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Category Archives: FDR

 

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

 

The Swimming Hole

by

R.E. Prindle

Clip 2: Continuation and Conclusion

     While their land was returned to them they had lost all desire to return to their former way of life.  All travel broadens and the sojourn in Boston had been very broadening.  Jorge was embittered and full of hatred for the ‘White man’, but his spirit was also thoroughly cowed.  He always remained humble and submissive before Whites but this was his economic asset.  In many ways he became a clown and entertainer for them.  The response is not unusual when faced by seemingly overwhelming power.

     Benito returned to the States in ’48 no less angry and embittered.  The American Japanese in Japan had been in a difficult position which produced a unique psychological type.  They had been unwanted by Whites.  On the one hand they had not been allowed to become citizens of the United States while on the other the Japanese government didn’t want them as citizens of Japan but wanted to claim them as overseas Japanese citizens.  Thus when Benito among thousands of others returned to Japan for japanification he and they were not trusted or wanted by the Japanese.  They were followed and spied on, which, of course, such spying could have been the normal situation in Japan as it is now in the United States.  The American Japanese had definitely fared better in the the US than the Nisei in Japan.  Generally speaking they were neither here nor there.  As it was expressed they had an American center and a Japanese exterior neither of which was acceptable in the respective countries.

    Thus as the Sukamotos began their import business Benito or Ben as he was now known was well prepared to deal with the Japanese contacts and Jorge, which he now pronounced George, with his attitude was able to deal very productively with his fellow Americans.  They wanted to make amends and Jorge was a lovable guy who seemed to reciprocate their kindness.

page 51.

     In retrospect Jorge could see no reason for the internment of the Japanese.  The internment is a complex issue when one looks into it and the decision to do it was not without reasons.  The PC version is that the reason was purely White bigotry and greed.  Whites wanted all those Japanese iceboxes left behind.  There are some complex economic issues involved that I can’t go into in this novel.

     The reality was far more complex.  It can only be understood in historical perspective.  For two hundred years prior to 1853 the Japanese had closed their borders insulating the country from foreign influences.  When Admiral Perry violated Japanese integrity forcing them into the community of nations at cannon point in 1853 he set in motion a sequence of events that led inexorably to Pearl Harbor.

     The Japanese responded to Perry’s act of agression by aggressive westernization.  They realized the inadequacy of their military, political and social organization to deal with a more advanced system.  The 1860s, ’70s and ’80s were spent educating themselves.  The studied the Western nations noting their strengths and weaknesses.  By 1895 they had successfully attacked their giant neighbor, China, repeating a sixteenth century act, receiving a huge indemnity.  They then challenged Russia for control of Manchuria.  This was successfully brought to a conclusion in 1905 as Japan became recognized as a major power.

     Japanese hatred which by then had become megalomaniacal was then directed against the United States and England.  Americans had further exacerbated the Japanese attitude by a gratuitous act of violence which turned out very favorably for the Japanese.  The Planters who accupied Hawaii established large sugar and pineapple plantations which required large numbers of laborers.  They could only be found in the East.  Mexico was too far away.  The Planters first tried the Chinese.  They didn’t want these colored people to stay but when their contracts expired the Chinese refused to go back to China.

pae 52.

     The Planters then turned eyes on Japan.  They requested, perhaps demanded, that the Japanese give them laborers.  The Japanese having just come out of isolation refused.  The Planters then sent a ship to Yokohama where they forcibly abducted over a hundred persons.  A light went on in the minds of the Japanese leaders.  They weren’t stupid, just short.  Japanese laborers went to Hawaii and they did come back when their contracts expired.  The Planters did pay well; much more than could be earned in Japan.  The laborers lived frugally returning with substantial bankrolls thus strengthening the Japanese economy.  In this sense the US bankrolled WWII in the Pacific much as they are now bankrolling the Chinese by transferring all production to China.

     But each passing year many more Japanese went out than came back.  The Japanese became the largest nationality in the Islands.  Just as the Japanese began to look on Hawaii as their prerogative the Planters became alarmed at the Japanese presence.  In 1896 the Planters rejected a shipload of Japanese sending them back.  A Japanese warship was promptly in Pearl Harbor demanding an explanation.  The Planters turned to the United States with the result that the independent kingdom of Hawaii was annexed to the United States.  The Japanese who thought they had a valid claim to the Islands because, after all, the Japanese were the most numerous nationality , refused to accept the action of the United States.  To this day they feel the islands belong to them.  They almost got them during their late twentieth century period of prosperity.

page 53.

     Bolstered by their success against China Japanese spirits soared, after the conquest of Manchuria the Japanese felt invincible.  They had studied American History.  They had noted that the Americans infiltrated Texas until they had the numerical strength to wrest it from Mexico.  They were in a position to do to the same to America in California.

     Thus about 1900 Japanese began to take advantage of America’s ridiculous immigration policy arriving in numbers.  The White Californians had already experienced one oriental threat.  When the Chinese began to arrive in numbers in mid-nineteenth century the Californians had acted quickly obtaining a Chinese Exclusion Act in 1882.  The cry had been taken up that California was ‘White man’s country.’  There can be little doubt to any reasonable person that if the Chinese had not been excluded the West Coast today would be a Chinese province.  This may or may not be desirable depending on your perspective.

     Regardless of one’s opinion the West Coast was kept an American province.  The Japanese who began to arrive were almost entirely male.  The Californians believed that they were paramilitary troops, especially in the wake of the Russo-Japanese war.  There can’t be much doubt that they were right.  The population of California at the time of the Chinese Exclusion was around a half million and in 1900 around a million.  One doesn’t have to be all that mathematically inclined to realize that a half million Japanese men could cause quite a disturbance.  The Californians lobbied hard to stop Japanese immigration before it attained those numbers.  They were partially successful when Theodore Roosevelt entered into the ‘Gentlemen’s Agreement’ to limit Japanese immigration.

page 54.

     Fearing that an invasion was probable the Californians began a series of legislative acts to harass the Japanese, to deny them access to power.  An antagonism was established which ended only with the conclusion of the Pacific War.  Even T. Roosevelt realized in 1908 that a war between the US and Japan was inevitable.  He gave it thirty years which wasn’t too far off the mark.

     As Japanese power increased so did Californians’ vigilance.  In 1910 Japan annexed Korea.  For some reason the Koreans do not have fond memories of the Japanese occupation.  One imagines the situation would have been the same with the Japanese in control of California.  The Japanese joined in the Great War which meant nothing to them to obtain Germany’s Far East and Pacific possessions.

     The paramilitary troops that came over in the first decade of the century had no women.  If they left the US to procure one they were denied reentry.  Thus the period of Picture Brides began.  In the years around 1920 Japanese women began to arrive which prompted a new series of repressive legislation.  The Californians harried the Japanese like a professional football offense against a high school defense.

    An uneasy truce was established through the thirties as the Japanese ‘illegally’ fortified their newly acquired German islands like Iwo.  When Pearl Harbor was bombed the Californians could say with justice:  We were right all along.  We told you so.

page 55.

