate lot on their arrival on these shores.  Their customs and attitudes were markedly different from the Puritans who occupied New England, the Cavaliers of Virginia and Midlands Quakers who took up a midland location in America in Pennsylvania.

     Isolated in the hills their culture was reinforced by their insularity.  While immigrants flowed into the midstates and the Northeast thence West to Michigan and Chicago to create the smarmy culture of the North they bypassed the Eastern mountain spine of America.  Thus the Hill Folk developed in a pure unblended fashion which made them stranger than any blending immigrant group.

     Not given to learning on the Border they sought little education in their hills.  Thus, in addition to their singularity they became a synonym for ignorant bumptiousness.  The Urban Aristocracy degraded them below the Negro in social status.

page 1782.

     It is said that the Hatfield-McCoy feud of Kentucky gave them this obnoxious character.  It may be true that the most celebrated feud in history tainted the entire people but I doubt it.

     Making their living the coal mines all down the line added more to their character than the Hatfields and McCoys.

     No.  Immigrants slandered them more than any legendary feud.

     The nature of immigration into the United States is purposely misunderstood and misrepresented by the Urban Aristocracy for their own ends.  They are willing to sacrifice the hill people to their goal.  You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet; just hope they are not your eggs and somebody else doesn’t end up with the omelet.

     Emigration is never easy whether from East Europe to West Europe of from North to South in Europe.  Sicilian migrant laborers in Northern Europe during the nineteenth century were treated no differently than in the US.  Eastern European migrants to West Europe were often expelled and sent back to where they came from.  Such cultural clashes were unwanted by the native peoples.

     Immigrants and first generation offspring made up half of the US population during 1900 to 1950.  When they arrived they were often treated worse than the Negroes; certainly cruelly exploited economically.  They were stripped of their language while their customs were treated contemptuously.

page 1783.

     This was to be expected.  Nowhere else in the world would they have been treated differently of perhaps as well.  After all the majority prospered immediately and certainly within twenty years of their arrival.  Once acclimated they were treated with a respect that would not have been accorded their social castes, which were nearly all proletarian, in their homelands.

     Nevertheless, the rhetoric of the US is that of liberty here in the land of the free and the home of the brave.  Many of the immigrants were as well as or better educated than most Americans.  It galled them for Americans to adobt superior attitudes while treating them as stupid or ignorant simply because they spoke with foreign accents.

     They looked around for someone else to belittle while justifying themselves.  There was always the Negro but they were unsatisfactory simply because they were Negroes.  Looking further afield they found the Hillbillies who, they felt, fit their needs admirably.  So they pointed the Hill people out as evidence that Americans weren’t all they were cracked up to be.

     Great agitators arose.  Among them was a vindictive, demented but effective person name H.L. Mencken.

     Now, in 1914 the Great War came along.  The War interdicted immigration more effectively than the legislation which followed the war in 1920 and 1924.

     Once again the Urban Aristocracy misrepresents the unity of America during the war.  It is true that Anglo-Americans had the ascendancy which allowed them to bring America in on the side of the Allies.  They controlled the newspapers but opinion was more evenly divided than that.  The Central Powers always counted on their people to influence American policy in ways in which they proved unable.

page 1784.

     At the time of the war there were millions of German and Austro-Hungarian immigrants in the United States.  In addition the Irish favored the Central Powers because both peoples were fighting the English.  The Jews favored the Central Powers over the Allies because the Powers were fighting the Jews’ arch enemy the Russians.  The Jews did not become pro-Ally until after the Bolshevik Revolution at which point they rushed millions of dolars in loans in aid of what they believed was their cause.

     All of these peoples acted as foreign nationals and not as American citizens.

     The people of the Central Powers who had emigrated to the United States were treated as disloyal citizens.  All things German were castigated.  Germans were treated in a manner that made the treatment of the Japanese in World War II look mild.

     The War ended.  H.L. Mencken was a German who deeply resented the way he and other Germans had been treated during the War.  Muzzled by wartime censors, when the struggle was over he went on a psychological rampage, castigating America, Americans, the Anglo-Saxon race and all it’s ideals.

     Allied with a journalist of the Jews, George Jean Nathan, he created the then influential magazine, The American Mercury.  The alliance with the Jews was important.  In the pre-Hitler days the Jews proudly carried the banner of German culture as well as their own.  They had hailed the German victory in Russia as one of their own.

page 1785.

     Mencken himself adopted and popularized many Yiddish words and phrases which were in fact neologisms to his goyish readers.  Yiddish was still thought of by the Jews as their native language.  It was only after the Second World War that the use of Yiddish atrophied to the point of uselessness.  In Russia the Jews were plumping for an autonomous Jewish people with Yiddish being one of the official languages of Russia.

     In the wild enthusiasm of the Bolshevik victory the introduction of Yiddish phrases was probably thought of as an opening salvo for the creation of an autonomous Jewish people in the United States with Yiddish as a second official language.  Never forget that the Jewish Cultrual Revolution was to last from 1913 to 1928.

     By the use of Mencken it was thus that the Jewish counter-culture might begin to flow into the dominant culture to subvert thought toward the idea of an autonomous Jewish people.

     Mencken’s attacks on the Hill folk, Anglo-Saxonism and the Boobocracy of America as he termed it had the effect of dividing the Urban Aristocracy from a major constituent and pitting it against it.  Divide and rule.

      This attitude was abetted by the formation of the Anti-Defamation League of the B’nai B’rith in 1913, which was the opening year of the Jewish Revolution.  The ADL began immediately to attack it’s list of ‘known’ anti-Semites which further divided ‘good’ goys from ‘bad goys.’  In an effort to show that they were not prejudiced against Jews the ‘good’ goys turned viciously on their own people and against their own best interests.  Always ask this question:  Is it good for the Jews?

page 1786.

     The crowning blow against the Hill People was delivered in 1932 by a semi-literate Communist by the name of Erskine Caldwell.  Caldwell comes across in his writing as a vicious bigot.  Tobacco Road, his most famous and infuential novel, appeared in ’32 followed by God’s Little Acre in 1933.  Both books sold in unprecedented millions in the heart of the Depression penetrating so deeply into the consciousness of America that for decades there was no one who had not heard of Tobacco Road and believed in its excistence.

     In the Communist manner it was Caldwell’s intent to demean the Hillbilly below the status of the Negro in which he succeeded.  This would not be the last time that the elevation of the Negro would be attempted by lowering the status of the Whites.

     In an introduction to the novels written in the latter years of the twentieth century a Negro writer describes the pride of place he felt when after reading the two tracts he realized or hoped he would never sink as low as Hillbillies.

     The fear of Tobacco Road plagued White youth for at least two generations to be later replaced by the image of Archie Bunker of TV fame who was created by a Jewish writer.  It was no coincidence that one of the early anthems of the Folk Rock era was a song called Tobacco Road.  In it the writer notes that he is not going back to the Tobacco Road he has escaped.

page 1787.

     Thus by the late forties Hillbillies had been thoroughly ‘niggerized’ taking their place on the bottom rung of the ‘minority’ ladder below the Negroes.  It no longer mattered what they might believe individually as a whole ethos had been projected on them by the Urban Aristocracy and the Negroes.

     In the post war years this vision of Hillbillies as a quaint stone age people was furthered by such comic strips as Snuffy Smith and the tremendously influential ‘L’il Abner’ by the Jewish writer, Al Capp.

     Although convicted of child molestation at the end of his career destroying a fine reputation Capp was revered in the forties and fifties by an audience that did not reflect on what he was up to.  Capp was able to infuence fashion and change American social mores.  Girls and women embraced the styles of his heroine, Daisy May, down to the off shoulder blouse and cut off jeans.  He called the name of this hillbilly haven he invented, what else?, Dog Patch.  Following some of these themes through can be an amazing experience.  One of the customs of Dogpatch was the tradition of women asking men out.  The custom was strictly forbidden in real life.  His character who did this was called Sadie Hawkins.  By mid decade in the fifties every school in America was holding Sadie Hawkin’s days where the girls could ask the boys for a date.

     Capp’s influence peaked in the sixties when Dogpatch moved to Hollywood in the TV series ‘Beverly Hillbillies.’  After that the hills were filled with Urban Cowboys while Archie Bunker replaced the Beverly Hillbillies.  Same tune, different words.

page 1788.

     Capp’s efforts in the forties were seconded by several Jewish film writers among whom was the semi-literate Red, Lester Cole.  He keenly felt the ridicule immigrants endured before 1920 so he wrote scripts where he invented an ignorant Hill dialect that assuaged his tortured feelings although it made him a bigot.

     Thus having fled his Dogpatch for Mobile, Black Jack David Drainsfield was treated like a dirty dog by the Southern Aristocracy in that Dixie metropolis.  Unable to endure such treatment he did what all self-respecting Whites and Blacks did.  He headed up North to ‘freedom.’

     He found the same reception up river as did the Negroes.  He was ridiculed and despised as a sub-human.  Like the Blacks he was driven mad by this savage treament.  He was young so he had the strength to resist but at the stage of entering life he was driven from pillar to post.  Caught in an existence from which the only escape was transformation he was at a stage of indecision.  Unable to assimilate easily into the smarmy culture of Chicago he sought refuge from time to time by returning to Mobile.  Once there he realized the impossibility of enduring life as a dirty dog from Dogpatch so he returned to Chicago which he was doing now.

     Like the Black Folk of Richard Wright’s novels he asked repeatedly:  ‘Are we just dogs to be treated so?’

     Well, Al Capp thought so or he wouldn’t have named his Hillbilly Nirvana Dogpatch.  The Urban Aristocracy thought so or they wouldn’t have projected the character of Dogpatch on them.

page 1789.

     Thus from H.L. Mencken through Erskine Caldwell to Al Capp the true source of the Hillbilly character is derived.

     Drainsfield like all people who fled this character to be derided, which he certainly was, both in Mobile and Chicago, was at great pains to establish his integrity.  It was not his intention to travel through East St. Louis up 66 but to take an alternate route up the Indiana line.

     He was extremely fearful that Dewey might distrust him so he went to great lengths to assure Dewey that his route was a better way to Chicago.

    ‘This is just as good a road but it saves a lot of miles.  We bypass East St. Louis which is the last place in the world I’d want to break down.  It is still the road to Chicago so don’t worry that we’re taking you somewhere else.’

     ‘It’s alright Black Jack.  I can read the signs on the highway.  Don’t worry.’

     Now heading up the Indiana line they all settled back for the long haul to Chicago.  Pleased with the nice hop Dewey had again reconciled himself to hitchhiking.  He turned his attention to the Dixie Darlin’ who, as she played her game of solitaire quietly sang the lyrics of an old Hawkshaw Hawkins’ tune:

Don’t want no warmed over kisses

Or yesterday’s sighs;

I want everything fresh

Even brand new lies.

If you don’t have what I want

Another boy may,

If it ain’t on the menu

There’s another cafe.

page 1790

     Hawkshaw Hawkings had already been all but forgotten so Dewey was pleasantly surprised to hear one of his favorites.

     ‘Oh wow.  You know Hawkshaw Hawkins?’

     ‘Of course.  I know everybody in both kinds of music.  I like them all.  Every one.  Do you know Cowboys Copas?  And Floyd Tillman?  And Ernest Tubb? and Ferlin Husky?  And Rex Allen? And Montana Slim?  They’re all Western singers.  Do you know them?’

     ‘Oh yes.  I do.’  Dewey replied.

     ‘How do you?  You don’t talk like us; you talk real Yankee like.’

     ‘Uh, I am from Michigan which is why I talk Yankee but some of my family were hillbillies from Kentucky and I’ve listened to hillbilly music all my life.’

     ‘You mean Country music, don’t you?’  Darlin’ had already been taught to be ashamed of her origins.  The term Hillbilly came across to her like ‘nigger’ would to a Black.  In fact Hillbilly was used by the Aristocracy in exactly the same derogatory sense as nigger but acceptable to them because Hillbillies were White hence they could be defamed at will.  There was no Hillbilly Anti-defamation League.

    ‘No, Dixie Darlin’, I mean hillbilly as in the Carter Family, Bill Monroe and Roy Acuff.  I mean Hillbilly as in American music expressing American ideals and not this smarmy immigrant Tin Pan Alley garbage.  I have my Hillbilly roots and I’m not ashamed of them, nor should you be.’

page 1791.

     ‘Well, we get treated real bad because we’re from the mountains both in Mobile and Chicago.  Why’s that?  We didn’t do nothin’ to nobody no time.”

     ‘That is no reflection on yourselves; merely the ranting of narrow, bigoted persons who are beneath your dignity to recognize although you still have to deal with them.  Just stand up for your rights and turn their own evil back on them.  They are low, not you.

     Just a second Darlin’, you said you like both kinds of music.  Do you mean Tin Pan Alley and Hillbilly or what?’

     ‘No.  I mean both Country and Western.  I will not use the word Hillbilly and I would appreciate it if you didn’t too.’

     ‘No.  That’s all right Darlin;.’  Black Jack David said.  ‘I think he’s one of us.’

     Dewey had never considered Country and Western as separate but he now stood corrected.  The corpus of these singers formed a large part of the ephemeara of Dewey’s intellect.  Ephemera are the most important part of one’s identity.  Songs, movies, radio shows, ads, newspapers and magazine articles that are forgotten by history almost as soon as they are voiced but are carried in the memories of individutals throughout their lives is the stuff of the personality.

     With the exception of Ferlin Husky one of the Bakersfield hillbillies and not a Western singer who was contemporary, the rest of her list of favorites were all of the late forties and early fifties and now all but forgotten.

page 1792.

     As ephemeral as they were to society at large they formed a great deal of Dewey’s outlook on the world.  He knew dozens of songs by them.

     ‘I really liked ‘Signed Sealed And Delivered’ by Hawkshaw Hawkins.’  He said knowingly, meaning to impress Darlin’ with his encyclopedic knowledge.

     ‘That was by Cowboy Copas.’  She corrected.  ‘You can’t fool me.  I know just about everything there is to know about music.’

     Dewey nearly took her correction as a reproof since he was rather vain about his knowledge of music.  Instead he chose to deflect the conversation.

     ‘Well, all those are good but really old.  Do you like anybody new like Elvis Presley?’

     ‘I liked Elvis when he was a hill…Country singer.  After he went mainstream he changed and this Army Elvis is something else again.’

    ‘Yeah, but Elvis is a hero.  Before Elvis there was nothing and now there’s a chance for everyone.  You know how they say that Elvis sings like a Black guy?  Does he sound that way to you?  I don’t get it.’

     ‘Me and Belle saw Elvis at the fairgrounds in 1955 before ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ came out.  I didn’t think there was anything Black about him at all.  Wouldn’t have liked him if there was.  Sounded a lot like Bill Monroe to me.’

     What in musicology are known as the Sun Years was the decisive period in post 1950 music.  Sun was a record label formed by a man named Sam Phillips.  Originally Phillips scouted out Black singers and either sold the masters or issued the songs on Sun Records.  The Black artists were a small and not very lucrative market in the early fifties.  Phillips is reported to have always said that if he could find a White man who could sing Black he would make a million dollars.

     Presley according to Phillips was the genuine article.  He sold his contract to RCA for $37,000.’

     Society with its guilt complex about Negroes has accepted the judgment that Presley sang like a Black man without question or reservation.  I, as the author, was a teenage bronkin’ buck in 1954, ’55 and ’56 and to this day I cannot fathom what Phillips might have meant.

     Black men sang in a variety of styles none of which Presley sounded like.  Black styles ranged from Billy Daniels, the Ink Spots, Louis Jordan, James Brown, Hank Ballard and Little Richard to name only a few.  Presley’s style bore no resemblance to any of those.  In fact any White man copying them would have sounded so ludicrous he would have been laughed off the stage.

     Phillips himself discarded his Black stable as soon as Presley attracted a stable of White hillbilly artists.  None of Phillips White artists sounded remotely Black from Elvis to Johnny Cash to Roy Orbison.  They were all hillbillies and the music they created was immediately known as Rockabilly which to my mind says all.  The same people that hated Hillbilly hated Rockabilly as well.

     Actually Darlin’ was correct.  The early Presley Sun recordings all sound like jumped up Bluegrass a la Bill Monroe.  The flip side of Elvis’ first ’45 was even Monroe’s Blue Moon Of Kentucky which begins in the traditional style that Presley interrupts with the statement:  ‘Hold it man, that don’t move me.’  Then they jump it and do the song Rockabilly fashion.

page 1794.

     Nor did Phillips’ Sun label have much impact in the ’50s.  The affection for the music and style is a latter day romantic movement.  At the time I was the only person I knew who had the records and one of the very few who had heard of them.

     I had no affinity for Black music.  I probably would have rejected Elvis if he had sounded Black.  The record store used to order Sun releases for me.  If a release was by a Black artist I gave it back; if Rockabilly I bought it.

     It was not that I was prejudiced against Blacks but their music didn’t ‘move me’ and that includes that sacred cow ‘gospel music.’  The stuff was far too ethnic  to appeal to White ears.  Only in the late ’50s when the Black edge was taken off Negro singers could Whites tolerate the stuff- except for Little Richard and Fats Domino of course.

     Whatever you may think of Berry Gordy he and his Motown label really put the Black singer into White ears.

     The basis of Phillips’ statement remains a mystery to me.  Like most Americans he probably deluded himself that he respected Black culture while he actually rejected it.

     Black Jack David whose real name was Derek had been intrigued with Dewey’s identification of himself with Hillbillies.  He relaxed a little and began to converse with Dewey person to person instead of across a great divide.

page 1795.

     ‘They sure make it hard on us in Chicago though.  Almost as bad as in Mobile but different.  They laugh at us for our music which is real American but they claim to really like Negro music which just sounds noisy and illiterate to me.  You have to be dumb to sing the blues.  Like the Carter’s say:  Stay on the sunny side of the street.’

     Dewey was still ignorant about the Blues and didn’t know a lot about the sunny side of the street either.  He had heard a fair amount but he couldn’t identiy the structure of the Blues.  The stuff just dounded like a lot of repetitious moaning to him.

     It was a phenomenon that White Folk in general professed a high regard for Black music, although they didn’t buy much of it, while they shunned Southern White Music like the plague.

     White Southern singers were basic folks without a lot superfluous education but there was still a higher level of musicianship than with Blacks while their lyrics were, how shall we say, less earthy than those of the Blacks.  No White person would have been allowed to write much less sing a song in mixed company called ‘Drop Down Mama.’  Yet White people would listen to a Black man sing the sexually explicit lyrics and ooh an aah at the sensual freedom of Black Folk.

     Well, you know, what was a wide awake guy to do but shake his head and wonder.

     Just as Sun was establishing Rockabilly music out of Memphis by the early  and mid-fifties the corpus of songs and the stable of Blues performers that would carry through the century had already been defined and recorded by Marshall Chess of Chess/Checker records in Chicago.  The most influential of the early rock n’ rollers, Chuck Berry, also came from Chess.  Marshall Chess seemed to know a lot more about Black music than Sam Phillips.

page 1796.

     Elvis Presley kind of steamrollered Chuck Berry when he broke with Heartbreak Hotel but Berry established the archetype of Rock n’ Roll music in ’55 with his hit Maybelline.

     Thus by the late fifties both streams of migration from the South were entrenched in Chicago, Detroit, Cleveland and points North.

     Black Jack and Dixie Belle had met and married in Mobile leaving for Chicago for the first time shortly thereafter.  They migrated for the same reason their Black counterparts did.  Not considered ‘niggers’ they were deemed ‘Poor White Trash.’

     Black Jack didn’t want to remain poor, he didn’t object to being called White but he definitely hated the trash part.  He was no fool.  He could see at a glance that he was as good or better than the so-called Urban or Southern Aristocracies but he also realized that he would never be able to escape the stigma of Poor White Trash.  Skin color isn’t the only stigma.

     He couldn’t go back to the hills so the only escape was North.  Blackjack, Dixie Belle and Dixie Darlin’ followed the drinkin’ gourd ending up on the South Side of Chicago across the street from the Black South Side.

     The change was momentous; as much a cultural shock as that of Country Blacks seeing the big city for the first time.  The Hillbillies ‘pure’ English ways clashed with the smarmy hybrid immigrant culture that had developed in Chicago.  They were almost as obvious as the Black Folk.

page 1797.

     A comparable situation would be the invasion of Los Angleles by the Arkies and Okies of the 30s.

     Twenty years after, a term of opprobrium in LA was to call someone an Okie even as his culture was transforming LA.  Fifty years later a Mafioso bigot by the name of Quentin Tarentino would portray the type negatively in his movie ‘Pulp Fiction.’  Actually he made fun of Anglo-Saxons in all his movies.