     The Nisei, or first generation of Amerian born Japanese, were of a different frame of mind than the Issei or Island born Japanese.  Therein is the real crux of the problem.  Japanese language papers were bilingual, partially in Japanese, partially in English.  Now, the United States government was not all that stupid either.  They read the papers in both languages.  While the American portion was innocuous and innocent the Japanese portion was a blood curdling call to arms to support Japanese worldwide objectives.  Thus, regardless of whether in retrospect the internment was necessary it was justified on the basis of the attitude of the Issei who  Californians had called paramilitary troops.

     After all the Japanese did expect their nationals to revolt in Hawaii supporting the attack.  The shelling of Santa Barbara by a submarine was probably intended for San Pedro which would have been the signal for an uprising in LA much as Homer Lea had warned about in 1910.  So also the shelling on the Oregon coast.  The expectation of the rising was unrealistic  but so was the whole Japanese war plan.

     Within the camps the Japanese nationalists fought for control.  After the war many of the Issei repatriated to Japan.  Whether one wants to argue whether the internment was justified or not, war is hell, mistakes are made.

     Jorge didn’t take a historical view.  He had not been interned but he refused to examine the problem from any point of view but his injured national pride.  None of his subseqent excellent good fortune mattered to him.  Neither the money nor his family was allowed to assuage his anger.  Jorge had married a Jewish woman by the name of Piti.  If anything she exacerbated Jorge’s anger for she added the whole train of Jewish anguish to Jorge’s Japanese one.  Jorge was constantly on the lookout to humiliate Whites in the same manner he felt he had been humiliated.  This meant leasing to novices, acquiring what money they had and then turning them out.

page 56.

     He and Ben were very aggressive in business.  They expanded well ahead of their resources counting on the leniency of their White bankers which they always received.

     At the time they bought the building which they renamed Pilgrim’s Center Portland’s downtown area had gone through massive changes which put it on the brink of extinction.  Dozens of square blocks of high density housing had been leveled to build a freeway bypass on the west of the core area.  Dozens more square blocks to the southeast of downtown had been leveled by Urban Renewal to build office buildings and high rise apartments.

     The Lloyd Shopping Center had been built to the northeast.  A pedestrian mall had been built down Fifth and Sixth which closed some doors because of contruction woes and changed traffic patterns so that some businesses formerly profitable were no longer so.  The rational was that to make an omelette you have to crack a few eggs.  Of course, someone else’s eggs were cracked but the omelet went to other people who didn’t pay for the eggs.  Fairness doctrine.

     There were several empty buildings on Third and Fourth.  Pilgrims, on Tenth, was completely outside normal shopping patterns.  It was at this time the Sukamotos bought Pilgrim’s and Dewey expanded his operation to Portland from Eugene.

page 57.

     Dewey’s success in Eugene had been won against the wishes of the Old Boy Network.  While the Japanese Sukamotos had been given lavish credit and terms, the White Boy, Dewey, hadn’t been able to raise a dime.  All his expansion had been internally financed.

      When he had approached Universal National Bank he had been severely rebuffed.  Brian Ashworth his loan officer, had been instructed by the Old Boys, of which the officers of UNB were pillars, to tell Trueman in no uncertain terms  that not only was there no money to loan him but that he was not even to attempt expansion or else.  Trueman had been so informed.  But what’s a poor boy without friends to do?  Go ahead.

     Dewey approached Tom Adams of Bashaw and Bashaw to help him find a location in Portland.  Dewey knew that B&B was Old Boy but he trusted to his luck for another end run.  The Old Boys played with him.  He was put in the hands of Dorian King, a large property owner in Portland.

     King showed him a couple of his properties on Third and Fourth which no longer had traffic but they weren’t what Dewey had in mind.  He could see that they were suicide locations.  King did have an empty space on Sixth above Alder which was the core of the core.  Dewey eagerly grasped for it but King rented it to a brokerage firm, Barton-Osborne, with the explanation that BO was permanent while Dewey wasn’t.  The joke was that BO went broke and was gone within a year.

     Dewey complained to Adams about the run around.  The papers had gone through on Sukamoto’s building so as a favor to them Trueman was given to them as a gift by the Old Boy Network.

page 58.

     As noted the Jewish Network had labeled Trueman as an anti-Semite because of the hostility of Harry Grabstein in Eugene.  Such accusations are automatically accepted, Trueman had no opportunity for defense or appeal.  As an outlaw he had even no avenue of complaint.  We Americans know how to deal with our bigots.  In reverse Nazism we turn them over to the minorities to torment.

     It is always assumed that if, for instance, one were an anti-Semite that that antagonism is extended to every other ‘minority.’  Thus Dorian King was Jewish.  He had gotten a few kicks running Trueman around.  The Old Boy and Jewish Networks had gotten a few chuckles. 

      All of these people despised Trueman’s abilities.  They thought his success had been all luck.  They didn’t think he had the chance of a snowball in Jamaica to succeed in Portland.  So they thought if the Sukamotos made a few bucks off him so much the better.  In fact expansion might be a way to get rid of him.  Many successful businesses failed in the expansion attempt.

     The Sukamotos were just beginning the conversion of Pilgrim’s into an indoor mall.  The center would require over a year before it was open but as Dewey wanted a large space he was told he could have a corner with an outside entrance in the meantime.

     He was in a hurry.  He was fearful that the record business was about to peak which it was .  Tenth was a nice broad street with plenty of vacant parking at the time.  Dewey said he would take it.  Once again negotiations dragged on and on.

page 59.

     Trueman reported to Sukamoto World Headquarters once a week for over a month.  Negotiations were carried on in broom closets and interrogation like cells, no windows,  with a single naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling.  Jorge and Ben sat across from him over a plain wooden table and wooden chairs.  Ben said nothing staring at Dewey with unblinking intensity.  Jorge was garrolous although mysterious.  He plied Dewey with endless questions but gave out an amazing amount of information about he and Ben, where they came from and where they hoped to go.

     Dewey had Jorge figured at a glance.  His past was as plain on his face as Dewey considered his own to be.  Dewey recognized that they were brothers in experience and acted accordingly.  Oddly enough Jorge was not so astute.  There was a glass wall between him and any White man.

     Finally, the lease having been signed Dewey was led from the interrogation cell to Jorge’s desk.  The desk was in the center of a large dormitory like room surrounded by the desks of the White bookkeepers, buyers and clerks.  Jorge had no Japanese working for him.

     Ben’s desk was to the left a couple feet behind Jorge’s.  Ben took up a position leaning forward from the edge of his seat staring intently into Dewey’s face.  Dewey flashed a grin at him aware of the game.

     He looked ahead of him and there hung conspicuously on a post before his visitor’s chair was a framed copy of the LA evacuation notice.  Dewey who had never seen one examined it closely.  The poster with absurd apologetic politeness requested the assembly of Los Angeles’ Japanese population for transfer to the internment camps all in English.  Dewey knew what it was there for.  After the treatment he had received from the Sukamotos he was spoiling for a fight.  He had the upper hand.  He could easily win the battle but he would lose the war.

page 60

     ‘What do you think of that?’  Jorge asked his test question but he didn’t make a gesture indicating the poster.

    ‘What do I think of what?’  Dewey replied guardedly, wary of a trap.

     ‘That.’  Jorge said, pointing at the poster.

     Dewey recognized a kindred spirit in Jorge.  He realized that they had both suffered the same denial.  It was clear that they were both trying to prove themselves.  Jorge had accepted the role of inferior which he expressed in his clownish persona with the seat of his pants hanging down nearly to his ankles, his sweater with gaping holes in it, his ridiculous scraggly Abe Lincoln beard, his trademark well chewed, unlit stogee and exaggerated manner of speech.

     Dewey was more into aggressive self-assertion as he overdressed in high style fitted suits.  Everything about him offered a challenge to those trained to social acceptability.  He knew that even if Jorge recognized the affinity, which he did but refused to accept, that he would opt to side with oppressor.  Jorge had rather be a successful clown to his oppressors than stand a free man.  Dewey knew what it meant to be a clown for acceptance, traces still lingered in his personality but he sought to exorcise them.

page 61.

     ‘I’ve never really seen one of the posters before.’  He replied amiably.  ‘Not very good art work.  I thought you were from Portland, I didn’t know you were from LA.’

     Jorge ostentatiously cleared his throat.  ‘I’m not.  I wasn’t there.’

     ‘Oh well, what camp were you in?’

     ‘Uh, hum.  I wasn’t in any camp.’

     ‘No?  Where were you during the war?’

     ‘I was in Boston.’  Jorge cleared his throat and looked away.  ‘I was earning my degree from Harvard.’

     ‘Oh!’  Dewey exclaimed, envy flashing through his mind.  ‘Well, then, what’s your complaint?’

     ‘Don’t you think it was terrible what they did to my people?’  Jorge pressed.

     ‘You ever been in the orphanage?’  Dewey threw out irrelevantly.  ‘Well, yes, but there was a reason.’  Dewey said matter-of-factly.

     ‘Sure there was, racism.’  Jorge said sullenly.  ‘The only reason they dropped the atomic bomb on us was because we’re colored.’  Jorge added forgetting his pure Americanism for an instant in favor of Pan-Japanism.

     ‘That is absolutely not true.’  Dewey stated.

     Jorge who had been lounging in his chair lunged upright.  ‘It certainly is.  White Americans would never have used the Atom bomb on White Germans.’

     ‘If you examined the history of the Bomb, Jorge, I think you would find that its destined use was against Germany.  It’s just that the war against Germany ended before the Bomb was ready.’

page 62.

     ‘That’s nonsense.’  Jorge retorted indignantly.

     ‘No.  It’s not, Jorge, just listen.’  Ben leaned closed, Jorge glared at Dewey intently.

     ‘The A-Bomb is wholly a Jewish discovery.  The preliminary work was developed in Germany.  The theory was what the Nazis called ‘Jewish physics.’  They ran the Atomic theorists out of Germany.  The Jews went to England and mostly to the United States.  By the late thirties when Nazi antagonism to the Jews became apparent the Jews had the basic theory for the development of the Bomb, the Super-Weapon, but they didn’t have the means to build it or deliver it.

     After the war started and Hitler’s intent became clear Jewish fear demanded the weapon.  FDR was approached to fund the Atomic program but he failed to see the Bomb’s utility.  Another Jew was detailed by the Jewish government to persuade FDR to fund the program which he successfully did.

     Thus the theory, the implementation of the program, the scientists and even the spies were all Jews.  Just as the Germans were rounding up Jews in Europe so the Jews in America wanted camps established for those who didn’t accept their program.  Or as the Jews call them, anti-Semites.  Now, the Jews didn’t care about America’s enemy, Japan, they were only concerned with their enemy Nazi Germany.

     They had devised incredible punishments for Germany.  Had American power been completely at their disposal they would have had the Germans exterminated.  Henry Morgenthau, Jr., the same patriotic American who gave the Soviets the plates, dyes and paper to print American occupation currency, wanted to turn Germany into a desert.

     Had the Bomb been ready in time they would have.  If there had only been one sample available it would have been used against Germany rather than Japan.  Had two been available they would both have been used against Germany.

    If the Japanese had devised the Bomb you may be sure that would have been racists enough to use it against the US population without any remorse.

     Even then, Jorge, and this is an odd historical fact, the Bombs were deployed over Nagasaki and Hiroshima which were both centers of Japanese Catholicism or Christianity.  So, no, Jorge, there was no racism involved, it was just that the German war was over before the Bomb was ready.  However, they may have been some religious bigotry involved of some sort.’

      Jorge stared at Trueman dumbly.  No White man he had over known had ever defended himself before.  Lacking the information to affirm or argue he just waved Trueman’s discussion away.

     ‘That’s not the only thing they did to my people.’  Jorge retorted indignantly shifting to a different tack and forgetting again that he was a pure American.  ‘In 1906, maybe ‘o5 or ’07 they made the Japanese attend segregated schools in San Francisco.  They said we weren’t good enough to sit with White people.’

     ‘Yeah, I know.’  Dewey said laconically.  He had been a History major and still read.  He knew a little and thought indenpendently, not having been cowed in graduate school.

     ‘Don’t you think that’s terrible?’

     ‘Yes, I do.  I think it’s worse than terrible, especially since a very similar thing happened to me.  But, so what.  No one I’ve ever met wants to hear my story or give me sympathy for a minute.  They say it happens to everybody; just the wear and tear of living.  I can’t give to you who are on their side what you won’t give to me.’

     Jorge sat erect quivering; Ben’s normally impassive expression was turned into a smiling unbelieving sneer.

     ‘How could any such thing happen to you? You’re White.’  Jorge spat out contemptuously.

      Dewey’s mind clicked into place behind the first chamber.  He knew then that he hated the Sukamotos.  Here was a man before him demanding sympathy for what happened not to him but to others of ‘his people’ but refusing sympathy for a harsher reality.  Dewey looked up from under his brows and pressed the crease of the knee of his pants between his thumb and forefinger.

     ‘I was in the orphanage, Jorge.’  He said very quietly, seriously enough to have put Sukamoto on notice.

     ‘That’s nothing!’  Snapped Sukamoto whose mind was so twisted by his own self-pity that he was insensitive to anyone else’s misfortunes.

     ‘No?  Well, it is something, Jorge.’  Trueman contradicted quietly.  ‘I know first hand what you can only talk about as happening to ‘your people.’  That is exactly what is nonsense.’

     ‘You weren’t ever in a concentration camp.’  Jorge said defensively.

     ‘Neither by your own admission were you, Jorge.  You were partying at Harvard University.  The orphanage is a concentration camp.  I’m not sure any ‘American citizen’ was in a concentration camp.  If an American says he was he’s a liar.’