     Still, the only reason that LA had a Country music scene is because there were so many Okies in the Basin; there and in the Bakersfield/Fresno area.  The Okies still stuck out in LA like Blacks and were treated the same or worse.

     Black Jack David, then still know as Derek, felt himself in a desperate situation.  He knew his own worth.  He was sure of his value as a human being; he wasn’t about to stay and be treated like a dirty dog.  Everywhere he turned he was derided.  He had little formal education.  His manners, while not worse than, were not the manners of immigrant Chicago.

     He was laughed at and derided as though he had been a Negro.  Not naturally offended by Blackness he nevertheless developed a resentment towards them or, rather, passed the resentment he felt at his treatment to them.  The Blacks considered him as though emigrants from Tobacco Road feeling free to despise him.

     Needing to escape the Chicago environment from time to time he made frequent trips to Mobile.  As a mirror decoration instead of a pair of fuzzy dice or a garter he had an upside down cross.

     ‘Uh, I notice your cross is upside down.’  Dewey stated.  ‘Why? did you get it cheaper because they put the hole in wrong end?’

     The Dixie Belle turned in her seat to smile at Dewey:  ‘My husband is a fully ordained minister in the Church of the Second Coming of The Golden Dawn.’

     There was a mouthful of religion.  It shut Dewey up.  He turned to look out the window at the racing landscape.

This Land Is Your Land

     They were moving rapidly into the grip of the Northern cold front.  The softer features of the barren prairie landscape were being turned into cold hard features by the frost.  What should have been land promising of the rebirth of vernal pleasures looked merely like an industrial resource waiting once again to be exploited.

     Americans had no love of their environment; even on a scientific level ecology had no meaning for them.  They had always come to rape the land converting it into a dollar value that could either be taken back to Europe or, if necessary, lavished on a home establishment.

     Initially the ability to rape had been severely inhibited by the limits of ‘human resources.’  The phrase is another attempt to substitute money for people.  But as technology improved in the nineteenth century the ability to rip the land asunder to ‘develop’ the country increased.  Alfred Nobel, the man in whose honor all those grandiose prizes are awarded, provided the penultimate means of maiming the environment when he invented TNT or dynamite as it is otherwise known.

page 1799.

     This enabled man to blast into the solid rock at Cripple Creek in pursuit of a handful of yellow dust or open the rich coal seams across this continent of ‘unlimited’ resources.

     Nobel might justly be characterized as a demon but the devil arrived in the disguise of a man called LeTourneau.

     Like so many monsters LeTourneau was a smallish man given to a certain amount of flab but the man’s imagination was of gigantic diabolical proportions.

     Small  himself his diseased imagination caused him to create earth moving machines of what might be called indescribable dimensions if they hadn’t been hatched on a drawing board.  Still the behemoths stagger the mind.

     Rather than tunnel into the earth, a concept known as ‘strip mining’ was devised and employed a few miles away in the coal fields of Southern Illinois.  Huge shovels bigger than the biggest building of ninety percent of American towns with a shovel capacity of 100-150 tons were built.  Le Tourneau chipped in his two tons worth by building gigantic trucks capable of transporting a shovelful.  Then raised their load capacity to two hundred and three hundred tons.  Three hundred and sixty ton trucks are said to be on the horizon.

page 1800.

     Thus the ‘overburden’ could be scooped off and dumped somewhere else.  The ‘money’ hidden beneath the earth could easily be gotten.  The ‘resource’ could be consumed in a trice.  Having gotten the money out the operators left a huge gaping scar on the landscape on one hand and vast mounds of debris on the other.  The money had been gotten, the land was now worthless.

     There was no thought of even attempting to repair the damage.  There was no concern for the beauty of the landscape or the quality of life for the remaining ‘human resource.’

     As bad as that was let us follow Mr. LeTourneau’s creation to the twenty-first century.  By this time his trucks are bigger than most houses being twenty-seven feet wide and twice and long.  the trucks themselves are three stories tall while appearing as toys beside the monster shovels.

     Now, there was still a lot of coal in the Appalachian seams but the operators said it couldn’t be economically ‘recovered’ by conventional methods.  As always the environment meant nothing, or less than nothing, to Americans.  This means you and not just a class of evil exploiters.  You would have done the same.

     Combining the contributions to human happiness of both Nobel and LeTourneau the operators came up with a simple solution.  They merely planted enough dynamite to blow the mountain tops off several miles at a time.  As they had to have someplace to dump the ‘overburden’ they moved the ‘human resources’, the descendants of the Hatfields and McCoys , out of their ancient homes in the valleys or hollers or bottoms, and using Mr. LeTourneau’s magnificent machines they dumped the mountain tops down into the valleys.  And they did this with their eyes wide open.

page 1801.

     The child is father to the man.  The mines of Illinois were a concept in embryo which Dewey recognized but his mind could not conceive the horrible denouement which insanity would perpetrate.

     The premonition apparent in his mind he heaved a sigh turning back to Dixie Belle and her pride in her husband who was a fully ordained minister in the Church Of The Second Coming Of The Golden Dawn.

Black Jack David In Chicago

     ‘When was the First Coming Of The Golden Dawn?’  Dewey asked.

     ‘You’ve never heard of Aleister Crowley?’  Belle asked.

     ‘No.’  Dewey said flatly.

     ‘Well, my husband knows all about him.’  Belle said.  ‘This is my  man, Black Jack David.’  She added superfluously but with infinite pride.

     Dewey had never heard of Aleister Crowley.  Since neither David nor Dixie Belle was going to mention him again contrary to Dewey’s expectations suffice it to say that he was a psychotic drug addicted sex therapist cum magician of a Theosophic stamp although the Theosophists rejected him.

     In the last quarter of the nineteenth century a guy named MacGregor Mathers started a group called the Golden Dawn in England.  The Irish poet, W.B. Yeats, who wrote a poem called ‘The Second Coming’, was its most famous member.  We may presume that Black Jack combined the poem with the sect to come up with his own variation.  Obviously he fully ordained himself.

page 1802.

     Crowley became a member of the original Golden Dawn and managed to steal their Arcana thereby appropriating the sect to himself.  The original followers went their separate ways.  Crowley turned the sect into a sex and drug cult whose motto, like that of the Abbey of Thelema was:  Do What Thou Wilt.

     Crowley and the sect underwent vicissitudes.  Crowley died in 1947.  The sect ended up, as things of this nature will, in LA.  In fact, their publishing house was located in Barstow.  The house Dewey had been taken to in Pasadena, in the story he related to the Darrels, had actually been a coven of the Golden Dawn.

     Black Jack David was unaffiliated with any other known group.  He and the Dixies were the entire congregation of the Second Coming Of The Golden Dawn.  Black Jack David like Napoleon had ordained himself.  They did have a couple of almost converts in Chicago.  Always a believer in omens Black Jack had immediately recognized Dewey as the lieutenant he needed, miraculously provided by God.

     Black Jack’s program didn’t make much sense.  It was a crude amalgam of Protestant Christianity, the Golden Dawn and general Rosicrucian Theosophy.  Black Jack had picked up most of it on the streets but he had done some desultory unsystematic reading.  The principal incredient of his system was the ‘magick’ Black Jack thought he needed to save his life.  He too was looking for a miracle.

page 1803.

     As all these things are, the Second Coming was merely a projection of the psychological  needs of Derek Drainsfield.  He felt completely rejected and scorned.  He sought salvation.  More than that he had what it took to create it.

     ‘Why is the cross upside down?’  David asked rhetorically finally getting around to Dewey’s question.  He eyed Dewey anxiously as he wanted to make a good impression on the disciple the Lord had provided.  ‘Well, I’ll tell you.’

     ‘Uh huh.’  Dewey said with weary expectancy.

     ‘Justice and decency are overturned in this world.  The Christ has been displaced in this orb of despair by evil, vile and materialististic men.  That cross will remain upside down until those men are defeated and the Rose of Sharon is restored to its rightful place.’

     Dewey was suitably impressed.  The explanation was better than he had expected.  ‘What kind of magic do you have to do that?’  He asked facetiously.

     ‘The right kind.’  Black Jack triumphed.  ‘Did your magick have a K at the end?’

     ‘What magic?’

     ‘That magick.’

     Dewey paused for a moment to seek Black Jack’s direction.

     ‘I spell it M A G I C.’

     ‘Aha.  The wrong kind of magick.  Add a K to that and you’ve got the right kind of magick.’

page 1804.

     Dewey was baffled.  Black Jack was retailing Crowley’s self-help system contained in a book called: ‘Magick: Theory and Practice’ or, in other words, how to become what you would like to be as an act of will.  Magic is important to Christian and Theosophic systems but is discredited by materialist and scientific approaches.  Hence Crowley put a K at the end of magic in the hopes of making the notion credible.

     ‘Oh.  the only kind of magic I know of that will achieve what you want is the A-Bomb and then only because it wipes everyone, evil or not.’

     ‘How did you know about that?’  Black Jack asked startled as though Dewey had divined the secret.

     ‘How do I know about the A-Bomb?’  Dewey asked equally incredulously.

     ‘Yes.  It’s in Chicago you know.’

     ‘I know the atomic pile was in Chicago but how is the A-Bomb in Chicago?’

     ‘The missing one.’  Black Jack pressed on assuming Dewey knew what he was talking about.  ‘It’s somewhere in the nigger district on the South Side.’

     ‘What missing one?’

     ‘The one that disappeared from the stockpile a few years ago.  It’s in Chicago, I know.’

     ‘An A-Bomb disappeared?  How’s that?’

     ‘A patriot named James Burnham published a book in 1954 called ‘The Web Of Subversion’ in which he says that an A-Bomb has been stolen from the stockpile.  He thinks that it’s in private hands somewhere in America.  I’ve got it figured out where.’

     ‘There’s a missing A-Bomb?  Why do you think it’s on the Black South Side?’

     ‘Where else would it be?  Chicago’s the center of the country.’

     Dewey was stopped.

     ‘Well, OK, but why in Darktown?’

     ‘Well, come on.  Where’s the last place in Chicago you would look for it?’

     ‘Uh. I’m not too familiar with Chicago.’

     ‘Well, that’s it.  It’s in the basement of some building right in the heart of Niggerville.’

     ‘In that case you can be sure I’m not going to look for it.’  Dewey said laughing.

     ‘Black Jack’s not afraid.  He goes in there lots.’  Belle reproved.

     ‘Why not?  We’ll need it.’  Black Jack said excitedly thinking that he’d already recruited Dewey.

     ‘Need it for what?’

     ‘I thought you understood.  It’s the magick we need to turn the cross around.  You said it.  First we get the bomb and then we send a note to the President and the Mayor and the Chief of Police telling them that we are holding Chicago as hostage.  Unless all our ransom is met we’ll destroy Chicago.’

     ‘What’s the ransom?’  Dewey asked curiously.

page 1806.

     ‘We want all the malefactors of great wealth and men of evil disposition delivered unto us.  Then we’ll execute them and save the world.  Then the cross will be upright again.’

     Dewey saw that he was in the presence of the ultimate do-gooder.  Was it the boldness of the plan or the absurdity of the premiss that took his breath away?

      ‘Personally I hope the bomb goes off and kills everyone of those of those niggers.’  Suddenly burst from Darlin’ who had been playing quietly with her deck of  ‘funny looking’  Tarot cards.

     ‘I swear I’m going to carry a gun and the next nigger that lays a hand on me is going to get his head blowed off.’

     ‘Amen.’  Dixie Belle intoned.

     ‘Something’s got to be done about that too.’  Added Black Jack David.  ‘Don’t you think so.’  He aggressively asked Dewey.

     Dewey didn’t know what to reply.  The great sweep of Black rebellion was moving across America.  Freedom Riders were active in the South.  Pent up hatreds were erupting in the North and West.  In less than ten years cities from California to New Jersey would go up in flames as Blacks revolted against their situation.  Americans minimized the destruction because it happened here but the hundreds of square miles that were burnt over was topped only by the destruction in bombed over German of World War II.

     True the Blacks fired their own neighborhoods but Dewey would be able to understand that.  After all, if you can’t get away from what is hateful to you it has to be destroyed.  As Dewey knew in his case; to heal oneself psychologically the old self has to be destroyed in order to replace it with the new.  Black frustration, the revolt of the dogs in their kennel, the desire to bit their leash in two, was comprehensible to Dewey.

page 1807.

     The period was one of great transition for Black people as well as America.  If the history of the Blacks can be divided into three periods:  The Slavery Period, the Jim Crow Period and the Self-Awareness Period, then the Blacks were transiting from the Jim Crow Period to that of Self-Awareness.  the transition was fraught with great danger.

     The musical transition was from Rhythm and Blues to Soul music.  (Do you like soul music? No?  Well, then do the Trouser Press, baby.)  In progressing from R&B to Soul music the Blacks acted out the central problem of their existence.  They had a hole in their soul.  Not a criticism, not their fault, just a fact; they had and have a damaged psyche.  It’s bad too.  We always complain about what hurts us the most.  Furthermore the hole can be accurately identified and described.

     The man who put his finger on it was the old vaudevillian by the name of Bert Williams.  Bert performed in the years around the beginning of the twentieth century.  Thus he was the legatee of the Reconstruction Era.  History may be abstract but those who suffer through it have to deal with painful psychological realities.  Life may be a cosmic joke but it is not funny to be the butt of it.

     Bert Williams was a very perceptive guy and an excellent poet in the popular style.  He embodied the Black dilemma in a Coon Tune that is still sung today titled ‘Nobody.’  I will reproduce the lyrics in full in a moment but first let’s discuss the evolution of the Black pysche as evidenced in its musical stages.

page 1808.

     One of the most wonderful descriptions of the development in American of William’s period is the Irishman Mark Sullivan’s truly magnificent six volume social history titled ‘Our Times.’

     Sullivan was an especially acute observer of musical trends.  He says more about Black culture and history in a few pages than most authors get into multi-volumes.  As well as being concise he is perceptive and accurate.

     He was quick to understand that a change in a people’s music represents a change in their psychical attitude; something that Goldwater reactionaries should have picked up on in relation to their White offspring.  Thus one can accturately trace the psychological history of America, also know as the Land of the Thousand Dances, by understanding its popular music.  If you follow the bouncing ball  and don’t get hung up on your preconceptions you won’t have any trouble.

     thus as Black music developed after emancipation a first phase was the era of Darky Songs when Blacks were fresh from the Plantation.  That’s what the White Stephen Foster built his reputation on.  This was followed by the era of Coon Tunes.  There is a different psychology in each.  The permutations of Ragtime and Jazz came through the twenties and thirties followed back out into the Urban Blues, Doo-Wop and the Rhythm and Blues of the forties and fifties.  R&B merged into Sould and Soul disappeared into Rap.  Each musical expression represents a distinct psychological reaction.  Blacks substituted the term Soul for Psyche.

page 1809.

 

 

    

    

    

Disco Donn Demands Deliverance

by

R.E. Prindle

Part II-4

     The Gambler looked over at Donn to see if his story made the impression he wanted.  The story wasn’t bad, it was even entertaining if you weren’t over critical but Donn didn’t believe the Gambler had talked to a live Elvis.  He just shook his head and said:  First that, now this.’

     The Gambler realized his mistake.  He should have known that Donn wouldn’t be like the ignorant buffoons gathered in the jungles under bridges.  Why hadn’t he advanced the story as a theory instead?

     The Gambler cleared his throat.  ‘First what?’ He enquired.

     ‘Aw,’ Donn said, ‘I ran into this crazy guy, shadow boxing his life away, talking about how there’s no difference between Nazi Germany, Russia and here.’

     ‘Oh, you met the Mankato Kid, did you?  He’s near?  Hmm, yes, well, I taught him everything he knows you know.  Did he go on about Holly Grove, Ludlow?  Yes.  When he first met me he didn’t have a rationale, a story; he was just prancing around the edge trying to keep from falling in.  I saved him; kept him from losing it completely.

     His is truly a tragic life.  he is an innocent decent guy who was victimized by a whole town.  He was pursued by the elite while the rest of the town turned their backs on him.

     Like most people rather than retaliating on his enemies he turned their venom on himself, internalized it, made himself the guilty party, so to speak.  Hence you see him circling the town pounding away at the air, punching out his internalized enemies; hysterically trying to punch his way out of the bag he’s in.

page 151.

     I researched the situation.  What he should have done, I think it’s too late now, was either kill one of them or kill a child or grandchild or two.  Thus the vengeance would have relieved the strain while teaching his enemies the lesson they needed to be taught.’

     ‘Yeah, but who wants to go to jail for the rest of their lives?’

     ‘My god, man, don’t be so crude.  We aren’t talking the insanity of Richard Speck or Charlie Whitman, we’re talking the same kind of discretion the Kid’s enemies used when they killed his father.  The killings would appear accidental of course, goes without saying.  That’s the way it’s done in polite society.  Elvis should have had a couple of them offed too.  He was big enough to get away with it.  Would have made him feel better and they would have made room for him.  That’s the only thing that sort of people respect.’

     The Gambler looked over at Donn’s feet.  ‘Say, those are very nice shoes.   Ferragamos?’

     ‘Yes. Yes, they are.’

     ‘Pretty fancy footwear for a knight of the road.  Hey?’

     ‘I like nice things.’  They both chuckled appreciatively.

     ‘Yes.’ Said the Gambler who believed he hadn’t yet impressed Donn with his verbal wizardry.  The night was still young in his eyes and he could talk forever.  He had entertained the homeless for seven or eight hours at a stretch.  He eyed Donn up and down, then shrewdly hit a topic that made Donn’s eyes light up.

     The Gambler was a learned man.  He had actually spent more time in the stacks of America’s best libraries than- one hesitates to say any- most professors.  He studied with system.  He actually had written several hundred pages of universal history which he had secreted in sheaves among the hidden recesses of the various libraries.  He was a knowledgeable man.  What he is about to tell Donn was factually true, whether one chooses to accept his interpretation of the facts is one’s own business.

     ‘History moves along at a very rapid pace.  Too rapid for we mere men to grasp its significance as it happens.  There are too many interested parties to obscure the facts, turn them to their own benefit.  Everyone want to rearrange the facts, change them to suit their own needs and prejudices.  They want to revise history to reflect their own fantasies.  They want to conceal their own criminal deeds while exhibiting those of others.

     Thus all ideologues become obstructionists to the true understanding of reality.  This is no more evident than in the study of the history of Adolf Hitler.’

     The Gambler noted that Donn’s eyes lit up at the mention of Hitler.  He’d struck paydirt.  The Gambler warmed to his subject.

     ‘That Hitler was one of the most destructive conquerors- perhaps the most, but that’s a qualitative judgment- in History needs no affirmation.  The facts speak for themselves, as they usually do.  But let us consider the recieved opinion that Hitler was an aberration, that somehow he stands outside the worst standards of human conduct.  I  tell you frankly, Donn that relegating him to that role places an obstacle in the path of comprehending history that is insurmountable.  My writings are undertaken to demonstrate that not only is Hitler in the tradition of great conquerors, albeit, perhaps, the most destructive, but that his behavior is an aspect of the personality of each and everyone of us.  Yes, there is no escaping psychology.  Hitler did nothing that any of us wouldn’t do if we thought we had the ability to escape retribution.

page 153. 

 Now, this holds for all peoples.  There are no innocents.  Freud tells the story of Heine who painted this idyllic picture of what would satisfy him and at the end desired his enemies to be hanging from trees in front 0f him.  I am happy to forgive my enemies, Heine said with Freud quoting approvingly, but only after they have been hanged.  There you see, the main problem to understanding Hitler and the whole period is, of course, the Jews.  As unpleasant a fact as it may be they are omnipresent throughout European history.  In many ways their virtual annihilation destroyed four thousand years of hopes and dreams.  I think, although I can’t prove it that it shook their hopes of Messianic redemption to the ground.  Quite clearly their God tested them too severely for no apparent purpose.  The net result of the period seems to be that the Euroamericans have brought them under control again as before emancipation.  The disciplining that the Jews escaped by the Emancipation of the French Revolution and which resulted in the two Great Wars seems to have been reimposed or is being reimposed.  The expropriation of the Rothschilds by the French was a significant act.

    In any event, as what is actually a rear guard action, the Jews are doing their uttermost to prevent an objective examination of the period.  Their 614th commandment is not to allow Hitler posthumous victory.  On the one hand they deny their own implication while denouncing Nazis to the uttermost.

page 154.

     I mention the Jews, Donn, because History, Western History, cannot be understood without understanding their role in it.  To discuss the Jewish role objectively is to, not only leave oneself open to charges of anti-Semitism, but inescapably to be so.  The truth is anti-Semitic.  I am no an anti-Semite, which is different from anti-Semitism.  To the victor belongs the spoils. But that inevitably means that the losers are despoiled.  Unfortunately for the Jews their historical role has been that of the losers.  A habit of four thousand years is unlikely to be broken soon.