     ‘How about Hitler’s camps?’ Jorge persisted tacitly acknowledging the international character of the Jews.

page 65.

     ‘Well, now, if you want to talk about one’s ‘people’, Jorge, my people were slaughtered in the millions by Nazis, Communists and Japanese.’

      ‘You’re not Jewish.’  Jorge persisted contemptuously and irrelevantly.

     ‘No, I’m not.  But I am Polish…’

     The Sukamotos laughed out loud.  ‘Trueman’s not a Polish name.  Was it Truemanski before you changed it?’

     ‘This is America, Jorge, you’ve got to look behind the facade.  Trueman isn’t Polish but Sepaniak is.  That was my mother’s maiden name.  My mother divorced before I was three.  We went to live with my Polish grandmother before I was put in the orphanage.  So my Polish people were slaughtered by the million.  But I’m not Polish or English, I’m American Jorge.

      What was experienced in internecine European warfare had nothing to do with immigrants who left for America of any those nationalities.  You are of Japanese ancestry yet you told me that you are different from native Japanese.  You are a loyal American you say yet at the same time the Bomb was dropped on ‘your people.’  Well, you’re either Japanese or American.  Jew or American.  You can’t claim dual citizenship.  If so you might as well claim as John Donne:  No man is an island…Send not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.  In that case we are all one, races, nationalities, religions don’t matter.  Which is it?  Take your choice.

     Besides which the orphanage was a type of concentration camp.  We were segregated from the general population and told we were inferior.  We were made to wear funny clothing just as the Jews were made to wear the yellow star.  We were told that we could neither speak to or associate with non-orphans.  In spite of the sacred Judeo-Christian repository of morality which repeatedly inveighs against depriving orphans of their rights we were deprived of our rights.

page 66.

     You, who graduated from Harvard, during the war with Japan, mention the segregation of Japanese children in 1906.  That incident didn’t even go on for weeks, furthermore it didn’t happen to you, Jorge Sukamoto.  As you say, it happened to ‘your people’ who were Japanese citizens, not even Americans.  If you want prejudice, the Japanese didn’t even want Westerners walking on their sacred soil.

     Let me tell you what happened to me.  Me, Jorge, myself, my person, not a hundred years ago or to persons in some far off land, but to me in the here and now in the USA.

     I’ve heard Jews and Italians become tearful because they were once called a kike or wop.  Some tragedy.  We were called worse.  They, at least, had the support of their own community, their Anti-Defamation Leagues, their Mafias or whatever.  We Orphans had nothing!  Not even group solidarity.  We were outside the law.  We belittled each other more than others belittled us which was considerable.  I know you understand that, Jorge.

     The Jews complain that in Poland they had a Jew bench against the wall in school that they were compelled to sit on.  Well, we had an orphan wall against which we had to sit.  Not just one month or one year but all year, every year.  At recess we were compelled to sit on a bench watching the others play.  If we tried to friendly with anyone we were beaten.  We were compelled to use the alleys to walk to school, Jorge.  We weren’t allowed to be seen on the city streets.  If we did venture onto the streets, Mr Sukamoto, we were beaten.  We were beaten, Mr. Sukamoto, and I don’t mean by kids our own size.  I mean grown men ran, dashed across streets to hit us around, driving us back into the alleys.  You don’t know how my heart bleeds for your poor ‘people’ Mr. Harvard Graduate Sukamoto.

     Now, when you were a Japanese at Harvard during a war with Japan were you ever physically assaulted?  I didn’t think so.  Well, who do you think was persecuting we orphans?  No, not Japanese, there weren’t any in the Valley.  But don’t think it was only Anglos, Jorge.  Even as the horrors of the Nazis unfolded some who persecuted us were Jews.  Some were Italians proud to do the dirty work granted them by Anglos.  They were all of them, Anglos or minorities proud, eager to beat up small orphan children.  Yes, the truth is incredible isn’t it?

     Don’t you sneer at my experience, Sukamoto.

     So, sure, never send for whom the bell tolls, I’ve sympathy for you, the Jews, the Blacks.  it’s just that except for possibly the Blacks I don’t think you’ve got a hell of a lot of room to talk.  None of your ‘people’s’ internal histories show that you’re such kind and generous people, you all persecute who you’re able.  I don’t see persecution, Jorge, I just see a lot of rotten people throwing rocks at each other.  So, yeah, I can sympathize with your stupid poster but, so what?’

     ‘I don’t believe you.’  Jorge blurted out heatedly.  ‘That stuff couldn’t ever happen to Whites in America.  This is a White country.  You’re White, not colored.  It couldn’t have happened in America.’

page 68.

    ‘You calling me a liar, Sukamoto?  You think I’d bother to make this stuff up to entertain a non-entity like you.  You’re colored, sure but you’re one of the Old Boys.  You’re treated better than me by the Whites you hate.  They’ve turned me over to you to be exploited.  You think because I’m not dark complected my origins don’t show?

     How do you think I got this hang-dog expression on my face?  How do you think I got this stupid apologetic manner, my infernal politeness to creeps?  The same way you got yours, Jorge.  Only I’m not a wimp.  I don’t go around complaining like a limping, whimpering dog.  I walk like a man, I don’t live my life on my knees before the oppressor like you do, Sukamoto.’

     Dewey was getting a little heated, his voice rose and he began to tremble over his whole body.  He began to actually bounce in his chair.

     ‘Do you know what they used to do, Sukamoto?  I probably know more about fine things than you do.  Do you know how I learned?  They used to take small groups of us to teas in the best homes in the Valley.  They used to show us all their little treasures, indicating the finer points.  They laughed at our gauche manners, then when we were dismissed we were told that this life style, those things, were never meant for scum like us, that we could never have them, would be allowed to have them.  All that imprinted a sullen expectation on my face, my walk, my talk, my behavior.  Not everyone can see it but people in the right places see it and it is a signal to deny me because their class has stigmatized me.  What you see before you Sukamoto is not me but the product of your machinations.

page 69.

     Now, our characters are quite similar, Sukamoto, but you benefit from the treatment the Japanese received during the war.  I have forever been made an outcast.  Why do you think you got me?

     You say this Mr. Whatisname at Universal National Bank has always treated you Japanese kindly; that he’s given you loans that you weren’t entitled to  in amounts in excess of what you were entitled to.  Well, you’re colored and I’m White, Jorge, but I don’t get any loans at all and I’ve got a very successful business.  They just play despicable games with me.  So who’s discriminated against?  Colored boy like you, or White boy like me?’

     But Jorge Sukamoto’s life was bracketed by his self-pity.  He couldn’t sympathize with any White person even though a brother under the skin.  He couldn’t see that as a universal soldier his color didn’t matter.  He was of the the class that persecuted Dewey.  Dewey saw him merely as an Old Boy oppressor not as a colored person.  Jorge couldn’t perceive America in its true light.  He was a bigot.

     ‘I don’t care.  You’re White.’   He limped.

     Dewey got up to leave with his signed lease in his hand, ‘By the way, I’d take that stupid poster down if I were you.’

     Jorge snarled into the holes of his sweater than played his trump.   ‘By the way Dewey,’ he said with a wry smile.  ‘My wife is Jewish.’

     Dewey had an overtrump.  ‘So’s mine.’  He said over his shoulder as he walked away.

page 70.

     Ben got wonderingly from his chair walking slightly ahead of Jorge’s desk where they both watched open mouthed as Dewey left.  They were astounded at Dewey.  Never had any White person been anything but subservient before the poster.  Everything he had said had been new to them.  Not necessarily believable in their eyes, but new.

     That Dewey was an orphan stirred deep prejudices in them of which they were not aware.  In every society in the world orphans having no one to defend them have no rights.  From Ancient Egypt and Babylonia thrugh the derivative Jewish Bible to the present, cutting across all racial and national lines orphans were and are cheated, robbed and denied.  In Dewey’s eyes the Sukamotos were part of the oppressor class not colored or Japanese.  Other Whites ignorant of history, his own history and himself could only understand his hatred of the Sukamotos as racial prejudice.

     The Sukamotos in their turn lost all keenness of pleasure in persecuting Dewey.  If his ‘own people’ didn’t want him he merely had a mercenary value to them.

     As to what Dewey had said, Jorge, and definitely Ben, lacked the background to judge.  Since the Atomic scientists had German sounding names like Oppenheimer and Teller, they assumed they were German.  America had funded the Bomb, therefore it was American.  They could only assume that Trueman was slandering the Jews.

     ‘Have you ever heard such nonsense?’  Ben said.  ‘Of course it was racial, they would never have dropped IT on the Germans.’

     ‘Yes.  We were told that he was a bigot.  What we just heard proves it without a doubt.  He won’t get far.  He can’t make it in an empty building with construction going on around him.  If he does we’ll get him another way.’

     Jorge sought ways to humiliate his White tenants.  Sometimes the means came to him.  He allowed those things to happen reveling in the complaints of his White tenants or, Slaves, as he jokingly referred to them.  When the Center had opened, bums came in from the cold to stretch out on the benches in the Atrium that Jorge had placed about.  Dewey’s and others’ complaints fell on deaf ears as Jorge indulged his bigotry by allowing the bums to stay.

     Customer complaints eventually forced him to action as his Center did have to succeed to repay those more than generous loans.

     The situation that developed in the second floor toilet thus afforded him great pleasure.  Even though Pilgrims Center was billed as a family center Jorge did not respond to complaints.  Mothers unwittingly sent their seven and eight year old sons to use the facility.

page 72

IV.

Why am I stumbling down the highway

When I shoud be rolling cross the skyways

On my

Cosmic Wheels?

–Donovan

 

     As a TV personality Dewey had good reason to avoid public restrooms.  By dint of careful planning he was fairly successful.  He hadn’t used the second floor toilet since the problem there had developed.  But now he had to use what was becoming laughingly referred to as ‘homo heaven.’

     He felt the urge when the hands of the clock read twelve-thirty.  The height of the lunch hour.  He pushed the door open to see one of the most astounding sights he had ever seen.  A fellow was carefully washing out one of the wash basins.  He then opened a package  of dry noodle soup, dumped the contents into the sink, ran hot water over the noodles, pulled a spoon out of his sock and began to eat out of the sink.  Dewey stood transfixed watching in amazement as the stench of the toilet assailed his nostrils.  He recovered himself to find the walls lined with hopeful, expectant faces.

     He wasn’t aware that the toilet had become a homosexual clubroom.  Feeney McReady, immediately on his left, wearing a green plaid jacket with very wide lapels and rust colored elbow patches that extended to the cuff, green and white checkered pants, a tan check shirt and a rust colored plaid tie, volunteered an explanation of the soup eater:  ‘That’s Soupy Feensteen.’  He said approvingly.  ‘He’s the founder of Jewish Queers Against Fascism.  He has his lunch here every day.’

page 73.

     Feensteen interrupted his feeding, straightening up to his full skinny height of five-six to beam a greeting at Dewey expecting some gesture of approval in return.  Dewey, offended, looked away offending Soupy who immediately condemned him as an anti-Semite.

     Not only was Dewey a TV personality but when it became apparent to the Old Boy Network he wouldn’t go bust in Portland they began to take him seriously.  They began an investigation of his past.  It was a singularly clear record except for one peculiar report, albeit a devastating report.  In his senior year in high school Dewey had chanced upon a group of acquaintances who were leaning against a low wall receiving oral sex from another classmate.  Dewey had been told to get in line but he refused.  He was warned that there would be consequences if he refused but he still did.

     The group in their guilt and shame devised a way to reverse the circumstances as people will do.  They arranged a situation at a roller skating rink in which over fifty ‘witnesses’ claimed to have seen Trueman perforning oral sex on a line of boys.

     The Old Boys were so elated by the discovery that even without corroboration of subsequent activity they spread the story as true.  Trueman was asked mysterious questions about how he like roller skating.  As he had never heard the latter half of the story he was mystified by the questions.

page 74.

     Some the homos in the toilet knew the story.  They thus thought Trueman was pretending by not dropping his mask and resented it deeply.

     When Dewey had gone on TV he had made a fatal error.  His method of dealing with his prominence was to assume that if he didn’t act as though he were on TV, not put on airs, that people would treat him in a normal manner.  This simply could not be.  Having made the move it was incumbent on him to adopt a suitable public persona because, like it or not, he was having an effect on viewers who remained anonymous to him.  Nevertheless he acted as though he were unknown.

     An electric thrill went through the homos when he walked in.  He was a hero to them.  Feeney, who was not quite such a beat up hommie as the rest,sacrificed a certain amount of pride hanging around the toilet.  He did it because he was hopelessly in love with the TV idea of Dewey Trueman.  He prayed that Dewey would come in and notice him.  The things we do for love.

     The homos wanted to meet him on their own turf; they wanted to stand by his fire in the toilet.  Who knew, some thought, that he might be one too.  Feeney hoped to impress Dewey with his turnout.

Feeney had the hightest hopes if Dewey would only recognize him.  For the great seer of the homos, Sal Mineo, had said that if you didn’t talk like Marilyn Monroe or wear a dress anyone was possible.

page 75.

     Feeney had his fingers crossed but Dewey paid him only the most cursory attention concealing a smile at his attire.

     Dewey’s attention was next drawn to Vic Laszlo, who was wearing a little house dress that came to mid-thigh.  Laszlo was probably not sane.  His reaction to his childhood abuse was extreme.  He had been totally emasculated, his pride was gone.  Still he tried to justify his house dress.  As Laszlo explained it: You’ll never know freedom until you’ve put on the dress.  Further mental derangement had been caused by the excessive use of cocaine, other dangerouos drugs and alcohol.  The telltale scab hung from his nose as he sniffed uncontrollably.