      But, back to my point.  How were Hitler’s actions aberrant?  Man has always destroyed what was in his way.  There are indications that when primitive man disputed a plain with herbivores he merely stampeded them over cliffs to get rid of them.  I am not such a sentimentalist that I make a great distinction between herbivores and homo sapiens.  Specially, it is almost certain that Cro-Magnon man exterminated the Neanderthals.  There are sentimentalists that say that the two species were assimilated but in the light of the activities of historical man this seems highly improbable to me.

     There is a great deal of wisdom in the saying:  The child is father to the man.  So, certainly Hitler’s actions are in accord with his primitive ancestors.

     Out of a wealth of examples you do understand that I must necessarily be selective.  After all as Gibbons put it, history is little more than a recitation of the crimes and follies of mankind.  Who am I to dispute with the master?

     While the Bible was at one time universally believed to be true, modern scholarship casts doubt on the accuracy of the whole Bible.  I myself believe it to be a work of fiction, and not expecially good fiction, which manipulates  what might be facts into a coherent whole serving the needs of the Jewish people.  None of it is to be believed as history.  Nevertheless if fiction is to be believable it must be based on probable occurrences, or even actual occurrences conveniently arranged.

     Thus when the Jews state that when they invaded Canaan they exterminated man, woman and child of the inhabitants of numerous cities to make lebensraum for themselves the story is plausible.  So, the ‘inventors of morality’ are no different than the rest of mankind.  One may also include these murders under the heading of genocide.  Not only is mass murder common but so is genocide.  What could be more natural?

     In addition to the race wars the extermination of peoples can be extended to ideological differences.  As chance would have it the first great ideological war involves the Jews.  As a matter of fact the Jews are unavoidably the ferment of Western History in any age or place.  It is just so.  It can’t be denied.  They must needs be discussed.  The remarkable thing is that entire volumes of history are written without even mentioning Jewish involvement except perhaps a passage lamenting an inexplicable anti-Semistism.  A recent history of Germany by Hajo Holborn scarcely mentions the Jews.  Incredible, what?

     While Judaism has always been an ideology it doesn’t appear to have taken definite shape as such until confronted by the Hellenic ideology fostered by the conquests of Alexander.  While the rest of the world embraced Hellenism, the Jews rejected it.

page 156.

     To be sure a portion of the nation was attracted to Hellenism but this merely set in motion the crisis of the ancient world.  The Jewish Hellenists being the weaker party called their Hellenistic masters to their aid. 

     The conservative element resisted the imperial government bringing on the War of the Maccabees which resulted in the independence of Israel against the Hellenic Empires.  Now, Donn, much of this interpretation is disputed so if you have any objections, just say so. 

     The Jews, at this point, must have believed that as they were not to be allowed their ideology undisturbed that it was incumbent on them to conquer.  Their manpower was insufficient for this so they had to recruit more.  As the wish is father to the deed they made war on their southern neighbors, the Idumaeans.  Having conquered them they forcefully circumcised their little wee-wees, so the story goes.  This pretty effectively made the Idumaeans Jews albeit, sullen Jews.

     But this was a pretty ineffective way of adding to the population and I’m sure the backlash was more than they were prepared for.  After all, Roman law classed circumcision with emasculation and forbade both.

     The Jews then embarked on a course which they had never employed before and have never employed since.  They set about a serious course of proselytization or converting non-Jews to Judaism.  Now, Donn, we’re getting into areas that you have to study hard to get at the facts.  Much of this information while harmless in itself, is willfully concealed by society.  As a young history student we were all warned away from studying it.  We were told, in so many words, that we would be dropped if we pursued the topic.

page 157.

     The Jews were remarkably successful.  By  the time of Augustus, which coincides with the birth of Jesus, which may or may not be a coincidence, they were firmly established throughout the Empire.  They were making converts, which involved circumcision, at a quick step pace.  Plus their ideology was strange enough to enlist sympathizers who stood between Judaism and Paganism called ‘God-fearers.’

     Jerusalem served as a counter capitol to Rome as Judaism formed an actual empire within the Empire.  Every professing Jew was required to send a half shekel to Jerusalem once a year.  If they all complied, and there were millions in the Roman Empire then millions of shekels went to Jerusalem every year.  Thus, one has an interesting historical problem which no one has ever addressed.  What happened to those millions per year?  What were they used for?  Fomenting sedition perhaps?

     The two ideologies were locked in mortal combat.  Now this was also a time of extreme Gnostic religious fermentation.  Impossible Gnostic beliefs rose to the pinnacle of impossibility.  It is not my purpose to go into these beliefs but suffice it to say they all found expression in the person of Jesus the Christ.  Now, while the Jews of the empire sent their half shekel tax to Jerusalem they refused to pay the Emperor his taxes.  The story becomes more familiar.  In the Jewish mind they were obligated only to God, not to the Empire.  I think you can see the emerging problem.

     Jesus tried to cut this Gordian knot by saying:  Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and unto God that which is God’s.  In other words he was trying to effect a compromise, separating the spiritual kingdom from the temporal kingdom.  There would still be an empire within the Empire but one would be spiritual and not in conflict with the temporal.  Peacemakers were as little thought of then as they are today.  The Nazz was crucified.  All that remained was for the war to break out.  Which of course, it did.

     The Jews fully expected all Jews throughout the Empire, interestingly enough they called it the Evil Empire, to rise up and slaughter the non-Jews.  Their goal was simply to exterminate all the non-Jews.  Do you imagine that the program has been changed?  And Hitler is thought to have been an evil man.  Think of it!  The Jews were certainly less than twenty percent of the population but they were going to exterminate the rest.

     While there was Jewish unrest throughout the Empire the actual war was confined to Palestine.  In 70 AD Jerusalem was conquered and razed.  But the Millennial frenzy was on the Jews.  They wouldn’t give up.

     The Dead Sea Scrolls uncovered a document called the War Between the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness.  Some say it is allegorical but the real war closely followed the blueprint the document offered.  The Jews were, of course, the Sons of Light.  The war was to begin in the South and then spread North.

     In the sixty-five years following 70 AD that is exactly the course of the actual war except that the war didn’t progress too far North.  In 116-18 the Jews of Africa- Cyrene, Egypt and Cypress attempted to exterminate their neighbors.  The war was fanatical but they were suppressed only to flare up again in the Bar Kokhba rebellion which ended in the virtual extermination of the Jews.  The exasperated Romans could take no more.

page 159.

     Thus Hitler was prefigured in this, actually, gigantic struggle for supremacy.

     When the Saxons invaded Britain they carried on a war of extermination against the Britons.  They killed every man, woman and child that fell into their hands.  The Britons themselves fleeing to Armorica  or what has become known as Brittany in France, in their turn, in one district, they killed all the men of the conquered people.  Now, get this, so that the women, who were spared, couldn’t corrupt the British language, they cut their tongues out.

     My god, Donn.  It must be clear what Man is.  Show me how Hitler violated the parameters of human behavior.

     Tamerlane, or Timur, roamed through Asia decapitating the men, women and children of towns of one hundred thousand.  He piled their skulls in huge pyramids which can still be seen.

     Genghis Khan, who we respect because he’s not White, caused the destruction of millions and millions.  He depopulated huge areas.  He transported, uprooted in modern terminology, large populations.  I mean, hell, Genghis served as a role model for Hitler.  If Genghis is a hero why is Hitler a villain?  But, you see how the human mind works.  Favorites can do as they please.

     Oh yes, I know, well, you will say he employed slave labor, put people on starvation diets and worked them to death.  Quite right.  Now, Donn, don’t think I’m apologizing for Hitler because I’m not.  But things have to be put into perspective.  One cannot excuse in these what one condemns in those.

page 160.

     The very same thing happened right here in the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave.  Those of us who have never been able to deal with the state of affairs as they exist have always been out here on the road.  After the War Between The States of hateful memory, when the railroads were pushing West, spreading South and North, tens of thousands of us roamed ceaselessly back and forth, up and down.  They called us hoboes and bums then, now they call us the homeless.

     But those that didn’t have what it takes for the carefree life joined the ranks of labor.  That is to say, unskilled labor, the lumpenproletariat.  Those who have what it takes to accommodate themselves to Leviathan become skilled laborers or white collar workers.  By their very inexplicable natures these have always done well no matter how much they’re paid.  We carefree ones hate them to the bone.

     These groups combining with those restless souls who are always trying to accumulate pelf at the expense of their fellow man accepted the prevailing view of history that the poor, meaning in this case unskilled labor should always have their faces ground in the mud.  This notion is Biblical and therefore Jewish.  The basic premise received tremendous support from ‘science’ in the nineteenth century by the works of Malthus and Darwin.  The ‘scientific’ view being that a surfeit of laborers drove down the cost of labor.  The thought being that as there were more mouths to feed then nature could provide for, the less there was to go around, then the less people would accept for a hard day’s work.  Now you see why intelligent men took to the road.  There is always plenty out here.  All you have to do is ask for it.

page 161.

     As these were the poor they were considered to have no rights.  They could be treated as one wished.  Now between the War Between the States and Woodrow Wilson, Men of Property were a law unto themselves.  As J.P. Morgan said to the President of the United States:  Why didn’t you send your man to my man to talk it over.  The magnates made the rules.

     At the close of the War the great period of immigration began.  It is probable that the movement was encouraged by the Magnates to drive down the price of wages in accordance with Malthus’ law.  If not, they skillfully employed the precepts.

     Work forces were organized to be comprised of as many different languages as possible.  Thus any segment of the work force could communicate only with its fellow nationals.  They were easily divided and controlled.  Then, as in the great steel mills, men were worked twelve to fifteen hours a day seven days a week for starvation wages.  Safety precautions were not even considered.

     When men were injured or broke down under the strain or grew too  old- the last of which as you may imagine happened early in life- they were simply discarded.  Left to die.

     If they resisted they were merely gunned down by the private armies of the Magnates.  The armies went under the name of Pinkertons or some such.

page 162.

     The poor were expected to understand and keep their place.  Nor were they allowed to withdraw their labor.  When that happened as at Holly Grove and Ludlow they were turned out of the company housing which they occupied at sufferance and high rents.  Having moved into tents, the Magnates called in government troops to machine gun men, women and children from armored trains.  At Ludlow where they had dug pits within the tents to avoid the bullets they were fire bombed and burned to death.  Women and children.

     It should be borne in mind that the Magnates who ordered these deeds were both Jews and Gentiles, not only Gentiles as is often pictured.  The two nations acted as one.  Brothers of the dollar.  Now you may say that for some reason the slave laborers of Hitler are different from American slave laborers.  If so the difference is so problematical that I don’t care to argue it.

     The whole system ws changed by one courageious man.  For his class betrayal he has been defamed ever since even though more worthy than any of them.

    But first, here’s an interesting detail.  The police of New York City were using dental drills to extract confessions long before the Nazis did.  True.  Think about that.

     Back to my story.  Now, just as the savagery toward unskilled labor was reaching its peak in 1916-17, just after Holly Grove and Ludlow, Henry Ford had made a success of the Tin Lizzie.  Single handedly and with no help from the financial community of Wall Street, both straight or Jewish, Ford had built a billion dollar corporation.

page 163.

     Then in 1915, as soon as he was able, amidst the horrors of Holly Grove and Ludlow he chose to double the wages of his unskilled laborers.  He adopted a decent attitude toward workers in his plants.  In one fell swoop he disproved the existing theories about labor.  He overturned the rules.  He was never forgiven for this.  Both Jews and straights piled on engaging him in lawsuits, sabotaging his efforts, defaming him and tormenting him in general.  They didn’t break him but he died in very bad odor.

     So, you see, Hitler was no break with accepted practices.  His crime was merely a matter of degree or style rather than substance.  He didn’t disguise his intentions behind hypocrisy.’

     Donn had fallen asleep by this time.  The Gambler noted but as he was hot in the pursuit of his ideas he continued on, talking to himself in the dead of night.

     ‘Even in the context of Hitler’s times there was absolutely nothing extreme in his actions.  It is a well known fact that Hitler patterned his whole program on the Judeo-Communist pattern.

     As Judaism is the pattern of all Semitisms so Communism and Nazism were cut to measure from that pattern.  The Jews, of course, deny anything but incidental relationship to the Bolshevik Revolution whereas as the most casual examination of the facts will show, they were its backbone.  Certainly in the early days before Stalin’s counterrevolution and subsequent purges.

     Nor was the threat confined to Russia.  After the triumph of Bolshevism in Russia, Communist activists flowed back through Central Europe.  The emissaries were almost entirely Jewish.  I’m sure this fact can be explained in any one of a number of ways but the fact remains.

page 164.

     The so-called German Revolution of 1918 which undermined the German will to persist- the famous stab in the back- was engineered by those Jews as were the various power seizures or attempted seizures, in Berlin, Bavaria, the Ruhr and other places.  This is an uncontestable fact, undeniable.

     Then a particularly savage Jew- Bela Kun- seized power in Hungary.  If his deeds there were widely known all sympathy for the Jews would evaporate.  The whole story has been suppressed worldwide.  The same as saying the holocaust never happened.  Even I have not been able to find an adequate history- in English of course.  The central horrific fact seems to be that Kun crucified thousands of Christians, one on each telephone pole for miles and miles.  Telephone poles form a cross, you see.

     The same was done in Russia where God knows how many millions of people were slaughtered; we won’t even discuss the willful starvation of millions in the Ukraine.

     Now, at this time the Jews were seeking a homeland.  Some were plumping for Palestine, some for another place wherever it could be found.  Taking advantage of the disorder in Russia the international Jewish community decided to appropriate the Crimea in the South of Russia.  Bela Kun who had meanwhile been driven out of Hungary was sent down from Moscow to depopulate the Crimea for Jewish occupation.  Yes, that’s right, he was sent to exterminate the inhabitants.  Now, this was done in conjuction with world Jewry; specifically by a couple of organziations you’ve never heard of, nor have many others, called the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee and the American Jewish Committee under the overseership of Jacob Schiff.

page 165.

     Kun eliminated several hundred thousand Russians before being called back to Moscow.  His method was simply to take his victims out to sea, tie rocks around their ankles and chuck them overboard.  Thus one may say this was the will of the Jewish people, dissenters aside.

     Even though these facts have been suppressed you may be sure that Germans, Poles, Hungarians, Roumanians and whatever are well aware of them.   Their well publicized ‘anti-Semitism’ beween the wars was based as much on fear as any prejudice.

     It is the custom to discredit anything that Hitler said.  But the nationalist reaction of the Freicorps in Germany following the Great War was a desperate fight for survival.  When Hitler said of the struggle ‘We know that if we fail our heads will roll in the sand.’  he was not exaggerating.

     One points the finger of horror at Hitler’s slaughter, quite justifiably so, but had the Bosheviks won in Germany six million or more German nationalists would have been slaughtered.  So you see it’s really six of one or a half dozen of the other.

     I mean, really Donn, if boys will be boys what is one to do?  I have no idea.  Separate them and tell them to behave, I suppose.

page 166.

     My point is simply that Hitler, bad as he was, was no worse than any of the others on the playing field.  There is no aberration.  There is no discontinuity of history.  Certainly mankind has every reason to be ashamed, for after all, God knows how many millions of years of development man has undergone and he is no better now than his earliest ancestors.  We’ve just got better weapons.  What Hitler did is embedded in the subconscious of each and every one of us.  Send not for whom the bell tolls…you know.  That’s the lesson to be learned here, Jews and Nazis to the side.’

     The Roving Gambler ended with a thump well satisfied with himself.  He looked over at Donn sleeping the sleep of exhaustion.  He looked at the Ferragamos on Donn’s feet.  They were way too small for the Gambler but they were such nice looking shoes.

     The Gambler picked up his rucksack, going over to Donn to remove his shoes.  Then with sure skill he carefully rolled Donn about until he got Donn’s pants undone.  Easing them down the Gambler sodomized Donn.  He pulled Donn’s pants back up without fastening them.  Then rucksack on back, Donn’s shoes in hand he casually strolled out of the ravine.

     ‘Goodbye, Donn.’  He sneered.  ‘I’ll see you again up on the nine thousand foot level of the Big Rock Candy Mountain.’

      The fire was glowing ashes as the sun came up like nutty putty across the Mississippi in the East.  It had risen fairly high before the light penetrated Donn’s exhausted sleep.  He became conscious of the light penetrating his eyelids but the effort of opening them was too great.  He heaved two great longdrawn breaths and issued a long loud groan.  Slowly he became conscious of his arms and legs.  He lay long feeling the nervous connections before his limbs seemed to join his body.

page 167.

     His eyes popped open.  Without moving his head his eyes searched down his body examining his right arm and leg but still not moving them.  Suddenly the reality of his existence crashed through his consciousness.  He groaned again wishing he had never awakened.  But he had, he was alive, he couldn’t die.

     The experience at the dumpster the previous night seemed an eon away.  It might just as well have been in another lifetime.  He remembered his old self slithering off his arms.  He remembered his form cracking away to reveal a smaller self.  He summoned all his willpower to put back together a self with which to face the world.

     Sensation began to return to him and he realized that his half opened mouth was kissing the dirt.  He groaned again turning with a great effort onto his back.  The freshness of the weather around his crotch made him look down where he found to his amazement that his pants were wide open.  Mystified and uncomprehending he zipped them up.  This exertion reactivated his energy.  He rose to his feet looking around.  Then slowly a vague memory, as from a dream, of the Roving Gambler returned to him like the steady drone of the Gambler’s voice.  He took a couple steps toward the remains of the fire.  He raised his foot in surprised pain as he stepped on a sharp twig.  Looking down he found to his amazement that he had no shoes.  He stood looking down at this feet stupified.  Where in the hell could his shoes be?

page 169.

     Looking around he saw them nowhere.  His life collapsed around him again.  Unable to endure the hammering anymore Disco Donn Contrales sank to the ground, leaned forward head between his knees and sobbed uncontrollably.

     ‘Why me?

      What did I do?

      What did I do?

      What did I do?’

     The harsh mistreatment of Maggie Spingold was taking effect.  Donn was transferring the guilt of the world onto himself.  The next step would be to accept the guilt.  He would feel the need to expiate his ‘sin.’  But not yet.

     Donn prayed to die but since his prayer was not answered he began to think about what to do next.  There was nothing for it but to walk out.  Unlike the Gambler who had walked out of the ravine Donn climbed up the opposite side of the hole he had fallen into.

     He had an uncomfortable climb out of the ravine.  The pricks from the sticks and stones on his feet were bad enough but the unfamiliar feel of earth crumbling beneath his toes and molding under his feet disturbed him.  Then too the ground was cold and wet from the heavy dew of the night.  He had spied the way back over the railroad tracks to the highway over a half mile distant but the walk through the woods was too daunting for him.

     Then as he looked to his right he saw a man standing looking through binoculars- a bird watcher.  He was six-four but he had on a nice pair of ox blood loafers.  Looking down Donn saw a rock that tapered to a blunt end about the size of a gun barrel.  Donn picked it up, carefully sneaking up behind the bird watcher.  Donn jammed the blunt end of the rock hard into the bird watcher’s lower spine.  It hurt.

     ‘Don’t turn around.’  Donn ordered.  ‘Your life or your shoes.’

     ‘What?’  Said the birdwatcher in amazement.

     ‘Your shoes or your life.  Don’t give me any backtalk.  Just step out them, keep walking and don’t look back or you’re a dead man.’

     ‘Hey, heck yeah man, sure, you can have them.  Don’t kill my for my shoes.  They’re yours.’  The birdwatcher said kicking off his shoes, limping away as rapidly as possible.

     Donn, without a thought at the ludicrousness of the situation stepped into the shoes and tramped off to the highway in relative comfort.

     The birdwatcher wore size thirteens while Donn wore nines.  The sight was like a little boy walking in his father’s shoes.  Donn threw a shoe a couple times on the way back to the highway otherwise they did their job.

     Back on the side of the road Donn stuck his thumb out.  Within fifteen minutes a big Cadillac Eldorado hove into view, stopping just in front of him.  Donn clumped hurriedly up, pulled the big front door open and slid into the luxurious leather seating.

     The Cadillac made quite a contrast to Donn who by now was very scruffy with a three day growth, untrimmed mustache overgrowing his upper lip, blond hair uncut and unkempt, his suit and shirt actually dirty.

page 170.

     The driver was driving barefoot, had the heat on  to warm his feet.  The heat quickly warmed Donn’s clothes.

     The driver sniffed the air:  ‘Do I smell garbage?’  He asked pointedly.

     Now Donn ashamedly realized the odor of the dumpster still clung to him.  He cleared his throat to formulate an anwer making the mistake as he did so of swinging his right leg across his left in the spacious front seat.

     The driver immediately slammed on the brakes skidding across the highway and back again onto the shoulder.

    ‘Hey, those are my shoes!’ He bellowed as the out of control car skidded to a stop.  He had Donn’s door open pushing him out headfirst as he stripped Donn of the shoes.

     ‘You’re just damn lucky I don’t kill you.’  He shouted as he accelerated back up the highway leaving Donn sprawled by the side of the road.

     ‘Oh, Jesus.  When will this ever end?’  Donn said out loud as he sat disconsolately by the side of the road.  He just sort of blacked out.

     The next two or three weeks were only blurry streaks in the movie of Donn’s life.  His mind broke down, failing to record impressions as he found his way across Minnesota and Wisconsin into the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

     Everywhere it seemed as though people knew he was coming.  He seemed to be recognized by total strangers.  To the observor this might have seemed to be paranoia on Donn’s part but indeed he was recognized by total strangers; Maggie had faxed his picture to the Neworks all the way down the line.  Thus Donn was rudely roasted and shoved on down the highway.  He never knew where he got the white Adidas tennis shoes he was wearing as he neared the top of the world on the spectacularly beautiful blue shores of Lake Superior at Sault Ste. Marie.

page 171.

     In the subliminal workings of Donn’s mind he had been unconsciously directing his steps hither since St. Louis.  He perceived the Locks as being so far out of the way that he would be able to find refuge and be ignored.  But he was mistaken.  It seemed that his thoughts had been anticipated by the residents.  In addition Donn’s bedraggled dirty unkempt appearance now  confirmed Maggie’s faxes.  The people seemed to form a solid wall that shunted him back toward the South.  Whatever plan he had had was now destroyed.  His goal had been reached and now as he turned to cross the peninsula toward the Straits of Mackinac and the Grand Traverse he was wandering aimlessly.  He began to think seriously of swallowing his pride and returning to his father’s house and Waco.

     About midway across the Peninsula the disaster of his life again overcame him.  It was a day of light traffic.  No cars came by.  The sun shone down brightly but with seemingly little heat.  The paradox registered strongly in his mind.  Now Donn felt alone and abandoned by the whole world.  Even Helios seemed to deny him his warmth.  He fell down on the shoulder of the road on his back arms outstretched, sobbing.

page 172.

     By coincidence this was the exact spot at which Dewey Trueman, then known as Far Gresham, left the highway to disappear into the forest to the West.  Now Donn’s will gave out.  He was a beaten man.  As much as he hated it he decided to go back to his Daddy and Waco.  He thought that in the bosom of his family he would find surcease.  There was still a distance to go before he fit bottom.

     He began to move with some purpose although now the ravages of his situation were clearly impressed on his face and posture.  Even without Maggie’s interference he now projected a repellent persona.  His looks were still there but beclouded by a black darkened mental attitude.  Despair and loathing advanced before his visage.  Aware that he would be rebuffed he was aggressively defiant and defensive in manner.  Aware of who he had been, the memory haunted him.

     Having bummed enough for a dinner he washed in a gas station in Grand Traverse and entered the restaurant at which Angeline Gower still worked after all these years.  When Trueman as Gresham had appeared here in the same, actually worse, condition nearly thirty years before the good hearted Angeline had taken him in and saved his life.  Dewey had recovered his equilibrium then walked out on her.  Embittered she had rejected all other men.

     But there was something about Donn that kindled thoughts of Dewey as she silently watched that scruffy replica of a human being eat.  Funny, he could have told her where Dewey was which she longed to know.  But had she deigned to strike up a conversation with Donn the Bum how could she have ever asked the right question.  How could he in his misery have known how to answer.  How many times do we have our heart’s desire within our grasp without knowing it.

page 173.

     Donn’s steps were now directed somewhat aimlessly, toward Texas.  He was also approaching the nadir of his virtuoso performance in his facet of Donn the Bum.  Donn wished he could have skipped these scenes in the movie of his life.  As bad as his appearance was it failed to match the deterioration of his mind.  Donn’s mind just came and went.  Sometimes he was aware of what he was doing sometimes he wasn’t.  As chance directed him his steps led him over nearly the identical route followed by Dewey Trueman when he was exiled from the Valley; down through Midland into the Saginaw Valley and into Valley City itself.

     On his progressing Thelema into town he had excellent success panhandling.  At the big intersection of Thelema, Main and Melmoth hunger over took him.  As it was now dinner time his mind slipped into the glories of yesterday.  He momentarily forgot his deplorable condition and entered a tavern and eatery called the Royal Palms.  The facade was not overly imposing.  Donn pushed open the door and stepped inside.

    The place was done up in that spartan Michigan style.  Wood floors, plain tables, checkered tablecloths, when there were any, and chairs.  The dining area was through an arch to the left, a long bar ran down the right.  The Royal Palms was scarcely presentable.  Donn even less so.

     The bartender took one look at Donn, leaned out over the bar to indicate the back door to him, and ordered him out.  As though in a dream Donn walked the length of the bar pausing under the EXIT sign for a lingering look at the empty restaurant which was indeed in the twilight of its existence.

page 174.

     He pushed open the door to step out amongst the garbage cans.  He looked at them absent mindedly for a few moments then, without thinking began picking among the remains to see if there was anything good to eat.  He was delighted to find a T-bone with a large piece of meat attached.

     His delight was abruptly destroyed by laughter and catcalls.  Donn looked over to see several young men standing by their cars.  They jeered at him becoming abusive and threatening.  Donn was jerked from his reverie.  Looking up at his detractors Donn blushed red to his very bones.

     In better days Donn could have handled the whole bunch easily but in his present defeated state of mind he cast them a furtive glance and shambled hastily down the street before anything could develop.

     He was unaware of where he was but fortune led him out of town.  By luck he followed Melmoth into Nelsonia right on Wigwam and out into central Michigan.

     Donn’s crumbling pride was very severely crushed by his ejection from the Royal Palms.  The place was one he would never have considered entering in palmier days except as a lark.  His path led out across Western Michigan through Lansing past Benton Harbor and St. Joe down to Gary.

     By now Donn was half crazed, turned inward, fearful, scarce able to go on yet aware of the terrifying length of the final stagger down to Texas.  Once again fortune favored him with a piece of luck.

page 175.

     He put out his hand to John Fadinkle:  ‘Say buddy, give a dime to a guy who’s down and out!’

     With such an approach Donn was no threat to the Roving Gambler’s three day record.  Donn’s vision of panhandling was from movies of the thirties.  Bums no longer asked for dime nowadays.   The most audacious didn’t even ask for spare change.  They demanded dollars, fives and tens at least.  The most bold and arrogant would demand twenty or even more.  Shoot, when the world owes you a living who can settle for dimes.

     Fadinkle was twenty-eight, one of those lean over bearing men.  He was a self-righteous Christian who took his charity seriously.  It allowed him superiority over his fellow men.  While earning a living as a bookkeeper at the mills he gloried in doing men such as Donn spectacular acts of charity.  He didn’t get too  many opportunites so he seized this one.

     ‘You want a dime, hey?’  Fadinkle bellowed to watch Donn grovel.

     ‘I could use it.’  Donn winced under the additional humiliation.  Had he seen the ludicrousness of asking for a dime he would have laughed out loud at himself.

     ‘What are you going to do with a dime, young man?’  Fadinkle said although obviously younger than Donn.

     Donn made some helpless gesture then turned to walk away.  Fadinkle grabbed his arm pulling him back.

page 176.

     ‘Just a second, young man.  It just so happens I’m a Christian.  I may be able to help a fellow man more than he anticipated, no matter how low he’s sunk.  What do you want the dime for?’  He demanded stentorously again, placing a hand on left hip and extending his right leg.

     Donn stood looking at this Ancient Mariner for a moment.  His intuition was sound.  He unburdened himself to Fadinkle.

     ‘Trying to get home to Texas, eh?  Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson, son.  At least this time you have applied for help and comfort to the right disciple of Jesus.’

     Donn winced at the words ‘help and comfort’ fearing the worst.

     ‘I’m going to take you down to the bus station, son, and buy you a ticket to wherever in Texas you want to go.  And I hope you find Jesus and mend your ways.’

     And he did take Donn to the bus station, bought him a ticket to Waco, bought his dinner while they waited for the bus into Chicago and put a twenty dollar bill in his hand for the trip.

     Donn was too weary to be overjoyed.  Fadinkle wasn’t.  He exulted in his acts of Christian charity.  His self-satisfaction was vulgar.  He boasted of the deed vaingloriously for months.  Yet there was no denying that his gratuity was real and this his act momentarily lifted the burden of cares from a fellow man’s shoulders.

     Donn found a seat on the bus.  He was so exhausted he slept through the bus change in Chicago unaware that he had made it.  He slept fitfully all the way through St. Louis.  He became conscious again just ouside of Joplin.

page 177.

V.

Somebody Shoot Out The Jukebox

I don’t want you under my roof

with your eighty-six proof

Watered down till it tastes like tea;

If you’re going to pull my string

Make it the real thing

for me.

-Chip Taylor

     Donn had been sleeping fitfully all the way from Gary.  He didn’t want to wake up.  He didn’t want to open his eyes until the bus pulled into Waco where, he hoped, he would open his eyes on a new world where the horror would disappear.  But just South of Joplin he became aware of an oppressive weight pressing him into the side of the bus.  As consciousness forced itself upon him the hot smell of exhaled Southern Comfort wafted up his nostrils.  Cautiously he flickered his left eye open angling his pupil to look over his left shoulder.  He found himself looking into a big fat beefy face gazing at him intently.

     ‘Oh, you’re awake.’  Screamin’ Big Daddy Gargantua said.

     ‘Get off me.’   Donn demanded.

     ‘You looked like you were dead to the world.’

page 178.

     ‘Get off.’  Donn insisted shoving futily against the huge three hundred eighty pound bulk of Screamin’ Big Daddy.

     ‘Back off.’

     For some reason the term ‘back off’ registered with Big Daddy whereas ‘get off’ hadn’t.  Perhaps because ‘get off’ had the drug connotation of getting high.  Big Daddy eased over but he was so huge that he overflowed into Donn’s seat leaving little room for Donn.  Donn cast his eyes around looking for another seat but to his consternation he found the bus full.

     ‘Hi, I’m Screamin’ Big Daddy Gargantua, leader of the band.’

     ‘What band?’

     ‘I’m the leader of the Bull Lee Band.  Rockin’ mother-fuckin’ roll.  We’re the best.  On our way to Big D to fill a gig.  We’re hot, in demand, wanted, live and how.’

     The music industry is not noted for its delicacy of language.  If fact a lack of coarseness is punished by ostracism.  Big Daddy’s speech will be severely edited but so the reader will understand the reaction of the other passengers here is a brief sample of Big Daddy’s actual discourse.

     ‘I fuckin’ got on this shit-eating bus in fuckin’ Joplin.  The other fuckin’ guys are going by fuckin’ micro fuckin’ bus but their wasn’t fuckin’ room in the fuckin’ thing for me.  Fuck me, huh?’

     Big Daddy had a high piercing voice propelled by a massive diaphragm which as the Bull Lee’s lead singer he knew how to use.  The passengers soon called the driver’s attention to Big Daddy but as he was a huge 6’3″, 380 the driver was reluctant to antagonize him.  With good reason, Big Daddy went from smiles to rage in less than a twinkle.

page 179.

     ‘Donn said:  ‘Your name’s not really Screamin’ Big Daddy Gargantua.  No one’s is.’

     ‘No, it’s not, Donn.  Big Daddy is a stage name like Wolfman Jack.  Clap for the Wolfman, hey , buddy?  What a guy.  Listened to him for years up in Charlevoix and down in Detroit.  Always wanted to be just like him.  That’s why I chose Big Daddy.  The Screamin’ is a tribute to Screamin’ Jay Hawkins.  You can see where Gargantua came from.  Ha ha.  No, my real name’s Robert Cunningham.  But can you see me as Little Bobby Cunningham?  I can’t.’

     Big Daddy took his arm from under his coat propping his other huge arm against the back of the seat in front of him to conceal the pint of Southern Comfort from which he was swigging from the driver.

     ‘Want some?  Don’t let the driver catch you or he’ll throw you off.  They’re really strict on it, besides we’re probably in a dry county.  You never can tell down here.  Screwy people.’

     Big Daddy was not only drinking but he was high on marijuana, racing along on amphetamines and God only knows what else.  Big Daddy was one of those with a fabulous capacity for drugs and alcohol.  He pushed his body unmercifully.  He would be dead in five years.  Heart.

     Big Daddy was representative of the end product of American civilization.  We are all told we are responsible for our lives.  We make the decisions that determine what happens to us.  On one level, of course, this is true.  At the same time none of us are responsible for our psychology.  We all have to respond to serious challenges before we have either the intellectual or moral capacity to make wise decisions.  Most of life is shucking off the bad habits foisted on us both by acquaintance and parents and most importantly the reconcilement of what C.G. Jung called the collective unconscious to reality; or else we succumb to them.

page 180.

     For the mind of Big Daddy and his Vague Generation was filled with specious received opinion that controlled his and their conscious behavior and against which they were unsuccessfully rebelling.  As the weight of society opposing them was too great the rebellion was repressed only to exhibit itself in several forms of bizarre behavior which was inexplicable to their elders.  Hence, as George Clinton of the Black group Funkedelic so aptly noted:  America began to eat its young.  The older generation which had created the situation declared war on their offspring, made them outlaws.

     Big Daddy was a WASP, redundantly styled White Anglo-Saxon Protestant, a racist defamatory tag in a colored America.  Although the Jews do refer to Blacks as Black Anglo-Saxons with some justification.  Thus because  Big Daddy and his fellows were at the butt end, after 1950 they became objects, not perpetrators, of racism in America.  Any derogatory remark could be made against their race but they were forbidden to make derogatory remarks against others.  Remarkably they went from masters to slaves with little protest, even with a sense of humor.

page 181.

     Thus, although it was an unacknowledged truth, the Black/White and immigrant/native roles were reversed.  This was not probably all that strange as the numbers of Negro and immigrant descendants far exceed the native Anglo population. 

     The WASP population was made to feel ashamed of its past even though all progress emanated from their ideals.  They were made to feel supremely evil while all other peoples were portrayed as faultlessly virtuous.  Racism was made to be an exclusively White fault.  Thus the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 was portrayed as shameless bigotry of the White race against the Yellow race.  Bigotry is a term which has no social definition except White against coloreds and Jews.

     The broader aspect of cultural or racial clashes are never considered in America.  Any ideological differences are automatically attributed to race.  American experience is never placed in the broader context of the European and Chinese diasporas of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.  America means myopia.  The aims and goals of the migrating nations are never considered.  The received opinion is that everyone was fleeing religious persecution.  Not so.  This might have a basis in truth before the French Revolution but not after.  During the nineteenth century Europeans were merely trying to better their economic lot or fleeing political retribution.

     In the lesser known Chinese diaspora of the nineteenth century the Chinese were met with hostility wherever they went, and they went all over the world.  The White invasion of the world released the Chinese to begin a counter invasion.  Brown-Yellow racism was much more potent than Yellow-White.  The Chinese were subject to several massacres in the Philippines.  Throughout South-East Asia and the Indonesian Archepelago there were frequent bloody clashes between the indigenous stock and the immigrant Chinese.  All eventually imposed Chinese Exclusion laws, so the the United States was by no means alone.  There can also be no difference between brown-yellow or white-yellow discrimination or the yellow-white discrimination against Whites in China.  It’s all bigotry, if one sees the world in that term.

page 182.

     In many of the South-Eastern nations the Chinese were expelled in the twentieth century and the remaining Chinese had civil disabilities imposed on their culture.  Certainly the Chinese in the United States have little to complain about.  They have managed the Whites well.  It would appear that in comparison to other races the Whites are even benign.

     But the Chinese and Japanese in America retired into their exclusive communities and have had relatively small effect on the formation of the American character.  Anglo social attitudes have been most effectively altered by two European immigrant groups.  those two groups, as well as the Blacks, had the greatest effect in the creation of the Vague Generation.  Both were shrouded in gross misrepresentations of their characters.

     There are no innocent peoples.  All peoples can be found at the wash basin of God trying to wash the blood from their hands.  Received opinion states that these ‘innocent’ groups arrived pure and were corrupted by vile criminal Anglo-Saxons.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  They brought it with them when they came.

page 183.

     Italian immigration was mainly from the Two Sicilies; the island of Sicily and the southern half of the boot.  The area was indued with a criminal appreciation of society before immigration began, where it was in progress of development and continues developing to this day.  The Mafia is presently struggling for control of Italy; its American offshoot might be construed as doing the same in the United States.  ‘Bigots’ predicted the situation in the early twentieth century.

     The Two Sicilies are poor countries, they weren’t always but prosperity does not exist in a criminal society.  During the early nineteenth century the Sicilians were the migrant laborers of Europe.  They despised education.  Workers went North during the summer to return during the winter.  Eventually Italian laborers began to migrate across the seas to Argentina and Brazil or anywhere in South or Central America where there was work.  The intention was always to return home with a cache.  Inevitably large numbers remained overseas permanently.

     In the 1890s New York was added to their itinerary.  The Italians were migrant laborers, millions came but millions returned.  The net result when the Great War disrupted this migratory pattern was that there were several million Italians stranded in the United States.  The great enclave or colony in New York City was and still appears to be foreign colony in American territory.  The European diaspora was not confined to the United States or even North and South America but extended to South Africa, Africa, the Middle East, South East Asia, Australia, China and in fact, the world.  Movement was virtually unrestricted.  the passport system was relaxed.  People could come and go pretty much as they chose.  As a result a shortlived international society grew up.  A sort of circuit was formed.  The resultant lack of societal controls allowed vast criminal networks to develop.

 page 184.

     Thus the famous Italian slave boys of New York City who were organ grinders on the streets for their owners.  Opportunities were rife.  Thus also the notorious White Slave Trade which had already developed in Europe spread throughout the world.

     The White Slave Trade involved the second of the peoples who have altered the Anglo culture of America.  These were the Jews.  At the time the Jews vehemently denied any involvement in the trade but recent studies, by Jews, have  confirmed the fact if it needed confirmation.

     No group has cast more aspersions on America than the Jews.  In the official version of their entry it is told that a holy group of religious ascetics, uncorrupted and pure, arrived from Mother Russia to be forced to congregate, in the densest mass of humanity in the world, as the per capita population of ther colony in New York City was.  Once they were  in the United States the WASPS extorted and abused them.  Under the pressures or American society the Holy People were stripped of their identity as their youths abandoned the ways of their fathers.  Forced to live in indescribable poverty they nevertheless rose above their circumstances to realize the American Dream:  A chicken in every pot, a car in every garage and free sex.

page 185.

     The scenario is not even half true.  Jewish society was already in dissolution in the Pale of Settlement.  A lingering seething resentment against Rabbinical Judaism had set in decades before.  The youth were already in the advanced stages of the rejection of Rabbinical Judaism.

     The Jewish reaction to the failure of the Messiah Sabbatai Zevi had already brought into existence the philosophy of Jacob Frank in the eighteenth century  which was based on the notion that the Messiah would never come so long as there was evil in the hearts of men so that people should indulge their evil impulses to get them out of their systems to make way for the arrival of the Messiah. 

     Thus by the end of the nineteenth century the Jews were in control of the world wide White Slave Trade.  Jewish gangs similar to the ones of New York City were already roving the streets of European cities.   The Jews, as with the Italians, merely picked up their culture and brought it with them to the New World.  Needless to say not all Jews were of the same mind, what culture is.  Respectable Jews went so far as to deny the criminal gang members burials in consecrated ground.  Yet the criminal class was so numerous that they had their own cemetaries which they found Rabbis to bless.

     Respectable Jews came to accept their criminal class on an equal basis.  In 1928 the arch-criminal, Arnold Rothstein, then very notorious although little remembered today, was buried in consecrated ground with great pomp.

page 186.

     Nor were the Jews exploited by goys.  They exploited each other.  The tenements were owned by fellow Jews from the beginning.  The first floor apartments were rented to prostitutes.  When the mother of the Jewish writer Michael Gold complained to her landlord about the prostitutes the landlord merely shrugged and said it was business.  If Gold’s mother was willing to pay more than the prostitutes then the landlord would be happy to rent to her.

     Like the Italians the Jews of New York arrived in such numbers that the Jewish areas nearly formed a Jewish state in America.  They did.  Nor did the intense crowding on the lower East Side have anything to do with America.  The Jews had always been crowded in the Pale. Look at Israel today.  The term ‘he doesn’t have a corner to call his own’ refers to the habit in the Pale of renting each corner of a room to different families, thus one room might house up to, say, twenty people.  Add to that the insecurity of the Jews seeking safety in numbers and you have the dense population of the Lower East Side.