     Barry Manson standing next to him had his hand up Vicky’s dress holding the cheek of his ass under his panties.  That’s right.  Panties.  Speaking to no one in particular Laszlo intoned:  ‘No one’s ever known freedom till he’s taken the dress.’  Manson smiled approvingly hitching his pants up.  Dewey looked down and away wishing he were somewhere else.

     As Dewey turned the corner of the divider to seek a urinal he spotted Nello Nitti dressed as Marlon Brando in the Wild Ones.  Nitti was flanked by Ben Hale and Chancy Flegenheimer who all grunted deprecatingly at Trueman making contemptuous faces.  They were rebelling at anything society had.

     Back by the stalls Ace Onested, Lou Williams and Dick Bundy stood waiting for the noon time action.  As Dewey stepped up to the urinal a stock broker by the name of Rey Martine raced past him pointing authoritatively at Lou Williams.  They stepped into a stall together.

page 76.

     At that time little Jimmy Grosza took up a position next to Dewey.  Lou Williams in the stall was trying to get into position for Rey Martine.  He was making a racket as he climbed upon the toilet seat pushing Martine repeatedly against the door.  The two cursed each other repeatedly to cover their shame.

     ‘What are they doing in there?’  Eight year old Jimmy Grosza asked looking up trustingly at Dewey.

     ‘Just do what you have to do and get out of here.’  Dewey replied in disgust.  ‘Don’t even bother to wash your hands.’

     As luck would have it Dewey stood there dry, waiting.  ‘Damn it.’  He said to himself.

     Nello Nitti eyed him, bobbing his head and curling his lip in that soft tough guy Brando fashion with his jeans rolled up in ridiculous four inch cuffs.  Can’t Bust ‘Ems instead of Levis.

     ‘Hey! Come On!’ I can’t reach the toilet paper.’  Williams whined from the stall.

    Dewey picked up a copy of the Daily Assassin lying folded on top of the urinal and threw it over the top of the stall.

     ‘Here. Use this.’  He muttered under his breath.  ‘That’s about all it’s good for.’

     As he turned back he noticed that Laszlo had postioned himself so that he could study Dewey’s penis.  Laszlo worked his mouth convulsively as he stared while Manson squeezed his cheek in rhythm.  Dewey groaned audibly activating Nitti.  Nitti abandoned his lounging position in the corner, standing erect.  A cigarette separated his index and middle fingers at the bottom knuckle of his clenched fist as he stood legs apart in his best Brando tough guy fashion.  His boots were too new, they’d never seen a kick stand.

page 77.

     ‘You know what I’d like to do to him?’ He sneered at Hale and Flegenheimer, speaking as though Dewey weren’t there.  He brought the finger of his right hand to a point working them into an imaginary rectum then he balled his fist and holding his arm at the elbow he worked his forearm and fist up and down several times.  Sneering broadly around the toilet he leaned back into corner waiting for Dewey’s reaction

     Dewey knew what the gesture meant.  He’d had it explained lovingly to by Trashman, a dedicated practitioner.  Dewey didn’t know what it had to do with ‘sexual preference’ but it was called, let me be coy, fist fornication.  The hand, fist and forearm were actually pushed a foot or more up the rectum.

     This was what the Daily Assassin was endorsing: base injured psychological reaction.  A defective gene?  In religious terms the homos were failed human beings unable to rise from the mire.  Certainly the religious groups opposed to the legitimization of homosexual behavior as a desirable alternative life style had their failings, but in the theosophical lotus metaphor they were trying to better themselves, to aspire to more perfect behavior.  They were pointed in the right direction.

     In the lotus metaphor the roots of the lotus are sunk into the mire of materiality while the stem rises through the more spiritual murky water to blossom in the light of the spiritual sun above its material roots.  Thus man should try to escape his material origins to strive for the attainment of spiritual perfection.

page 78.

     Homosexuality rejects the notion preferring to wallow in the pleasure of subjecting their fellows to humiliation and degradation.  To be sure, that is what they have known, for in their childhood abuse they were humiliated and degraded by their seducers followed by rejection.  While homosexuals may not be aware of it the seduction entered their psyches requiring endless reenactments in the futile hope of resolving their psychological trauma in that manner.

     But absolution cannot be had in that manner.  One can only resolve the problem by deep contemplation and understanding.

     As Dewey zipped up Ray Martine burst from the stall throwing a twenty on the floor exclaining:  ‘Jesus, you goddamn queers disgust me.’  He raced out the door to escape his disgust with himself as he spat on the floor.

    ‘Musta had a bad day in the market.’  Williams said motioning to Ace Onested to pick up the twenty.  Onested, who wore pink slippers with large pompoms on the toes because it hurt his feet to walk, clanked over to pick up the bill.  He clanked because his pockets were filled with nickels, dimes and pennies.  He wanted the world to know that he was never broke, always had plenty of pocket money.

     Dewey followed Rey Martine out the door.  ‘You guys disgust me too.’  He said aloud to himself.  But Dewey didn’t leave a twenty behind.   His remark was interpreted as ‘homophobe’ rather than a comment about some very disgusting behavior by some very disgusting guys.

page 79.

     Like all social and religious interest groups the homos were very sensitive about ‘defamatory’ remarks but very adept at defamation.  A defamation from which as their status as underdogs there is little defense, or worse still, offense.  Following the lead of Soupy Feensteen of the Jewish Queers Against Fascism they all clicked their heels, raised their arms in the straight armed, open palmed Nazi salute shouting ‘Heil Hitler.’  This was the worst insult they could devise.  There was no opinion but their own; if your weren’t for them you were a Fascist.  Feensteen with a glare of self-righteous hatred brought his salute from the Nazi into the crooked arm, clenched fist Jewish salute silently mouthing, We’ll get you.

     Ben Hale separated himself from Flegenheimer and Nitti following Dewey out.  Trueman had a lead and walked fast so that Hale had to run in short, quick, tripping steps to catch up to him just as Dewey passed through the indoor dining plaza just before his door.

     Hale was a soft pudgy, very effeminate five-eight.  He tripped up behind Dewey and slapped him on the shoulder:  ‘You better watch  your mouth, Mither.’  He lisped.

     Dewey had had enough.  He had endured too much.  He turned in a quiet rage with closed fists.  Hale danced backward out of reach shaking his finger at Dewey.  Self-defense in his mind was a crime.  To oppose the wishes of homos was a crime; any chastisement was to be accepted as just retribution.

page 80.

     Three guys got up from a table advancing on Dewey.  ‘Hey, watch it bud, we don’t want no homophobia stuff going on around here.  This is a democracy and America means freedom.’

     Dewey put his fists down, pointing at Hale and speaking to the three.  ‘Well, your faggot just assaulted me, my men, and that’s a crime.  Don’t ever touch me again faggot, or you’ll learn what democracy and freedom mean to me.’  He said in anger.