     Working out of these colonies, which were impervious to the American police, the Jews and Italians formed a criminal network that was so pervasive it dominated the p0litical life of  New York.

     Originally the Italians were too insular to do much more than prey on their own people.  They nevertheless came into conflict with other ethnic gangs.  The result was a destructive internecine warfare.  It was obvious therefore that some sort of syndicate was necessary.  The intermediary for this was Arnold Rothstein.  Time has dimmed Rothstein’s renown but his notoriety during the twenties was paramount.  What he was doing is obscure to this day although his criminal activies seemed to consolidate both political and criminal activities toward one goal.

page 187.

     He was the agent who brought the Italian and Jewish gangs to the accommodation known as the Syndicate or organized crime.  He was also organizer and financier of bootlegging after the adoption of prohibition. He was muscled out of the liquor business.  Rothstein cast about for some way to realize the huge financial bonanza of prohibition.  He selected the drug business.  He had just succeeded in organizing the necessary worldwide system of contacts when he became politically superfluous.  He was assassinated in 1928.

     But the criminal influence in political circles was so great that the criminals were able to push many laws through the New York legislature and the US Congress that it made it difficult if not impossible to convict them of their crimes.  Their power was accepted by Anglo society as ‘another form of doing business’ thus criminalizing the Anglo mentality.  The ideal of virtue was pushed aside in favor of the ideal of vice.

      The Jewish politicians aligned themselves meanwhile with the New York politician Al Smith and through him to Franklin Delano Roosevelt.  Smith lost his bid for the presidency through his parocialism but FDR succeeded.  Through FDR the Jews succeeded in being able to directly influence the President of the United States.  Thus the coalition was formed that ended in the introduction into American society of the Jewish philosophy of Pluralism and Political Correctness as opposed to the Melting Pot and Freedom of Conscience.  So you see, it could, after all, happen here.  We were just watching the wrong place.

page 188.

     The point is not that the Jews and Italians were necessarily worse than Anglos, it’s just that they were not any better.

     That was part of the problem of Screamin’ Big Daddy and the Vague Generation.  They were made to feel dirty and inferior.  They were made to assume the collective guilt for Hitler and the Nazis and the Evil in the world of which they were made to believe all others were innocent little children.  The Vague Generation was punished if it did not so believe.  When the Anglo and German Americans pointed to the Mafia they were admonished that the Mafia wasn’t representative of the Italian people.  Thus while they were collectively guilty for Hitler and the accumulated Evil of the world the collective guilt extended to no other people.  Logic was thrust aside.

     Just because, they were told, some Italians were Mafiosi not all Italian were.  True enough as far as it goes.  But the fact is the the Mafia is representative of the Italian psyche.  While all Italians are not Mafiosi, all Mafiosi are Italians.  The Anglos and Germans have no history of comparable organized crime.  If the Italians discountenanced the Mafia the Mafia would cease to exist, so collective guilt can be assigned to the Italians.  Instead the Mafiosi, if not honored in the Italian community, are powerful enought to command ‘respect’ and punish any dissenters with death.

page 189.

     Even though the facts contradicted the assertion on the face of it, WASP children had to accept the fact that they were ‘dirty’ while Italians were clean despite the Mafia.

     So with the citizens of the City On The Hill.  The ‘inventors’ of morality were not only guilty of the most heinous crimes but they sent the ADL crisscrossing the country to denounce the ‘anti-Semites’ who pointed it out.  The ‘anti-Semites’ were punished by the loss of jobs and social status without the benefit of a hearing or trial or even a definition of ‘anti-Semite.’  To be denounced was to be guilty.  Shades of  McCarthy.  Isn’t anybody watching?

     While the anti-Communists of the period took it upon themselves to publish ‘Red Network’ type lists that at least allowed the victims some avenue of protest, the anti-anti-Semites went clandestinely about their evil work.

     Neither would the Jews accept responsibility for their faults while projecting an aura of criminality on Big Daddy and the Vague Generation.

     Concurrently, the drug situation initiated by Rothstein matured rapidly in the post war world.  Drugs were, of course, not new.  They had always been there.  They were used mainly by the upper and lower classes.  If one examines popular music of the thirties and forties- and popular music is a very accurate mirror of society- one will find numerous references to drugs from the society composer Cole Porter to the Black composer Cab Calloway.

page 190.

     But for some reason the authorities increased the severity of the statutes against drugs just as the massive effort to extend their penetration began.  Drug dealers feeling the pressure turned for safety to recruiting juvenile pushers who had been placed outside legal jurisdiction and couldn’t be prosecuted.

     The drug push coincided with the development and spread of chemical pharmaceutical stimulants and depressants.  In addition certain herbs, like peyote buttons  and mushrooms emerged into prominence.  The pharmacopeia of drugs became immense.  As mankind is always seeking salvation from without, the older generation eagerly embraced the pharmaceuticals.  Thus the youth of America saw their elders popping oceans of pills for relief from the strain of living, so what was wrong with drugs they asked?

     The drug culture began to develop.  the push was led by marijuana and then on to the harder stuff.  Pot found its way into all communities of the US.  Screamin’ Big Daddy was born in 1952.  He neared maturity as the drug scene was reaching maturity in 1967-70.  He just slipped right in.  It was easy.

     The Immigrant Coalition had defeated the Anglo Nativists by 1950.  The Anglo acceptance of the notion of the Melting Pot in which the immigrants were to bend seamlessly into Anglo society gave way to the Jewish concept of Multi-Culturalism in which each nationality was to retain its distinctive culture; except the Anglo minority of course.  Anglo customs were portrayed as bad and offensive while immigrant cultures were good and rewarding.  I did live through this you know, so no denials.

 page 191.

     All the racial and cultural clashes were there; they had to be contained.  This was made very difficult by the emergence of the Black culture into the mainstream.  While there can be little doubt that the Blacks had been the victims of injustice as an entire group the elimination of those wrongs could only be achieved in both the Black and White minds by the creation of even greater injustices.  Upper class Whites were willing to sacrifice lower class Whites to Black rage.  Somebody had to pay the bill.  Big Daddy was lower class White.  Your check, sir.

     In the fifties schools began to become living hells as all the destructive forces of society were turned loose in them.  Drugs and race antagonism combined to prevent effective education.  Until 1956 high school achievement tests had been rising steadily.  Beginning in 1957 they began to drop and have continued to do so to this day.  Americans, ever unwilling to face the truth, deny that the Black/White conflict has anything to do with it yet the schools have progressed from battlefields to war zones as Black/White tensions increase.  Whereas a switch blade was the deadly weapon in the fifties, students now tote automatic pistols in the hallways.  They probably need them too.

     Belying what they said, affluent White parents tried several end runs around desegration.  In Michigan, take Flint for example, the Blacks and Poor Whites were thrown together in the big A schools like Flint Central and Flint Northern while smaller C schools deep within White neighborhoods were created.  A few miles further North, Saginaw Blacks were kept on the East side of the river so that Saginaw High was mixed Black and White while Arthur Hill on the West side was all White while still professing great sympathy for the plight of the Blacks.

page 192.

     While Blacks were unable to compete with the Vague Generation on the proverbial ‘level playing field’ they were given preferential treatment to compensate.  White students of the lower classes were deprived of what they had earned by hard work so that Blacks could be handed more.  Uh, uh, now.  I was there.

     The result in the minds of lower class Whites like Big Daddy was that while the Blacks were freed they were being enslaved.  They could see little justice in transferring injustice toward Blacks to themselves.  But they had no recourse, not even the sense to complain.

     The manhood of Screamin’ Big Daddy was blunted.  He had to, he was compelled, to backpeddle his own abilities before not only Blacks and the immigrant psychology but also to upper class Whites.

     Big Daddy tried to recoup his manhood in the obvious way; by screwing other males.  In the sexual act of sodomy Big Daddy sought to transfer what was left of the other’s manhood to himself.  As a sexual predator he especially preferred Black homosexuals.  They were more willing to accord him the role of the Great White Planter.  Suffering from their own emasculation they were more than willing to accord him the role.

     Events had shaped Screamin’ Big Daddy; Big Daddy had had no hand in the shaping of events.  He was Society’s Child.  In a different less harsh more kind society he would have been a different man.  His was essentially a mind that had been wasted.  Yet, also, he would have been a different man had he made different decisions but one should not be overly critical of a man in no man’s land; it’s always easy to make good decisions in the safety of GHQ.

page 193.

     Big Daddy was totally obsessive-compulsive.  With an audience he was compelled to tell his story.  With a captive audience like Donn, well oiled as he was, he couldn’t be stopped.

     ‘My whole life’s been screwed up.  I’m amazed I’m here.  You shoulda been there.  I laugh but I don’t think anything was funny.  I laugh to keep from crying.  I mean, why me?  Before my ma left my dad we lived up in Charlevoix where the band is from.  That’s in the UP of Michigan.  Ever been there?  Michigan’s in two peninsulas you see, the Upper and Lower.  The state motto is:  “If you seek a beautiful peninsula look around you.”  Maybe that’s why we have two.  I always thought the motto was kinda stupid.  Who goes around looking for beautiful peninsulas?  ‘Sides that’s kind of like sayin’ if you seek a blue sky look above you.  Guy had to be a real genius to lame that one up.  We always felt inferior because Minnesota had the motto Land Of 10,000 Lakes on their license plates.  Hell, they said, Michgan’s got 12,000 lakes.  Only thing is we didn’t have the sense to claim it first; we waited till Minnesota did it.  And then we complained about them.  So now I’m in Detroit, little kid five years old.  My ma doesn’t even bother to get a divorce, she’s still married to my dad.  He didn’t have the sense to realize he should have got a divorce.  He’s married to someone else now.  Bigamist.  So, anyway she just leaves, never got one.

page 194.

     Well, after about six months my dad comes down to Detroit and asks my mother to go back to Charlevoix.  So he’s hittin’ the bottle just as heavy- Southern Comfort just like me- and battin’ my ma around just as hard, so six months later we’re back in Detroit.  So now I put a half year in two different kindergartens.  Well, my ma likes ’em rough and crazy.  So she’s having these cruds over to the apartment all the time.  Sometimes they do it in the livin’ room right in front of me.  I don’t mind (Big Daddy lied) because I learn a lot.  So, my dad comes down and takes me back to Charlevoix because he get wind and is disgusted with my ma.”

     All these events were confused in Big Daddy’s mind.  The whole period until the eighth grade was one confused ball of events.  The whole period of about seven years had entered Big Daddy’s mind as one event.  He was unable to say in which year anything happened, nor are his facts necessarily accurate.  His memory was one of discrete events rolled into an amorphous ball.  There was no cause and effect.

     “So they they start arguing and fighting over me, I’m back and forth all the time going to two maybe three schools a year.  That’s why I’m such a good clown, the only way I could get along at all without fightin’ non-stop, not that I didn’t have to fight all the time anyway until I got big which happened fairly early, then they just did things behind my back, drove me crazy.  You wonder why I call myself Screamin’ Big Daddy?  Hunh!  I know tricks, buddy, I know all the tricks.  Hate everyone of them mother-fuckers.  Kill ’em all I had the chance.  Just put all their necks together, wrap a piano wire around ’em and pull tight.  I know I won’t get the chance though.  Life ain’t fair.

page 195.

     So between the two of ’em, my crazy old man and my whore of a mother, I’d rather be with my mother.  But I still spent time with the old drunk or the band wouldn’t be from Charlevoix, hey?

     Couldn’t stand Detroit.  My ma didn’t have much money.  She was more interested in men than work, didn’t have enough sense to charge ’em for it, thought they were all madly in love with her, don’t know how she ever explained to herself why they never came back.  So we’re always in border areas between Whites and Blacks, sometimes we’re even over the border.  Boy was that hell.  When Detroit blew up I threw a couple Molotov cocktails wherever they would land and ran right back to Charlevoix as fast as I can, wait’ll the riots are over.

     Of course, high school, shit.  How did anybody get out alive.  Blacks and Whites, Blacks and Blacks, Whites and Whites.  Goddamn fist fights and knife fights goin’ all the time.  I don’t know how the girls handled it.  If they all didn’t get raped by the bloods at one time or another I’d be surprised.  All the time, all the time, all the time, had to watch your back, both sides and your front in every class.  Hell, things fell out of the sky.  Don’t know how we learned anything.  Must have learned everything I know in Charlevoix.  By high school I could kick shit out of any of those White pukes so they had to give me respect.  Either give it or I’d knock it out of you.

page 196.

     I tell ya about the band?  So, I got nothin’ but the sounds to keep me warm.  I’m all over that radio every night.  Listened to everything, you name it.  Ain’t nothin’ I don’t know.  Rock, pop, R&B, Country, jass.  Man I know groups and singers nobody else in the world ever heard of.  They probably don’t remember themselves.  I know funky black shit funky blacks don’t know.  They’re…”

     Big Daddy almost let his true feelings show by saying “…dumb as dogshit.”  but his social training asserted itself and he blocked that phrase out.  Didn’t want to sound like a bigot.

     “…natural, man.  It all comes to them from places they don’t know about.  They got sources us White guys, all hung up and everything, will never know nothin’ about.  Man, just check out Sun Ra or Pharaoh Sanders, you’ll dig what I mean right away.

     But, you know back in the early sixties they used to package about a dozen flops in plastic wrap, 45s you know, then they’d put a flop by a big name like Buddy Holly on top where you couldn’t see the other stuff.  Used to rip ’em off all the time.  I’d go over to one of the clerks and tell ‘im I saw the nerdiest looking guy there stuffing ’em so the clerk would watch him then I take what I want.  Had thousands of crummy 45s.  And you know most of ’em weren’t that bad as music or songs.  I mean, man, they put out thousands of records and maybe only a couple hundred would ever make the radio even once.

     So, I mean, man, I learned just about everything there was to know about music.  I can play any instrument just have to pick it up fiddle around for a few minutes and I got it.  I play sax with the band on the long instrumental breaks, honk that mother like you ain’t never heard.  We got a ass kickin’ band.  Johnny and Jack is as good a rhythm section as any you find, probably better.  Can’t have a good rock band without a solid rhythm section, I figured that out right away.  Then we got Charlie on lead guitar, he’s OK, Ira on rhythm and here’s where we really kick ass, Augie Myron, Farfisa.  The Farfisa’s a funky little keyboard organ, Augie really puts us over the top, then I really blow ’em away with my vocals and sax.  I open every show with this terrific shtick where I start in my highest falsetto then without a break shift right on down to my baritone.  Kills ’em every time.  We’re a real party band, we clown around a lot but never, never do Johnny and Jack miss a beat, man, never.  That’s why we’re top party band anywhere.

page 197.

     Let’s see did I leave anything out?  Oh yeah.  My so-called college career.  I get into Junior College in Detroit, I can’t even bring myself to mention the name, high schools neither, I almost throw up every them I think of it, gag for sure.  It was weird, really weird, really was.  Like in high school the Blacks and Whites was mixed up all the time but at college it was they disappeared.  Half the school was Black but, I mean, like you never saw ’em, not the young one’s anyway.  First time in my life I had classes that was all White.  Cafeteria was all White, they was there but I don’t where they went.

page 197.

     I mean it was, like, the administration dealt with us separately.  It was weird, at the same time they was tellin’ us we were sinners if we didn’t love Blacks and give way before them, they was fightin’ like hell to keep Black studies off of the curriculum at the same time.  Never could figure it out.

     The music drove the bastards crazy.  That and our long hair, the old fucks never could deal with reality.  They thought we should be simps just because they were, then when they found out we was too cool they hated us.  If it was up to me not a one of those bastards would buried when they die, just leave ’em layin’ on top of the ground for everyone to see how rotten they were, are, is.

     So you know from one side they’re tellin’ us about freedom of speech and from the other side they’re tellin’ if we don’t say what they want they’ll make us hurt.  Who cares, when you get old you lose, I wanta live fast, die young and leave a beautiful corpse.  (Daddy would get two out of three and two out of three ain’t bad.)  So they used to stage these mock debates, everything’s mock in America, there ain’t nothin’ real, over whether Blacks are naturally inferior or not, then they wouldn’t invite the Blacks so as not to hurt their feelins.  White only affair.  Why they did I don’t know because nobody was goin’ around sayin’ Blacks was inferior.  Wouldn’t dare, they’d expel anyone who did.  So they tap me to take the side about Blacks are naturally inferior.

     Oh yeah, but I forgot.  First I’m in this political science class where they tell you what to think, you know, party line, why call it education for chrissakes, and I’m next to this old buck, Black guy about forty, so we get this test back, I got a C and this black guy gets a B, but I look over at his paper and see I’ve got a higher score.  Well, you know, I can’t take that without a squawk so I point out that if this guy should have a B I should have a A, don’t want to take nothin’ away from the old blood, so this guy, this so-called prof, looks me right in the eye and says that because of the bell curve he’s only got so many As and Bs to hand out, that because this Black guy’s had it tougher than a White guy like me who’s had all this ‘White skin privilege’ he gets a B and I gotta take a C.  Bull Shit!  I’ve had it plenty tough.  If you wanta compare tough with tough I’ve probably had it tougher.  I mean, I don’t know whether I’m comin’ or goin’.  So this so-called prof says shut up or I’m out of the class.  Boy, I am plenty burned, but so what?  What can I do about it?  Nothin’.

page 199.

     So, then they tap me for this debate, probably because this asshole tells ’em I’m a bigot or something, and I’m told to lay down, take a fall , you know.  Fuck that shit!  If I’m in it I’m in it to win.  So I give ’em holy hell, used statistics and everything, so  they order me off the dais right in mid debate and call me in for a chat.  I defend myself because, man, I mean, I’ve had enough.  They tapped me I didn’t go to them.  But then I notice the administration is pretty cool to me and I can’t get good grades no longer.  Guys are always challenging me in class, provoking me.

     So I wrote this prayer for racial harmony.  The only problem was I started out ‘Oh Lord…’   Not only did they bar my poem on religious grounds but when the hailed me before the board as a trouble maker, get this, some Black guy who was a Muslim objected on the grounds that I was talking about a Christian god, he assumes because I’m White I’m a Christian, which discriminated against Allah, and this Jewish guy nods his head in agreement because my prayer might be taken as anti-Semitic on the same grounds.

page 200.

 End of clip Part II-4.  Go to clip Part II-5 which is the last clip.

Disco Donn Demands Deliverance

by

R.E. Prindle

Part II-3

     Turkish spies amongst the Jews learned of their Messianic hopes, one hesitates to call them intentions as there was little hope of success.  Sabbatai was called to Adrianople where the Sultan resided and there he apostasized to Mohammedanism.   He put on the white turban of the Moslems.  Thus redemption of Israel was once again placed in the indefinite future.  God wasn’t willing to forgive the transgressions of his people just yet.

     The future began to take shape in the wake of the great reorganization of society known as the French or Great Revolution.  In that great attempt to strike down all racial, national and class barriers the social disabilities  of the Jews, at least, were struck down.  The Jews were incorporated into the various states as full citizens.  This is known by the Jews as the emancipation of the Jews.  The difference being a matter of loyalties.  The states expected that the Jews would give their undivided loyalty to the appropriate State, much as the Catholics and Protestants did.  But the highest loyalty of the Jews remained Israel.

     The failure of Zevi had taught the Jews a lesson.  They saw the futility of relying on one man as a redeemer.  Henceforth the redemption would depend on the whole people.  The notion of Redeemer was transferred to the that of the Revolution.  Thus the Jews began working toward redemption through a revolution.  The Euroamericans gave this new millennial urge the name of the International Jewish Conspiracy.

     As the idea took shape in the mind of Israel, the Messiah of the Revolution would come in the years 1913-28.   Their plan was revealed time and time again.  There were intelligent sociologists in every State that recognized the plan.  They were apparently unable to explain the process satisfactorily in the face of Jewish obfuscation.  The Jews were able to denounce them as diseased, unbalanced, wacko anti-Semites.

page 101

     Thus the Jews made great progress during the nineteenth century ending in the seizure of the Russian State and the nearly successful takeover or all central and eastern Europe.  Every action creates a reaction which explains the intense reaction throughout the world toward the Jews during the years 1920-46.

     Lacking a territorial base or an army the Jews had to work by devious means.  The method was early exposed but on the surface is so risible as to appear ridiculous.  European sociologists said they were trying to get all the money through Capitalism while seizing control of the labor force by socialism or unionization.  No adequate explanation was offered so the sociologists became the butt of jokes.

     Several decades later the process is clear.  In fact Howard Sachar, a Jewish historian, explains it.  Here are two examples.  These are pertinent to the story because Norm and Art Barsky attempted the ruse against Dewey Trueman.

     IN 1859 the Italians wished to drive the Austrians from Italy.  At the time the Rothschilds and other Jewish financiers were at the apex of their success.  If they didn’t control the money markets they didn’t miss much.  Modern financial methods for raising money by the States did not yet exist so they were dependent on loans from the Jewish financiers.  Austria was especially dependent on the Rothschilds for loans.

     Thus while dissension was fomented in Italy, the Rothschilds refused to loan money to Austria.  With no money above the line the Austrians were unable to deal with dissension below the line.  Thus Jews controlled the politics of the situation through finances.  The Austrians were forced to retire from Italy.  The Jews were able to direct the course of European history to their own advantage unobtrusively from behind the scenes.

    The second instance involves the First Russian Revolution.  A war between the Jews and the Russian State had been going on for decades.  Industrialism had created a proletariat in Russia.  Russia was engaged in a contest for Manchuria with the Japanese.  The Japanese were unable to pursue their goals for lack of money.  A man called Jacob Schiff in the United States raised hundreds of millions of dollars of American money for the Japanese.  His efforts were abetted by the Jewish consortium of Europe.

     At the same time Schiff and others prevented loans being made to Russia.

     With the economic situation under control the Jews fomented strikes and rebellion on the labor front.  The result was that the enemy of the Jews, Russia, lost the war with Japan and had to change the structure of the government to placate the Jewish rebels.

     This procedure is known as getting the victim between the upper and nether jaws of the vice.  Once pinioned the victim can be filed into any shape at leisure. 

     The Jews of course denied everything and still do.  But just as the sociologists saw what was happening so did certain politicians.  Jewish history had been well studied by both the Germans and the Russians.  They were quite aware that a slaughter of the peoples would follow a Jewish victory as indeed did happen in Russia in the years following 1917.  Once again denied although as obvious as the Nazi death camps to anyone who wants to study the period.

page 103.

     Nineteen-seventeen to nineteen-twenty-four or so was the high tide of the redemption period.  Success seemed imminent.  The reaction however created two very strong personalities  in Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin.

     There were many signs that were to proclaim the Redemption.  Among them was the notion of Gog and Magog, great cataclysmic armageddons.  This prophecy was fulfilled by the two great wars bracketing the twenties and thirties.  Hitler’s contention was always that the Jews caused the wars.  He was probably correct.

     At any rate the Jews believed that they had isolated and surrounded the last great anti-Semite.  Stalin’s activities in Russia had not sunk in yet.

     In the United States the redemption was in full swing.  In 1899 the the founder of Reform Judaism in the United States, Isaac Meyer Wise, had predicted that the redemption would occur within twenty-five years.  The massive immigrationof Jews from the Pale gave the Jews an ample power base in the United States.  From 1913 to 1945 in a line of politicians from Woodrow Wilson through Al Smith to Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the Jews created the coalition they hoped to direct.  They did attain a position of great influence.

     Thus while Hitler and Stalin were tightening the screws on the Jews in Europe, in the United States the Jews were isolating all American nationalists and devout Christians under the names of Facscists and ‘anti-Semites.’  The only serious opposition to their program came from Henry Ford in the twenties.  He, in his American naivete, thought he could persuade the Jews to end their historical confrontation with Euroamerican society.  He was mistaken.  He was isolated and ostracized by his fellow Americans.

page 104

     There was not much active opposition to the Jews in the United States; after all Americans had always considered themselves neo-Hebrews.

     Nevertheless all dissident religious or nationalist voices were identified and isolated in an aggressive program of vilification.  In 1943 as Hitler and Stalin were destroying the Jews, those in America were calling for concentration camps to isolate the ‘anti-Semites.’  This is true.  In a country that had always prided itself on the separation of church and State the Jews were calling for laws outlawing dissenters from their religious views, or as they called them, anti-Semites.

     No one could have foreseen the extermination of Eastern and Central European Jewry.  Thus the Revolution as Redeemer failed as disastrously as Bar Kochba in Roman times and Sabbatai Zevi at the end of Medieval times.

     In the twenties and thirties the Jews believed that they were to come into their own in ‘America, my home sweet home.’  In the land of plenty, the plenty was to be at their disposal.  Everyone else would be their servant or slave.  A life of indolence and ease analogous to that enjoyed by the post-war Kuwaitis would be theirs.

page 105.

     Louis Barsky, Art’s father, exulted in the hope.  He implanted the expectation in Art who had been born in 1923.  Art grew up filled with the hope.  He was aquiver with hope as the war against the Axis began.  He really believed he would begin that life on V.E. day.  The stage was certainly prepared in the United States.

     In 1948 the ancient Jewish hope would be realized when the head and tail of Ouroboros were put in place as Israel became a Jewish State.

     One can only imagine the horror of the realization that the main body of the Ouroboros was crushed in Germany and the East.  Redemption had failed yet again.  The Revolution as Messiah was a bust.

     Art Barsky looked out on the world through tears of bitterness.  There was no life of ease for him.  He would have to work for a living unable to enjoy the plenty that he thought was rightfully his.  He had to work.  Oh, he did well enough.  He made a lot of money selling women’s nylon stockings.  But every year his bitterness and rage mounted.  He had his son Norman, the young lord.  Norm had graduated from college, married and fathered his own son in one fell swoop.

     Art had communicated his and Louis’ attitude to Norm.  But there seemed no way for Norm to realize his heritage.  Thus when Harry Grabstein called Art with his proposition concerning Dewey Trueman it was a godsend.

     Norm was briefed and sent West with his shiksa and child to claim his inheritance.  As Trueman didn’t realize that his business rightfully belonged to Norm some deception was required.

page 106.

     Getting hired was no problem.  Retail sales is an entry level position for high school dropouts and malcontents who can’t hold a job elsewhere.  Record stores in general draw the dreamy types, separated and withdrawn from objective reality.  As the term then was- spaced out.

     The recorded word has a tremendous appeal to them.  It is as though the voice of god speaks from the groove.  A standard story was of the guy who dropped a couple hits of acid, turned Black Sabbath’s album ‘Paranoid’ up to ten and saw god.

     The bands and singers were certainly thought of as oracles or prophets, super prescient people who understood the whole of the entire.  Thus singers told them truth directly.  Spoke to them through their stereos.   Ras le bol was one of the primary messages- screw it all.  Consequently these people didn’t stay on the job too long while they did as little work as possible while there.  Getting to work on time?  Who would buy that load of bullshit?

     Thus Norm, wearing the same outfit as in the mountains except that he had the de rigeur leather jacket of the times instead of the flowering vest and shirt, presented himself for employment.  He literally burst noisily into the store.  He asked for a job letting it be known that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.  If Trueman hadn’t had an opening at the time he soon would have.  Norm Barsky presented a bizarre persona but it was a time of bizarre personas.  Trueman was curious as to his story.

page 107.

     Norm had more ambition than the listless drifting types Trueman normally saw.  He wasn’t creative but told what to do and how to do it he was capable of not only doing it one time but being able to repeat the action without repeated istruction.

     He quickly acquired greater responsibility, soon becoming Dewey Trueman’s manager.  This was all done within two months.  Things move fast in the the record business.  Tomorrow will soon be yesterday.  Sell them hits while they’re hot.

     Norm had began to organize the employees around himself and against Dewey as soon as he had been hired.  In fact he had the floor functioning smoothly for nearly the first time in the store’s history.  Trueman himself handled the buying and all the other chores but was unable to supervise the floor full time.  He was pleased with Norm’s performance.

     At the same time he noticed the alienation of the personnel from himself as Norm sought their loyalty.  When he became manager he could speak with the authority of ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it with Dewey.’  Thus as the store was actually his in his own mind he began to give liberties to the crew.  He allowed them to take records home gratis.  He gave Rolfe Kusinen money from the till to buy, or rather, upgrade, as it was known, his new stereo system.  Then, as Rolfe’s old records were scratched he allowed him to bring them back and exhange them for new records.  Norm backed his car up to the back door and loaded a few boxes in to pick up some pocket ‘change.’  Nor did he think he was stealing.  In his mind he already owned the store, Trueman was working for him.  Stealth was necessary because Trueman was not yet aware of the new arrangement.

pate 108.

     Norm quietly nudged aside Trueman’s influence with the sales reps.  He represented his assumption of power as an accomplished fact but urged them to keep it quiet as Trueman was sensitive to the fact.

     By early November he believed he was in the position for a takeover or, as he expressed it, ‘a palace revolution.’

     He told Dewey that his father was coming to town and that as, next to his father, he admired Dewey most of all he would like Dewey to meet his father.

     Thus as the nether jaw of the vice was prepared the upper jaw would hopefully soon be screwed down.  Dewey, by this time, was aware that Norm’s facade concealed some misdoings.  Intimations of difficultes were coming from both the floor and from the sales reps.  While nothing was said, different attitudes were projected.  He was beginning to have real difficulties adapting himself to the role of ‘Norm’s ’employee’ which role Norm unconsciously assumed.

     Out of consideration to Norm he agreed to meet his father.  They met over lunch at the Willametter River Inn.  Norm and Art arranged a late lunch so as to be undisturbed by other diners.  They sat in the far corner looking out over the river.  Dewey had his back to the restaurant.  Harry Grabstein drifted in to watch from an obscure position.

     Art Barsky now fifty was an embittered man.  Being a salesman is one of the toughest jobs in America.  One’s manhood and dignity are constantly being insulted.  There is no attitude except complete servility that will protect you from the slings and arrows.  If you’re completely servile you’re a failure as a salesman.

page 109.

     Art Barsky had taken refuge in a carney’s attitude.  He viewed his customers as stupid suckers while he was a wise manipulator.  The attitude meshed neatly with his disappointment in the failure of the Redemption.  His attitude was beginning to interfere with his salesmanship.  His best years were behind him.

     The face he presented to Trueman was quite similar to Lee J. Cobb in ‘Death Of A Salesman.’  Trueman had an intuitive dislike of the man.  He also now understood Norm Barsky better.

     Art began by talking down to Dewey.  Trueman responded coolly and laughingly showing his contempt for Art.  Barsky was not subtle enough to pick up on it.  Besides the script was already written.  All Trueman had to do was act his part.  Thus Art very nearly waived aside any civilities getting straight to the point. 

     ‘I’ve got to have my boy here established.’  He said bluntly.

     ‘Well, if has to quit…’  Dewey began.

     ‘No, not quit.’  Art sort of bellowed.  ‘But I can’t have him just working for you.’

     ‘Well, if has to quit…’  Dewey began again.

     ‘No.  Not quit.’  Barsky interrupted again.  ‘The way I see it is he’s indispensable; you can’t get along without him.  He needs something of a permanent nature.’

page 110.

     ‘Well, if he has to quit…’  Trueman began a third time.

     ‘No! Not quit, damn you.’  Barsky blundered on oblivious to objective reality.  ‘If he’s going to make your business for you he should have an interest.  Say, one half…’

     Dewey stared in disbelief.  Norm, who had been watching him intently took the look for one of fear and acquiescence.  Dewey wasn’t an actor in their movie but they didn’t realize it.  Norm kicked his father under the table to indicate they were on the right track.

     Trueman took Barsky for a fool.  His expression turned to a sardonic smile as he tittered a little laugh.

    ‘Oh yeah?  What kind of deal do you have in mind?’  He asked curiously.

     ‘Well we figure the business is worth ten thou but we also figure we’ll really make it boom with our expertise.  We’re Jews you know.  We don’t want you to be unhappy so we’ll give you a bonus making the business worth twenty-five thou but you’re going to have to take a salary cut.  Maybe half.’

     Dewey couldn’t believe his ears.  He valued the business highly perhaps exaggerating its worth but he wouldn’t have taken less than two hundred thousand and would have balked at that.  He had his own expansion plans based on his own expertise which up to this point had been considerable.

     His eyebrow shot up.  ‘Twenty-five thousand?  Cash or check?’  He said derisively.

     Norm’s face lit up.  He thought he was in.  He reached over and patted Dewey’s arm.

     ‘We’ll give you a note.’  the Old Con Man barked authoritatively.

page 111

     Dewey involuntarily blew air through his compressed lips giving the mistaken impression he was giving a bronx cheer.  A little spittle got on Art’s face.

     ‘Well, buddy,’ Dewey began derisively, ‘why don’t I just give you an interest?  You’re going to give me a note.  All that means is that you’ll pay me out of my own profits.  Since I’ve already got a hundred per cent of them do you really think I’ll settle for half and lose my salary by half at the same time?’

     Art stared at him viciously.  The audacity of this goi to balk a Prince of this Earthly Realm.  How long will we have to suffer these indignities he thought bitterly projecting every nuance of his thought into his facial expression.

     ‘I gotta go now.  See you back at the store, Norm.’

     The upper jaw of the vice was not to descend.  As in the macrocosm so in the microcosm the Redemption was balked.

     Norm looked questioningly at his father.  His father was stunned.  It wasn’t so much that they thought so little of their quarry, Trueman, it was just that like all con men they thought that they were so damned clever.

     ‘That guy’s a real prick.’  Art exclaimed defensively.

     ‘I told you so.’  Norm nodded.

     Prick or not they had lost the initiative.  All they could do was attempt to intimidate Trueman on the labor front; he couldn’t use their ‘captital.’

     Once in, of course, they would have used law suits and legal means to harass Trueman.  As Grabstein could control the judges, the town fathers wanted Trueman gone anyway, all decisions would have gone against Trueman.  Within a year he would have been locked out while the business accrued to Norm and Art for essentially nothing.

page 112

     The two were victims of their own fantasies.  They really believed that Norm was indispensable.  They really believed that the success of Trueman’s business was due to Norm.  The fact that the business had been a success before Norm got there was disregarded.  Such inscrutable obtuseness is scarcely to be believed, yet it is a normal state of affairs.

    Art and Norm devised a plan where the entire staff would quit on New Year’s Day.  Faced with the loss of the indispensable Norm and his crack crew Trueman would have to capitulate.  The palace revolution would be a success.  Trueman would have to deal with them on their own terms.  In order to get the Indispensable One back he would have to actually give them ownership.

     Norm’s ease in manipulating the crew reassured them of his abilities.  The Christmas season was begun.  This is the worst time for labor troubles in retail.  Dewey wanted to fire Norm or, at least get rid of him, but it was the wrong time.  He thought that the season might produce a gross of fifty thousand dollars.  He decided to tolerate Norm.  Norm and the crew, who thought the profit margin was much higher than it was, in the record business of the time the margin was only twenty to twenty-five percent, Dewey was at thirty, thought that Dewey would make ninety thousand or God only knows how much.

     Norm encouraged them to think that they were the reason for the store’s success.  He pressed Trueman hard for large bonuses.

page 113.

     Trueman, cursed with the orphan’s need to be loved, wanted to do what was right.  Like most nouveaux riches he felt guilty about his success.  The times were propitious to augment that feeling.

     It would appear from the narrative that Trueman was rolling in money but this wasn’t true.  He was being driven by a load of debt.  He had started with no money at all.  He had received no bank loans.  The growth had been very rapid.  The rate of expansion had him financially against the wall.  He was perpetually behind in his bills.  He really couldn’t spare the money but he allowed himself to be coerced into giving large bonuses.

     Norm took full credit with the crew which, indeed, was his right in this instance.  Now convinced that there were millions to be had he guaranteed the crew that he would double their wages if they followed him.  They readily consented.

     At closing on December 31 Norm delivered his ultimatum; either all wages were to be doubled, his tripled, or they would quite en masse none showing up for work on January second.

     The season was behind him.  January and February were slow months.  Trueman just said goodbye and had the locks changed.  he had a new crew by week’s end.

    Norm was incredulous.  Unbelieving.  Actually stunned as though running full tilt into a goal post.  But he thought that as he was indispensable Trueman would capitulate and call him back.  The fantasies that corrupt one’s mind.

     Norm’s failure destroyed his relationship with his shiksa wife.  She had been won mainly by by Norm’s tall talk of his abilities and future success.  She had been led to believe that she would be moving into Dewey’s mansion on the hill.  Now she lost faith in Norm completely.  When, two months later, it became apparent that Norm was not going to be called back; she packed her bags and took their son and moved back to LA where she had come from.

page114.

     Forced to accept reality, Norm’s sense of grandeur prevented him from accepting just a job.  Electric vehicles were a big topic then so Norm obtained a loan and opened a lot selling electric motor scooters.  Well, an idea whose time had come or not, no one bought them.

     The bank called Norm to discuss his lack of payments on the loan.  Norm always heeded fantastic solutions to any problem.  He had read an article about some guy who had been called in to make good a loan.  This guy, so the story went, stared coolly back into the banker’s eye and said:  Either you give me time to make the loan good which I will do, or you can have the business and you can’t run it.’  In the story the bank capitulated, the guy made good and everyone laughed about it later.  Real chutzpah.  I mean, wouldn’t you?

     Incredibly Norm tried this act.  The banker laughed, foreclosed and threw Norm out into the street.  Norm thought he had obtained the loan himself but naturally unbeknownst to him his father had co-signed for it through the good offices of Harry Grabstein.  The banker thought he was secure but he was never able to collect from either Art Barsky or Harry Grabstein.  So much for high finance in Norm’s life.  And for Art the Revolution as Redeemer sank into the sands like the Rhine before the ocean.  For him the third great messianic attempt became a sour, bitter, excoriating experience.  Goddamn everybody and everything, he thought.

page 115.

     Norm was still the unabashed hero of his own movie.  He had not only read ‘On The Road’ but most of Kerouac’s novels.  In a college town like Eugene they were especially popular.  If he couldn’t succeed in the business world, Norm could succeed as a bum.  There is no success like failure and failure is no success at all.  Norm could be part of the ‘rucksack revolution.’  He embraced the notion behind Kerouac’s novel:  The Dharma Bums.  Don’t you just love Kerouac.  Norm became Dharma Bum.

     Somehow Donn sensed the real story behind Bum’s story of woe in capitalist society.  There was that about Bum that bespoke delusional fantasy.

     Having finished his beans, Bum rolled himself what he called a splif from what he said was Thai-stick tea.  A splif is a Jamaican marijuana joint as big as a cigar; Bum’s spliff was slight larger than a pencil lead.  As with the beans he didn’t offer Donn any.  As he talked and smoked he unbuttoned his fly.  As he had no underwear on his dong flopped right out.

     Finishing one ‘spliff’ he rolled himself another.

     ‘This Thai shit is really potent.’  He said.

     ‘Let’s see.’  Donn said reaching out his hand.

     ‘Uh uh.’  Bum said pulling the joint back.  ‘I’ve got a different number for you to suck on.’  He said, indicating his penis in his best John Wayneish movie tough guy talk.

page 116.

     Donn just sat there looking at him in wonder.  Who does this guy think he is?  He thought.

     Dharma Bum, in fact, thought he was faster than a speeding bullet, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, hold back freight trains by main force.  But since he couldn’t find a job as a brain surgeon or bank president because of the stupidity of capitalism he had chosen the life of the wandering mystic.  The Holy Bum who though he appeared to be beneath society was actually superior to it.

     ‘Assume the position.’ He commanded with quiet authority, taking a long toke on his ‘splif.’

     Donn looked steadily back and shook his head no.

     ‘Assume the position, damn it! Bum bellowed.

     Donn didn’t move.

     ‘Don’t try to balk me son-of-a-bitch.  Assume the position.’  Bum half commanded, half whined.  At the same time he grabbed a stick and began to belabor the sitting Contrales.

     Donn leaped to his feet beneath the stinging blows to land a stiff right on Bum’s outhrust chin.  Dharma Bum fell to the ground unconscious.  He flew over backwards striking his head on an outcrop.  He was dead as he settled to the ground.

     Donn in his agitation bent over with his hands on his knees to collect his senses.  As he did he noticed that Bum didn’t seem to be breathing.  Yes, Donn ascertained, Bum was dead.  Donn had killed two men in one week.  Serial killer.  Once again it was self defense, but who would believe him.  All of the circumstantial ‘evidence’ would be against him.  There would be no one to believe his story.  He felt a rising sense of panic, of fear and loathing, as he looked down on the dead body of Dharma Bum.

page 117

     The outcropping was a ledge between which and the ground, between the upper and nether jaws of the vice as it were, there was a gap almost big enough to admit a man’s body.  In frustration and anger Donn grabbed Bum’s body, backing up a couple steps he ran forward thrusting the head and torso into the opening.   The body jammed at the chest.  Try as he might he could force Bum’s body in no further.  Totally frustrated he delivered three sharp kicks to Bum’s dead ass.

     ‘Back under the rock you crawled out from you goddamned bum.’

     Then, as the first light of dawn illuminated the mountain tops Donn dusted himself off as best he could to catch another ride to take him a little further down the road.

     In what must have been a reenactment of Cain and Abel, this time when Abel’s blood called out there was no answering voice from heaven.  Bum just lay there and rotted until his skeleton was shrouded in flowery rags.