     Hale sucked in his breath in mock astonishment:  ‘Did you hear him call me faggot?  Did you hear him call me faggot?  He’s a homophobe alright.  Well he doesn’t have to worry about me coming on to him.  He’s too ugly.’  Hale giggled out a version of the old Oscar Wilde saw.

     God, how can Sukamoto let this go on Dewey groaned to himself in the agony of having to endure such degradation in the name of someone else’s perverted notion of ‘democracy, freedom and justice.’  In fact, Jorge Sukamoto was enjoying it very much.  He saw White boys making fools of each other.  He was actively encouraging it in the name of ‘tolerance.’  The humiliation he observed nearly matched the humiliation he felt from being Japanese in what he saw as White America.

     So, Trashman was even happier at the New Criterion where he could duck into the toilet between servings of food to feed his lust.  For truly, as Isaiah predicted, He ate and was never satisfied.

     Attorney was fired from the New Criterion for theft.  But while there he met Linda Delmurkwasser who gathered there with her friends regularly.  The Digiorgio sisters who owned the shop were not lesbians proper, but libertines; they were game for anything, anytime, anywhere, anyplace with anybody.  They swung in every possible direction.

page 81.

     Because he had taken the money Trashman didn’t hold his firing against Trueman.  He had taken the cash partly from desire and partly to see how far he could push Trueman.  His seduction, as with most homos, had not been entered on a conscious level, nor even, properly speaking on the subconscious level but in a level of unaware understanding.  He, and they, had been given a very sneaky surreptitious first strike.  He, and they, had been seduced at a young age when they had no, or very few, defenses.  The good heartedness of their love offering had been betrayed and rejected when their ‘lovers’ cast them off with great derogation.  This attitude entered their minds as normal behavior.  Thus a surreptitious first blow coupled with derogation and humiliation became their standard of correct conduct.  But as Trashman and the homos were totally unaware of the basis of their homosexuality they denied the impetus claiming that they had always felt like they were girls.

     Thus in his confrontations with Trueman Trashman as the aggressor had set conditions so that win or lose the first blow would always insure the upper hand.  Psychologically and practically two wrongs do not make a right but a third does, at least in one person’s mind.

     In his subterranean way he was conducting a manhood test in the hopes of reversing his old defeat as an eight year old.  If he got away with the offense he had a double win and doubly proved his manhood against the ‘hetero’ who had injured him.  If he lost he still had the five hundred dollars and had put Trueman through the wringer.  In his eyes he was still the better man.  His ‘seducer’ was the loser.  It was queer but an integral part of the homosexual psychology.  His frustration was almost ‘genetic.’

page 82.

     The firing aside, what preyed most on Attorney Trashman’s mind were what he considered his defeats over the gauze pants and the Master-Slave T-shirt manhood tests.  He had no hope of recapturing his manhood in endless tests.  Each loss exacerbated his frustration.  He then engineered yet further tests against which by their surreptitious nature there could be no defense in the hope that he could rectify his blunted manhood by winning.  But by the very underhanded nature of the tests the wins could never be satisfying.  He was condemned to chew and chew and never swallow.

     Attorney’s theft had been both revenge and yet another additional unsatisfying manhood test.  While he had kept the five hundred dollars he had been fired.  In a further effort to reverse the tables Attorney told eveyone that the reason he had been fired was because he had refused to take the polygraph.  When the polygraph became illegal Delmurkwasser who was seeking ‘revenge’ because Trueman hadn’t cooperated with the lesbians over the covers began to see how she could cast Trueman in a criminal light.

     She discussed the story idea with her editor, Mingo Miybriy, who gave her the green light in the interests of ‘freedom’ and ‘equality’ and ‘democracy.’  The term ‘democracy’ was beginning to assume the meaning it now has of the Dictatorship Of The Marginals.  In other words the inmates were taking control of the asylum while the ‘good men’ abstaining from doing nothing cheered them on.  Or as Yeats put it:  the best lack all conviction while the worst are full of passionate intensity.

page 83.

     Linda took Trashman’s statements at face value.  She already had her article written but she wanted to interview Trueman so she could make attributions to him and smear him ‘in his own words.’  She had called several times but Dewey declined to speak to her, let alone be interviewed.  Dewey had learned the hard way not to give out interviews.  In most cases the interview only gives the interviewer the right to attribute in one’s own voice without recourse.  Paley and Murrow’s hatchet job on McCarthy had a profound effect on journalism.  Trueman could smell the odor of the hatchet, or perhaps, a ballpeen hammer job.  Both Trashman and the lesbians sought to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

     Trueman had been raised to believe that both sides of a story must be presented by a paper.  Thus he felt secure that he had quashed the article.  But Mingo and Linda followed ‘Revolutionary justice.’  They believed Trueman guilty and that was enough Law for them.

     By publishing the hatchet job the Daily Assassin abdicated all title to respect by becoming a partisan rag.  Attorney Trashman was a vile criminal.  Linda Delmurkwasser was little better.  As for the Assassin…

     Yet a major metropolitan paper used its public unregulated power to represent the goals of these despicable people while trying to destroy a man who was productive, decent and honest.  What a perversion of values.

page 84.

     The Assassin would further castigate decent folk who formed a group to present heterosexual views.  They formed simply to protect their children from these sexual predators.  They too wanted freedom from harassment in this democracy of ours.  Rather than wallowing in the mire they were attempting to rise toward the light.  Order or chaos must rule, any condition in between is merely transitory.  As the medieval writer, the worldly Heinrich von dem Turlin said:  When two men play at dice both cannot win.  No, one life style or the other must prevail.

     The AIDS epidemic began shortly after these incidents.  The homosexuals were hit and hit hard by this seeming specific malady.  With the elation of the Candy Store Era gone and the grim reality of death before them the exuberantly sexual record covers that had caused Dewey’s problem disappeared over night replaced by sober geometric designs and sombre colors.  The lesbians’ problem was properly an internecine homosexual quarrel.  It had nothing to do with the heterosexual male.

     In the general sense the Daily Assassin promoted the forces of evil over the forces of ‘good.’  Materiality over spirituality.  The paper was no longer disinterested; it became an organ of homosexuality.  Heterosexuals would henceforth be defamed and reviled never being able to present their views.  The last had become the first.

page 85.

     The story had been a successful smear against which Trueman had no recourse.  The Assassin would not give him a retraction.  When he called he was given to low level employees, janitors and maintenance men who arrogantly told him:  ‘You had your chance to tell your side and refused it.’  When he tried to protest they merely hung up.  Dewey knew better than to show up at the offices where he could be arrested for ‘disturbing the peace.’  There is no court of appeals with homosexual justice.

     Trueman’s attorney, Pig Bowser, a great slab faced lawyer who earned his nickname in high school football because he filled a space in the line as big as a prize pig, refused to file a suit on his behalf so that the Assassin had no fear of retaliation.  The Old Boy Network to which Bowser was beholden ensured that the paper was immune to law suits.

     This mass of experience was but ill-digested and half understood by Trueman.  It filled his mind with a strong sense of injustice which he could not articulate.  As he grasped not so much for words but concepts to frame a reply to Harcourt, Owney Madnum greeted Brace over Trueman’s shoulder.

page 86.