     Donn became depressed at the thought of the two killings which he now thought of as murders.  He presented a wild disheveled appearance beside the road.  Still he got rides but they were short and the duration between them was long.  Three days later found him in a gas station on the east side of Graig, Colorado lonely, forlorn and despondent.  It wasn’t so much that his head ached or that his body throbbed in pain.  Donn was hurting mentally even more. 

page 118.

     Donn walked across the lot of the gas station to use the toilet.  He entered, washed and shaved.  As he was drying off the door opened and a smashing older gent entered.  He was tall, lean, athletic looking.  He had hair half grey amidst the dark blonde strands.  He had one of those long headed chisel faces that represented manly beauty to Donn.

     Rather than despising him he gave him a warm smile.  Then some small gesture conveyed the message the gent was in the mood.   Donn didn’t prefer the catamite role but in his lonely desolation any affirmation of worthiness was enough.  He entered the stall followed by the gent.

     Wordlessly they went about their business.  For some reason, perhaps an unconscious need to be discovered the gent hadn’t latched the door.  Suddenly the latrine door burst open as three men, two with cameras and tape recorders rushed in.  Donn’s heart stopped.

     The latrine doors were forced open as cameras whirred and clicked. 

     ‘Well, Senator, what do we have here?’  The first man sneered.

     Donn who believed he was the target was puzzled by being called Senator, then the truth dawned on him.

     ‘Senator Richard Walker, is this the kind of secret life you lead?’

page 119.

     Donn saw that they were paying him scant attention so scooting across the floor while trying to get his pants up he fled the scene.

     He picked up a copy of the Coloradan next afternoon to discover a picture of State Senator Walker pulling up his pants in the toilet of the gas station.  Donn was clearly recognizable.  Apparently Dick Walker, unable to bear the pressures and humiliations of public life had been relieving his stress in this manner over the past several months.  His enemies had finally caught up to him.  Not unrelieved, he quietly disappeared from public life.

     Donn finally found himself in Denver after the most adventurous trip.  He’d had too much adventure.  He wanted to be in St. Louis safe as a TV anchorman.  Considering that he believed himself a wanted man it hadn’t occurred to him that a major city TV screen was not the best of hiding places.

     As bad as Donn was he was no worse than his fellows so that there is no reason not to extend him a little sympathy.   Within the context of his society he was suffering grievously for a minor peccadillo.  His state of mind was severely darkened by the sequence of events since leaving Portland.  He was struggling to keep his mental equilibrium.  At odd moments he had to struggle to keep back the tears.  His physiognomy increasingly showed the strain he was under.  Stress lines appeared where none had been before.

     By the time he reached Denver despair of the present and the hope of the TV job in St. Louis, which had now become a fixation in his mind, drove him from the road.  He couldn’t take it anymore.  The bus or the train would have been cheaper but Donn wanted to get above it all while recapturing for a blissful moment his past glory.  He decided to fly.

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     He spent the night in a motel to rest and cleanup before he went into the airport to buy a ticket.  He expected to just walk on.  He was somewhat stunned when he was told the price was four hundred dollars.  As he stood open mouthed blinking in astonishment the clerk said:  But if you wait two days I can sell you a ticket for sixty-eight dollars or a non-refundable ticket for forty-two..

    Donn’s motel room was only eighteen dollars.  He could stay two days, eat frugally and save a lot.  He decided to do that.  He foolishly gave the clerk his real name.

     He left the airport in a confused state of mind.  ‘For a twenty dollar discount they lay claim to the whole fare.   What kind of Ever Ever Land dealing is that?  How does anybody get away with claiming they get paid for nothing if you don’t show because they gave a discount on nothing?

     Something had happened in American thinking; Donn was right about that, but he didn’t know the half of it.  He was too troubled in mind to wonder why a walkon ticket should cost four hundred dollars whan an advance reservation dropped down to sixty dollars.  How had the airline’s costs been reduced by a two day delay on boarding?  Obviously the authorities wished to limit free and unrestricted travel.  Most people pay by credit card giving advance notice of who will be on what plane.  Although Donn had paid cash he he had given his right name.

     Due to the wonders of computerization his name was flagged in a nationwide memory bank.  Even though he had done nothing wrong- the charges against his name had been shelved- there were those who wished to know his doings.  Thus Maggie, who was watching the flags carefully, picked up Donn’s movement the same afternoon.  Donn’s flight originated in Portland.  Maggie put a man on board in the seat next to Donn’s.  A little spoonful of his excrement was given to the flight attendant to put in Donn’s food along with instructions to be out of whatever his first selection was,  whatever he requested they were to give him something else.  These games get incredibly petty.  Twenty-two years of schooling and you’re still a psychotic moron.

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     Donn did little the two days but lay around his motel room, rolling about trying to fight his way out of the despondency which was saturating his mind like black ink diffusing through clear water.  Everything showed on his face but even looking in the mirror Donn was unable to discern it.

     He was too preoccupied to notice the glow of anticipation in Maggie’s man, Wally Reid’s eyes.  Reid was there to fid out Donn’s plans and torment him.

     Donn didn’t want to talk but Reid amiably persisted.  Beyond the fact that he was bound for St. Louis Reid got nowhere.  As Donn despised airline food he declined his tray foiling Maggie’s plan of special nutrition.  Maggie correctly thought that Donn thought he was a fugitive from justice so he had Reid tell stories of fugitives being betrayed by some inconsequential quirk and caught.  He even explained the flagging system to Donn.

     By the time the plane landed Donn was aquiver with anxiety.  He expected to be arrested when he disembarked.  When he wasn’t he half dismissed Reid’s chatter, while making plans for job hunting.

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     Psychology is difficult to account for.  Donn had the most sanguine hopes of landing the job as news anchorman.  He still hadn’t figured out that anonymity and a TV personality don’t go together.  In order to be successful in his job hunt he believed, quite rightly of course, that he would have to make a good appearance.  Maintaining the appearance for any length of time would deplete his resources, but counting on landing a job quickly Donn went ahead with style.

     He checked into a good hotel, better than he needed, and bought himself a very nice suit, also better than he needed, shirts, shoes and ties.  He made appointments for interviews.  These were all delayed a couple days to give the stations time to check up on him.  The flag came up.

     The manager of the first station, who was only a member of the Old Boy network, figured he had enough troubles of his own without adding Donn’s so he declined politely sending Donn on his way.  The manager of the second station was a member of both the Jewish and Homosexual networks but not the Old Boy.  Maggie got in touch with him.  He arranged to be in the studio when Donn was there.

     This interview went very smoothly.   Wesley Cohn expressed great interest in Donn.  He asked him to come back in two days for a screen test.  Informed that there would be an opening and he was a very good possibility Donn was delighted.  He bounced out of the studio muttering Eureka! under his breath.

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     Maggie who knew how much Donn had withdrawn from the bank intended to string him along till it was gone.  If Maggie hadn’t had contacts at UNB he had his own hacker who could penetrate any system.  Imagine passing laws against such things.  One might as well pass laws against the sun setting in the West.

     Donn showed up for the test.  He was actually very good.  He had the looks, he projected a confident, affable, knowledgeable image.  The studio workers were very impressed.  Donn, watching anxiously, was sure they were sincere.  He was told to call back in a couple days.  Then he was invited to dinner with the manager, the news director and his assistant.  They went to the best restaurant in St. Louis.  After a friendly, jovial dinner full of many yaks it came time for the bill.

     Cohn slapped his pockets a couple times saying:  ‘Donn, you know what?  I left my wallet at home.  Say, Donn, you couldn’t…’

     Everyone watched with suppressed mirth as Donn gulped and his face fell. But they were surprised.  Donn waxed indignant:  ‘You don’t have have an account here?  Why at the Daily Assassin, he said giving himself away somewhat, ‘we had accounts at all the best restaurants.  We just had to sign for it.  That’s the way it’s done in professional circles.  That’s how any company that knows does it.  Mingo wouldn’t have any problem.’

     Mirth fled their faces as they shook their heads and uttered low ‘ummms.’

     ‘Right.  Of course I can sign.  I forgot about that.’  Cohn replied.

page124.

     Out on the street he said:  ‘That was a test too, Donn, you’re doing fine.  Call you in a couple days.’

     Donn’s funds were running low.  He could no longer afford to wait.  He called the next day to be informed that although he was perfect they were bringing in a Black woman from Detroit.  They thought she would give the station the proper social balance.

    Well…now Donn was both down and out.

IV.

Off  The Track

 

How is it that I have come up to here

And I’m still fallin’

-The Byrds

I deplore brutality he said.  It’s not efficient.  On the other hand prolonged mistreatment, short of physical violence, gives rise, when skillfully applied, to anxiety and a feeling of special guilt.

-William S. Burroughs

     Donn now didn’t know which way to turn.  He could call his dad down in Waco but that would be truly a last resort, admitting defeat.  Besides maybe even his dad would stiff him after the manner in which he had left.  Donn was at a loss.  He didn’t know why but he got out on the highway heading North through Iowa.  Keokuk, Waterloo and up the Mississippi.

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     Maggie had a man pick him up to learn his plans if possible.  He dropped Donn off halfway to Keokuk using his CB to inform Maggie who was about five miles behind.  When Maggie sighted Donn he edged to the side of the road forcing Donn to step back.  He averted his face as he passed laughing a vengeful laugh.

     Donn couldn’t be sure, of course, but there had been no mistaking that gold hair.  Donn still hadn’t analyzed the implications of that computer that had sat on his desk.  If he had he would have realized that there is no such thing as paranoia in the modern world.  It’s all true.  Stalking is a way of life.

     Hitching a ride in suit clothes and fine shoes is the toughest kind of hitching of all.  After all why would a guy who could afford good clothes hitchhike unless he was just godawful cheap?  The only reason to hitch is if you’re down and out or in the Service.  Donn had a terrible time getting rides.  When he did the drivers were all disrespectful.  Hence he found himself in Keokuk way out on Johnson St. Road miles from downtown.  Everything is always funny when it happens to someone else.  Donn had always found stories such as this amusing but now that it was happening to him he lamented the fact that others would have the laugh.  Other people elsewhere were having a good chuckle.  So life goes on.

     Donn oriented himself tothe East and began walking toward the Mississippi.  The evening was sultry and warm.  Great billowy clouds, white on the edges passing through symphonies of greys sailed proudly across the bright blue sky.  The trees and grass shown green.  Natural beauties abounded.  Donn’s gloomy frame of mind turned all brown and seer.

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     But a bit of good fortune fell on him.  As he trudged up the road he approached the house of Phineas Elonginus Pillbender.  Phineas had suffered a terrible childhood.  He had been in foster homes and an orphanage.  Although life had kicked him about much more severely than he or anyone else deserves he had never given way to self-destructive impulses.

      Against all odds he had constructed the type of life he most admired.  His spirit was epitomized in the almost surrealistic beauty of his house and grounds.  He had an acre and a half, his house standing on a little rise in the middle of the lot.  It was painted the strangest color blue, the numerous shutters white.  The house sparkled, as he washed it frequently.  A white picket fence enclosed his yard.  The edges of the pickets were also painted blue.  The fence too shone splendidly.  The impossibly well kept lawn with the medium sized apple tree caused many a passerby to stop and stare.

     A red brick walkway curved up to the house from the mailbox which was painted blue with a little border of flowers across the bottom and Phineas Elonginus Pillbender inscribed in quaint lettering, having a Land of Oz effect.

     The driveway leading to the garage was carefully constructed to look natural.  The concrete slab was sunk three inches below the surface being carefully graveled and cindered to look rural.  Pillbender raked it three times weekly.

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     He was too perfect for his neighbors.  A big gash invariably disfigured his driveway while one or two pickets were always hanging loose.  Pillbender left them after having learned he must make at least this concession to his neighbor’s envy.  They had no intention of maintaining their property so carefully nor were they about to be made to look sloppy by their own fastidious neighbor.

     Farmer Pillbender stood, corncob pipe in the mouth of a face surrounded by an Abe Lincoln beard, in the red brick walkway leading to his front door.  His thumbs were stuck in the straps of his overalls.  He wasn’t really a farmer, it was a pose he affected.  He actually worked as a tool and die maker in town.

     He saw Donn Contrales in his fine pants carrying his jacket under his arm coming down the road.  Rather than having been embittered by his life experiences Farmer Pillbender was a kindly if brittle man.  His workmates called him ‘prickly.’  Like many who had borne a heavier cross than his back could support he passed his burden on to Jesus.  He was a serious and good Christian.  He often hummed:  What a friend we have in Jesus, all our griefs and sins to bear, as he went about his chores.

      He mistakenly sized Donn up as a good man who’d gotten a tough break.  Pillbender hailed Donn at his gate.  After a few minutes palaver he invited Donn in for supper and a bed for the night.

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     As the outside of Pillbender’s house shone so was the inside glorious.  The hardwood floors were radiant.  The colonial style early American furniture was immaculately kept.  The fire place floor was freshly scrubbed.   The grate had been sanded and painted.

   As one’s eyes moved up the fireplace front to the mantle a large sign, six feet long, eighteen inches high proclaimed in red, white and blue bunted letters:

F U C K  C O M M U N I S M

     Above it was a large plain white cross.  One knew where Farmer Pillbender stood.

     Donn arose the next morning which as hot as an oven, humid as hell, grateful for at least a chance to rinse off and shave.  He thanked Farmer Pillbender and took his leave.  As the neighbors had seen him enter the house the night before they now stood at their windows or in their yards to look him over.  A number of childred stood in the street.

    Among them was Billy Treska.  Billy was eight.  He had been violated by a big neighbor kid a week before.  The seduction had been rude, verging on rape, while the subsequent rejection had made him feel contemptible.  He was in the throes of emotional distress unable to adjust to his emasculation.  The sight of Donn, forlorn and forsaken, awoke feelings of kinship in his tortured mind.  As Donn walked by Billy slipped his hand in Donn’s in a love gesture.

     Billy didn’t know what he was doing or why.  His act was unconscious while his motives were unknown to him.  In the way of homosexuality he was seeking affirmation of his worth by seeking a surrogate of the lover who had seduced and rejected him.  Donn looked down in shock as he recognized the meaning of the gesture.  While Donn had never had an inclination for little boys, now, conscious of his own identity and the eyes of the neighbors about him, he jerked his hand rudely away whereas at another thime he might have been more sympathetic.

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     Billy, unable to understand his own motives or Donn’s rejections took the move as a further indication of his worthlessness.   He was completely shattered and crushed.  He ran from Donn howling and crying, causing dismay in the spectators.  In later life Billy would end up a curbstone cutie in San Francisco with silicon breasts.

     As the boy turned sobbing and ran away the whole scene was misinterpreted by Mrs. Elizabeth Anderson.  She believed and would swear that Donn had made an attempt to abduct the boy, possibly for ransom.  That Donn was a bum, albeit a well dressed bum with really nice shoes, was proof sufficient.

     As Donn walked downtown slowly in the heat Mrs. Anderson tracked him at a distance.  As he stood at the corner of Seventh and Main aimlessly plotting his next move, perhaps even getting a job somewhere in town to gather his senses and accumulate a few dollars, Mrs. Anderson with a policeman by the arm pointed him out to the cop saying:  ‘That’s him.’

     Fearful of being picked up on the charges he thought were pending in Oregon Donn blanched a whiter shade of pale acting extremely guilty.  The officer who had nothing on Donn except Mrs. Anderson’s confused story hesitated.  As he did so an officious self-righteous townsman announced in a stentorian voice:  You better move on.

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     The police officer and the crowd automatically acquiesced in the sentiment of the speaker.   They stepped back to make room for Donn to move on.

     Donn’s motor responses were affected by the repetitious humiliations that are impossible to bear with equanimity no matter how cool the victim may appear.  Donn moved off not smartly but with a shambling gait.  The pavement seemed so uneven that Donn couldn’t raise his feet high enough to keep from scraping over the pavement.  As he reached the other side of the street he tripped over the curb and turned to look back at the faces sternly set against him.  Unconciously he hunched over, back curved, and with one hand clumsily hitched up his pants, confessing to his feeling of emasculation.  He had fallen far but he was still far from the bottom.

     As he hitched up the road to Waterloo he realized for the first time that he was penniless.  He hadn’t the means to buy a meal; he had no place to sleep but in the jungles with other bums, under overpasses, wherever those off the track congregated.  That was pain that Donn couldn’t face.  Even though with the proper attitude and his boxing skills he could easily have dominated any such crowd.  He could have been King of the Jungles.

     Thus Donn avoided those places although he soon learned where they would be.

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     Maggie had fixed his location.  There was a transmitter in the heel of Donn’s spiffy shoes.  Thus even as Donn entered a town he was surprised to find that it seemed as though he was expected.  It seemed as though everyone knew him already.  The police seemed to be waiting for him, members of the various networks were on the forces.  Donn was arrested.  He was, of course, anxious that the Portland charges would be brought against him.  Of course they never were which Donn attributed to good luck.  Donn was held overnight and released the next afternoon with the advice that he’d better move on; he’d better keep going.

     Thus Donn’s psyche was further impaired as he became familiar with jail cells and the rough jail crowd.  He began to wonder what he had done to deserve such cruel treatment.  By so doing he made a wrong turn.  He should rather have asked who is doing this and why.  It should have been obvious to him that he actually was recognized and that someone was stalking him.  Instead he took the blame on himself.  The notion began to flicker through his mind that perhaps he actually had wronged Maggie by not admitting him on that night.

     While his mind toyed with the notion his former life became distant and unrecognizable to him but the memory of which he cherished.  As he wandered hungry and friendless he remembered the lesson that Sandy Tyler had taught him.  He began scrounging the dumpsters for discarded food.  As this was a necessity he didn’t consciously take it seriously but subliminally his whole being revolted at the practice.

    Thus one night in Waterloo he was scrounging a Kroger dumpster when an extraordinary thing happened.  As he leant over into the dumpster to seize some half rotten bananas it seemed as though his cherished old existence, the real Disco Donn Contrales, slid over his back, down his arms off into the garbage.  Donn was astonished, realized he was losing his former self and lunged after it as it disappeared into the bottom of the dumptser.

page 132.

     He upended himself, his torso in the dumpster half immersed in the garbage while his feet threshed the air.  The door beside the dumpster opened to reveal the grocery manager.

     ‘Hey, what you doing there?’  The manager yelled, laughingly attempting to stuff Donn further into the dumpster.

     Donn was horrified to be caught scrounging in the dumpster.  Claxons went off in his mind at the humiliation.  He kicked free scrambling from the dumpster, lettuce and produce spilling off him, his hands clutching the squashed bananas oozing through his fingers.

     As he ran it seemed as though his body crusted and cracked apart leaving a smaller replica of Donn running through the night.  Then it happened again and yet once more.  Thus when Donn stopped running two or three miles down the road while his stature was the same as before, psychologically Donn was a much smaller man.  He felt only two feet tall while remaining five-eight.  The effect was invisible to all but the discerning eye.

     There Donn stood amidst the faint smell of decaying vegetable matter, bits of garbage clinging to his hair and clothes, his hand oozing banana slime.  Humiliation and shame engulfed his being.  His shame would not allow him to use a service station toilet to clean up; he might have to ask for the key.  He cleaned his hands as best he could on some leaves.  Then he set out to find some stream in which to clean up.

page 133.

     He was so ashamed, so in shock, that he would no longer walk the highways for fear that someone might offer to pick him up.  Instead he sought the railway tracks.  Following them he came to a trestle over a small creek.  He scrambled down the embankment in hopes of washing the corruption from him.

     As chance would have it this was the spot chosen by the Mankato Kid for his resting place for the evening.  Just as Donn was about to begin his ablutions a snarling voice cursed at him.

     ‘Hey, son-of-a-bitch, what do you think you’re doing using my creek.  Get the hell out of my face.  This my place, my place.  Get out!’

     Donn turned toward the voice to see a spectral form lurking on the far side of a small fire.  The image matched the voice.  The form was turned sideways, stooped, its head tossed and bowed like a beaten cur who still had the spirit of resistance in him but had been cruelly taught the futility of expressing it.

     Donn was still in the thrall of his experience at the dumpster.  His mind was paralyzed.  He had not yet begun his rebound from the experience of having lost his former self and feeling so small, perhaps two feet high.  He knew that this was no man to intimidate him yet his confidence was gone.  Nevertheless he answered bravely, if shakily:  ‘This is a free country, buddy, I’ve got just as much right to be here as you.’

page 134.

     ‘Free country?  Free country is it?’ the Kid roared, or attempted to roar in his snarling defensive manner.  ‘Well, you’re full of shit, Jack.  Free country is it?  I’ll tellyou how free it is.  No freer than Nazi Germany.  No freer than Communist Russia.  We’re just niggers working on the Man’s plantation here.  If you’re not born to it they won’t let you have it.  Take your ‘free’ country and shove it up your ass.

     The only difference between the Nazis and the Commies and us is the style.  We just do it different.  Here they make you think you’re free but it’s all on credit from the company store.  You’re free to work for the company so you can make money for them.  Then you have to give all your earnings back to the company store to pay off your credit.  Then without money you go into debt with more credit from the company store.  That song sure was right:  You load sixteen tons and what do you get?  Another day older and deeper in debt.

     If you’re man enough to protest they kill you.  They shot down the hardrock boys of the WFM (Western Federation of Miners) in Colorado just because they didn’t want to be in debt to the company store.  Shot ’em down.  Open warfare.  Never was nothing like in Germany or Russia.  Then just because the Wobblies tried to organize the Stiffs they got really mean.  Drove us out of our houses at Holly Grove then turned machine guns on us while we slept in our tents.  Burned our wives and children live at Ludlow.  And laughed about it, the dirty bastards.  Dumped hundreds of miners out in the desert without water at Bigby (Bisbee, Arizona) and told ’em to keep movin’ on, the heartless bastards.  All because we wanted a living wage.  Free country!  Look at what happened to me…

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     As though reminding himself of what they had done to him the Mankato Kid appeared to see a vision.  Anger flooded his heart obscuring his vision.  He began punching the air in a violent shadow boxing match.  His snarling roar boomed and bleated out:  Leave me alone you bastards.  Get out of here, go on, get out of here.’

     Even if Donn had been himself there would have been no reason to stay but diminished as he felt, reacting to the horrors of the past several weeks more than through fear of the Kid Donn turned and fled.  He skipped over the shallow creek on the stepping stones placed there by the bums, or homeless as they are now known.

     The Mankato Kid punched away at the air for a few moments before his crazed mind resettled allowing him to sit.  There he continued to grumble his compaints into the fire.  Unlike so many bums who had never had the stature to make a serious attempt at life the Kid had been seriously wronged.

     He actually came from Mankato which is in Minnesota.  He was now in his fifties.  He had been driven out of Mankato just as he was turning thirty.  He had spent all those years circling Mankato, the city of his dreams.  He never went further and he never came closer.  he never got saner and he never got crazier.  He was just shadow boxing his life away.

page 136.

     His parents had been Polish immigrants who had drifted out to Mankato.  His father had been a square little man of five-five.  His mother had been a big buxom, very good looking woman with peasant manners.  They had given birth to the Kid and an older child, a daughter, Mary.  As Poles they differed in religion, speech and manners from the Swedish population.  In those days Northern immigrants considered the Eastern and Southern European immigrants as Untermenschen.  No, that’s not too strong.  the attitude was quite similar to the Nazi attitude toward non-Germans.  Immigrants were reviled, beaten and chased from pillar to post.  They were subject to massive displays of contempt.

     When the Kid was twelve his father was bullied into a fight in a bar and killed.  Murdered might not be too strong a word although  technically he was given the opportunity to defend himself in a fight.  Still, he was impeded by the jeering circle of spectators while his Anglo adversary was assisted.  His death was termed accidental.  No one ever stood trial.  Nor was the knife wound in his kidney ever explained or even acknowledged.  He was just Polack dirt.

     Ballard Quincy, one of the big men in town, sought to solace the Kid’s mother in her distress.  She advanced on Quincy with a frying pan, able only to deliver a glancing blow off his retreating shoulder.

    Ballard Quincy did not take rejection kindly.  Like many of his kind rather than attack her he sought revenge on her children.  They became the targets of  ‘polite’ society.  Mary who was more attractive even than her mother was easily seduced by the boys from the right side of the tracks.  She became the school whore.

     Efforts were made to train the Kid to think ill of himself.  He was offered a dollar a customer to steer them into a house of which Quincy had a rake off in the red light district of Mankato.  There he was allowed shots of whiskey.  He, as a boy of character,  quickly perceived that he had been misled.  he abondoned the ‘job’ with a fit of indignation.

     The damage had been done.  He had been associated with that ‘element.’  He had defamed himself.  He fought gallantly to remove the taint, but the best families led by Quincy had irrevocable set their faces against him.  He was denied and interfered with all through high school, which he completed.  His sister’s reputation was constantly thrown in his face.

     But he believed in the myth of America, of Horation Alger, of luck and pluck.  He had been taught that life was what you made it and if you didn’t make it you had no one to blame but yourself, if things didn’t go your way it was your own fault.  So he kept his chin up, braved the ridicule heaped on him and kept hoping for the main chance such as it was in Mankato.  And then it happened.  In the post-war years TV came onto the scene.  As with any new item business peopled looked at it, decided it wouldn’t last and left the field open to outsiders.

     As Henry Kaiser’s cement trucks rolling down the East Bay proudly proclaimed: Find a need and fill it.  The Kid saw the need and rushed to fill it.  He opened a TV sales and repair shop.  He did well.  He could see his rise in society.  He proceeded to develop an open and generous character.  But at the first glimmer of prosperity the better people sprang into action against him.  He was slandered, sabotaged and not allowed to prosper.  He fought on.  Driven out of TV he tried a couple other lines but he was boycotted.  No one in that small town would buy from him.  Driven half mad by the abuse and injustice he had experienced he took to the road which is where Donn encountered him.

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     Donn had scrambled up the bank fleeing across country.  In his terror he crashed through the brush and across fields.  Then tearing wildly through a wood his foot slipped.  He tumbled over falling down a slope into a sort of pit or sinkhole.  He slid and tumbled down about twenty feet coming to an abrupt stop.

     ‘Well, good evening.’ Said a mellow voice.  ‘Nice of you to drop in.’

     In his agitated state of mind the sudden fall into the hole, or rather, head of a ravine, he was completely disoriented.  He stumbled about dizzily for some several moments attempting to determine up from down.  Finally getting his behind on the ground his eyes peered out in the sky above the narrow rim of the ravine.  As he accommodated his senses to his situation all across the universe the stars roared and popped.  Had one been able to hear and see the incredible noise and heat of the incandescent firestorms sweeping their surfaces one would have been astounded.  As the huge balls of fire hurled incandescent streamers far out into space to be retracted by their gravity with a report sharper than the sharpest report of a whip magnified thousands of times.  The released light went spreading through the black oblivion on an endless chase through space.  Losing its heat through the eons of space travel, the light from far distant stars now seemed to twinkle merrily as the laughing stars played with Magic Sam’s laughing dice.

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     The light sped past the bright marigold of the full moon reflecting the light of this system’s solar furnace past the man made debris circling the earth, down past the great mainliners escorting smiling people across the skies eight miles high.  The light passed the light planes and birds to penetrate dimly into the hole that Donn and the Roving Gambler were in.

     ‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ the voice said with exquisite manners and a BBC English accent, ‘I am the Roving Gambler, at your service.’

     Donn, still dazed, grunted something that could be taken for a greeting.

     ‘And you are Donn Contrales.’  The Gambler continued laughingly.

     Donn gave a start at the novelty of being recognized by a man he had never seen in a hole he’d never been in before.  Involuntarily he began to rise to flee.

     ‘Oh, no no.  No!  My goodness.  Sit down Donn and let me explain.  You are talking to, or rather, listening to a very extraordinary man.  You are surprised that I recognize you, yet your picture appeared daily in the Oregon Assassin.  I spend much time in libraries pursuing my various studies.  While there I leaf through the papers of the whole country plus foreign nations.  I have a very good memory for names and faces plus I have fabulous, I might say, total recall.  I recognized you immediately even before you ceased that infernal tumbling.’

page 140.

     Donn, mouth open, tongue out stared at the Gambler stupidly.  His mind was only beginning to stop swirling.  What he saw was the slender (imperially slim, as the Gambler would say) tall figure of a man lounging against a rock before a small fire reading, or at least holding, a newspaper in front of him.  He was dressed in cream colored pants, cream colored buccaneer cut shirt with a red and blue paisley ascot.  His long rectangular face was surmounted by a wavy shock of blond hair which fell to his shoulders.  His high expanse of forehead would have excited envy in those who take such things as indication of nobility.  A blond mustache was placed between his fine aquiline nose and lips neither too thin, too thick, too wide or too narrow.  In short the Roving Gambler was a strikingly handsome man.  As he put it he was one of nature’s noblemen, too good for this world.

     The Gambler’s vanity was the source of his discomfort with the world.  He came from Virginia where his ancestry could be traced back to the Cavaliers of 1660 in an unbroken line on both father’s and mother’s sides.  He had been an outstanding student at the University of Virginia.  Thus one might say he had had everything propitious for a great start in life- looks, family, training.  Unfortunately for the Gambler he thought because of these assets that he was entitled to a place at the top.  Refused the job of bank or corporate presidency fresh out of school he was indignant that if would be required of him to work his way up, albeit from a reasonably good starting point.  Consequently, rather than be a ‘peon’ he took to the road immediately after graduation where he had been ever since.  He was now fifty-three.

page 141.

     The Gambler was extremely vainglorious and boastful.  He delighted in the incongruous.  The creation of the juxtaposition of extremes was his joy.

     ‘Here my boy, would you like a taste of my champagne?’  He said, handing Donn the bottle.  ‘Some pate, perhaps? and some caviar?’ He flipped Donn a can of tinned pate, then handed him a ‘biscuit’ covered in caviar.  Donn who was quite hungry wolfed everything down.

    ‘Oh, ha ha, you thought perhaps I was an ordinary bum.  No, no, no.  Au contraire, mon petit.  I am quite an extraordinary bum.  You will never see my like again.  Once in a million years, my boy, once in a million years.  I greet you by name, hmm?

     Yes, I solved the riddle of life long ago.  You may think you’re talking to a penniless bum.  Well, you’re not.  I happen to be a very pennied bum.  I have thousands- modestly forbids I meantion how many thousands- of dollars in dozens of banks throughout the country.  I have a portfolio of stocks and bonds that would excite the envy of many a speculator.

     Ah, you stare in disbelief.  Well, I’m used to it.   All of these bindlestiffs think the same.  They have no imagination, no skills, no art.  I am gifted.  When out of Virginia they refused my due I knew I would be as rich as they and much more free, unbeholden to anyone, as it were, as it is.

page 142.

     My solution was just to demand they give me the money, and so they did.  I merely approach and say:  Give me money.  And they do.  I’m extraordinarily successful.  You may be sure it’s true when I tell you that in one three day stretch in Chicago I once took in over two thousand dollars.  Two thousand, ninety-eight dollars to be exact, forget the small change.  I put it all in the bank, of course.  One hundred to three hundred dollars a day is normal to me.

     I studied the career of Death Valley Scotty and discovered his secret.  Hmm?  Oh, Scotty was a legend in LA between the wars.  He was absent for long stretches then would show up to buy everyone drinks and distribute his largesse.  He said he had a secret gold mine in Death Valley that he worked for a stretch then brought his diggings to town.  He didn’t worry about money because he said he could always dig up some more.

     They tried to follow him to his mine but he always gave them the slip.  I reasoned therefore that there was no mine but that Scotty was either a thief or a master panhandler.  Rather than being absent in Death Valley, I reasoned, he was off panhandling in some distant city.  Probably shaved his beard so no one would recognize him.

     Well, between Scotty and The Man With The Twisted Lip I put my act together.  I, however, have no interest in distributing largesse.  I am not only handsome, as you can see, but I have a genius IQ.  When the weather gets cold I haunt all the finest libraries in America.  The Houghton, Universities of Michigan and Illinois, Stanford, U.C., Berkeley, occasionally down to Santa Cruz because I like the weather, I don’t want to bore you with a list, suffice it to say that I have pursued my studies in the finest institutions, North, East, South and West.

page 143.

     As you can see I am quite distinguished looking.  I have suits of clothes in several cities.  With my appearance I can get in…’  While everything the Gambler said was true he perceived a look of bored disbelief on Donn’s face.  Actually Donn was still half stunned.  the Gambler’s words were just washing over him but the drone of his voice was comforting to him.  ‘…anywhere without any difficulty.

     I have written  the tentative results of my studies down.  I have hidden them in unfrequented nooks and crannies.  Thus it may be said that my work is in all the best libraries.’

     The Gambler was quite serious.  He had an inexhaustible line of chatter.  He could go on for hours at a stretch whenever he had a chance.  But he liked full attention.  He now chose a different topic.  As Donn was a music reviewer he chose a topic that wowed the homeless in the jungles but was ill suited for the more discriminating intelligence of Donn.

     Donn had finished his tin of pate which he flipped into the fire.  The Gambler tossed him another.

     ‘Elvis is not dead, you know.’

     Donn burped.

    ‘I had a long conversation with him myself.  I can’t tell you where he lives because he obviously wishes to remain incognito.  But we had a long chat.  He said the pressure was just too great for him.  He had to excape.  He told me some interesting details you won’t hear anywhere else, Donn.  Of course in the beginning he was only interested in getting girls.  But then when he began to get famous he enjoyed that.  When the money began to really flow in he was ecstatic.  But his success was too far beyond his ability to cope, perhaps anyone’s.  He became the first great postwar folk hero.  Something like the movie stars of the first decade of the talkies.  Genuine stars, not hyped into prominence.  But, you see, he hadn’t been vetted.  He didn’t perform in a manner acceptable to the arbiters of culture.  He was raw.  He dressed atrociously by their standards.  He was, in fact, no better than a White nigger.

page 144.

     As such he wasn’t supposed to have money.  But he got quite a lot, actually.  More than most of them.  As a cultural icon he stood far above the actual power brokers of the world both straight and criminal.  They couldn’t stand that.  They tried to to kill his career by putting him in the Army.  Regardless of their denials it was a political move.  The resulting publicity campaign by RCA in order to preserve its investment against their machinations made him Elvis Presley, the singer, into the pop icon, Elvis.  We’ll probably never know exactly how Colonel Parker fit in there, Elvis doesn’t.  He became not only bigger than life but bigger than fantasy.

     He said he was in constant fear of his life.  He couldn’t go anywhere, certainly not without bodyguards.  He became it was as though, he told me, that he was under house arrest.  The fruits of his talent and success turned to ashes in his mouth.’

page 145.

     The Gambler, who had been speaking from behind his paper now lowered it for a dramatic effect as he came to his most thrilling revelation of what ‘Elvis said.’  Donn, at about this time began to regain his mental composure so that he actually heard what the Gambler was saying.

    ‘But this wasn’t enough for them, Elvis told me.  They wanted more.  They wanted to humiliate him completely, to emasculate him, to render him sterile, neutered.  What did they do?  They offered him, or at least Colonel Parker, large sums to perform in Las Vegas.  On their home turf they could get away with anything.

     Up to that time Elvis had been disciplined and under self-control.  He was relatively blithe, youthful and slim.  After that his personality disintegrated.

    He told me that he was invited to the master suite.  As he was Elvis, commanding a large sum to make them even larger sums, he assumed that they only wanted to meet him.  That was fine with him.  As a boy from humble origins he was proud to meet them as equals, nay, even as a superior.

     He said that when he entered he was greeted by the cold derogatory stares of five angry men.  Three were big time criminals, one was a famous show biz personality, singer, and one was a very well known conservative politician.  I can’t tell you his name because if word got out my life wouldn’t be worth a blind man’s view of Mt. Rushmore.

page 146.

     Elvis was taken aback immediately when the toughest customer behind his dark sunglasses greeted him with a venomous:  Hello. Big Shot.

     Well, as Elvis said, he was quite taken back by the hostile reception.  As he looked from face to face the expressions were hard, harder and hardest.  Now, Elvis came from the humblest circumstances.  Having been denied power as a youth he sought to conquer by love rather than force.  He thought since he, as he expressed it, was going to make these men lots and lots of money they would value him accordingly.  He was shocked to find that they viewed themselves as masters and himself as a plantation slave; someone to toil for them and be abused.

     “So you think you’re really something, hey?”  The criminal continued.  “Well, I got news for you, sonny boy.  You ain’t nothin’ to us.  There’s dozens more where you came from.  We can manufacture a dozen a day.  There’s dozens more where you came from.  There’ll be dozens more after you’re gone.  You’re the dogshit I scrape from my shoes.  What have you ever done but shake your pelvis?  Nothin’.  You ain’t never built a magnificent club like this.  You never had to meet a payroll in your life.  You never had to knife or be knifed.  You’re nothin’ but a puke assed kid in diapers.  We give you money you couldn’t earn any other way.  We earn it.  We did the work.  Without this club you wouldn’t have anyplace to shake your ass.  We, all of us, are men who fought and clawed to get where we are.  You’re a pansy.  All you’ve ever done is get up on stage show ’em your blue suede shoes and shake your skinny ass.  Elvis the Pelvis!  Is that any name for a man to be known by?  Hell, no.  You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog.  Well boy, we’re goin’ to separate the boys from the girls right here and now.”

page 147.

    At this point in his story Elvis began to choke and sob as the horrible memory overwhelmed him but he felt compelled to tell me the story.  He needed to relieve himself to someone.  I felt honored to be the one.

     He said that they all unzipped and flipped their dick out.  He was told to get down on his knees and suck each one off in series.

     He was indignant.  He told them to kiss off.  But they all produced weapons, waving them under his nose.  The criminal said:  “Don’t think you’re so big that we can’t off you and get away with it.  Bigger fish than you have been thrown into Ma Bates’ pond.  All that’ll happen is we’ll claim some deranged fan waited in your room and shot you.  We got guys who are dying to be famous.   The man who shot Elvis Presley!  They’ll take credit.  Then what?  We dose some crazy broad with drugs give her a gun and make it easy for her to kill your killer.  We clap her in solitary confinement for the remaining months of her life.  She dies.  The secret goes to the grave with her.  Now you know how it’s done pussy boy.’

     At this point Elvis said the guy actually shoved the barrel of his gun in his mouth.

     “On your knees pussy boy, and let’s see some action.”

     Well…Elvis said the criminal actually worked the barrel back and forth in his mouth a couple times cocking the hammer as he did so.

     Elvis was shaking uncontrollably as he told me this.  He couldn’t articulate the next bit by by signs and simulations he indicated that he sank to his knees and did them all.  He had to go on just a few hours later.  You can imagine his mental condition.  The set was actually taped by the vicious bastards.  They show it on TV every now and again.  About halfway through Elvis can’t deal with it.  He leans forward half kneeling in that stance of his and simulates fellation on the microphone saying:  Suckee, suckee.  Then he shrugs his shoulders as if to say:  No big thing.  Later in the show he rushes from the stage into the audience seeking affirmation.  Then at the cameras filming as he leaves backstage he flips a thumbs up sign as if to say:  Fuck You.

page 148.

     But the thing took its toll.  Up to then Elvis had been thin and under self-control.  Now he started to gain weight.  He started doing bizarre things like shooting out TV screens in his room when he played Vegas.  His costume became more outre as he sought to recover his manhood.  He started wearing that stupid little Captain Marvel cape.  His whole outfit became patterned after that of Captain Marvel.

     To spite them and reaffirm himself he tried to be bigger than even the fantasy giant he was.  He did the spectacular satellite Live from Hawaii beamed simultaneously all over the world.  Now that was bigger even than Las Vegas.  It showed them how big he was and how small time they were.

     But, it wasn’t enough.  His ego, always fragile because of his cracker origins, was crushed.  He just couldn’t go on.  He staged his death on the shitter because they had turned his life to shit.  Then he just disappeared to where I met him.  No, don’t ask.  I’m honor bound not to tell.

page 149.

     I will say this though.  Elvis never had any idea of what he got himself into when he got into show biz.  Of course, how could he know that he would come to represent the transition from the prewar immigrant culture to the post -war more or less synthetic culture, the union not only of the European nationalities but also the Negro culture.

      As a symbol of the synthesis the Anglo rear guard would hold him responsible for the change.  A race traitor if you will.  Then again he represented the the democratic upwelling of the under classes as a result of the post-war prosperity.  He didn’t adopt the cultural norms of the overclass.  Not because he rejected them as they thought but just because he didn’t know any better.

     And the, and this is most important, the phenomenal reverence and awe paid him was so far in excess of their own masculinity and manhood that they felt Elvis had emasculated them.  Chirst, their wives were throwing their panties at him.  They felt diminished so that in order to reassert their manhood they had to diminish Elvis below themselves.

     Now, Man is homosexual by nature.  He must either be a man and dominate or be a girl and be dominated.  Hence the innate viciousness of the male.  Obviously he who dominates every other male is King.  Elvis was styled the King hence it was incumbent on him to dominate every other male.  But, until his own emasculation at the hands of those jerks he was just a big friendly goof.  He learned too late, but he did learn.  Watch how he treats the musicians in the Live from Hawaii special.  You’ll see it.’

page 150.

End of clip II-3.  Go to continuation at clip II-4.