     ‘Hey, Big B.’

     ‘Hi there, Owney.  How goes it?’

      Owney ignored Dewey, pretending he wasn’t there.  Harcourt was a second generation, Madmun a third generation Oregonian.  Owney’s family had the Oregon Pacific Press Co., which was a very large printing company in town.  Owney occupied a sinecure in upper management.  He was enabled to live in fair style.  His swimming pool would end up costing as much as his house.

     Native Oregonians despised all immigrants.  They viewed themselves as a sort of Israelite, a chosen people living in the only spot on earth worth inhabiting.  But the accomplishments of their neighbors to the North and South which far exceeded their own left them with a terrible inferiority complex.  They compensated by belittling California and Texas in particular.  In general they believed all others spoke with an accent.  The whole South thus came under ridicule even though Eastern Oregonians spoke with a pronounced Western drawl and pockets of people such as in Lebanon had a real hillbilly accent.  In a word, they were bigots.

page 87.

     They saw themselves as innocents in a world of depravity.  Their vanity led them to believe that Oregon would be crime free but for immigrants from California and Illinois.  Dewey would have been contemptible as an immigrant alone.  He was not ‘Oregonized’ in the slang of the times, but as the owner of a successful business he was exploiting Oregonians.  He was treated somewhat as a Martian invader.

     As he owned a record store, that meant to Owney as well as Harcourt that he was selling drugs in a big way, else how could a record store owner afford to live in the neighborhood?

     Now, the drug issue was a complicated one.  Brace Harcourt’s use of drugs was considered medicine.  Owney also used prescription drugs on a regular basis.  He snorted cocaine.  His differentiation was that he thought that Trueman supplied addicts who couldn’t afford the stuff so they stole to support their habit.  Owney could afford his cocaine and therefore used drugs recreationally.  He could stop anytime he chose, while ‘addicts’ couldn’t.

     Trueman, as Owney believed, dealt with the underworld  while he acquired his dope from a lawyer friend downtown with connections.  The lawyer’s connection bought from the head of maintenance at Stein and Cohn’s Department Store.  Owney’s connection didn’t even talk to the maintenance chief as he placed his orders and had his stuff delivered to the office by a courier system that functioned more or less openly on the streets of downtown.  Thus, Owney imagined that he was ‘clean’ while the role he projected on Trueman was ‘dirty.’  Owney despised Trueman as both an immigrant and a drug dealer.  Owney held him beneath contempt.

page 88.

     Trueman had never met Owney but he now addressed his back:  ‘Uh, your contractor says you plan to build your pumphouse on my property.’

     Madmun went on talking to Harcourt as though Dewey hadn’t spoken.

     Dewey pushed Madmun’s shoulder with his open hand.

     ‘I said your contractor says you plan to build your pumphouse on my lot.’

     Ignoring the shove Madmun scanned the sky as if looking for the source of the voice.

     ‘You heard me.  Are you?’

     Owney was in perturbation.  He didn’t want to acknowledge Trueman but he was compelled to answer such a question.  The shove had given him notice that he had better.  Looking across the street over Harcourt’s shoulder and speaking into the air as though to himself, he said firmly so as to avoid contradiction, ‘Yes, I am.’

     Dewey was incredulous.  ‘You are?  What do you mean, you are?’

     Madmun made him repeat the question, then still looking away he replied:  ‘Hell, yes.  It’s only about eighteen inches and you’re not using it for anything.’

     Dewey was familiar with insolent effrontery but the bland usurpation of another’s property passed all understanding.

page 89.

     ‘Look…’ Dewey didn’t use Madmun’s name because he didn’t know it.  ‘…your trucks are already passing over my property without my permission…’

     ‘They aren’t hurting anything.’  Madmun interrupted.

     ‘…but don’t build your pumphouse on my property.  Whether I’m using it or not, it’s mine, don’t build on it.’

     Owney turned toward Dewey looking over his right shoulder and head pretending not to see him while he had him in the periphery of his vision.  He gave no answer one way or another when Harcourt came to his assistance by saying:  ‘Well, see you later Owney, I’ve got to go now.’  Breaking up the discussion.

     As said, Owney was incapable of intellection.  He did not know right from wrong; he only knew that for his plans to work he needed eighteen inches of Trueman’s property, although as an immigrant he thought that Trueman had no rights.  He would have attempted the usurpation of the space regardless of who his neighbor had been.  He was simply incapable of social responsibility.  After his pool was built he poisoned the roots of a fine old maple on Harcourt’s property because the prevailing Southwest wind blew its autumn leaves into his pool.

page 90.

    V.

I’m going away, yes today,

Behind the wheel of a stolen Chevrolet.

I’m going to get a little high

And see if I can hotwire reality.

-Jackson Browne

 

     Owney leaned out over the mirror on his coffee table to watch himself as he scooped cocaine from the little etched crystal bowl with his twenty-four carat razor blade.  As he fined the crystals out with the blade, arranging them in two lines, his gaze came back to him, not troubled, for Owney didn’t have the intelligence to be troubled, but slightly befuddled.

     The pool expense was running up.  Owney had envisioned the completed pool, not the steps leading up  to it.  He had made no provision for the excavated dirt.  His contractor now informed him that transport and disposal would cost him several thousand additional dollars.  His house was less than six feet from the property line but his feeble intellect imagined that the dirt could be backed against his foundation.

     Owney’s wife, Toni, sat across the room listening to him.  She put a little pile of cocaine on her figer as she was at that age where peering into her reflection showed little lines that she wished weren’t there.  She sniffed the little pile into her right nostril, relieving the pressure on her left nostril as she did so.  As her eyes refocused she said:  ‘Well, Owney, I don’t think there is room beside the house for all that dirt.’

page 91.

     Owney, who had taken one of the rolled up hundred dollar bills from a little smooth ball shaped crystal vase as a tube to snort up the two little lines, having finished the right, pulled the hundred dollar tube from his left nostril.

     Toni’s words rattled from one side of his brain to the other as he tried to organize them into a coherent meaning.  Sitting back, he finally grasped the meaning through his exhilaration:  ‘Well, we can dump it on Trueman’s lot.  He’s got a lot of room he’s not using for anything.  Use it or lose it; that’s what I always say.’

     ‘He’s already told you he doesn’t want you to use his land for the pumphouse, Owney, don’t you think he’ll object to having his lot covered with your dirt?’

     ‘We need to build the pumphouse the way it is.  How’s he going to tell.  Besides once we get it up it’ll be too late.  It’ll be legal.  If we dump the dirt on his lot, same thing.  What’s he going to do about it, punch me out?  Not likely, I’ve been in Viet Nam.  And if he does, I’ll have his faggot ass thrown in jail.  We knew how to deal with his kind in Nam.’  Owney said making a pistol of his right hand.

     ‘I don’t think he’ll punch you out either, Owney, but he might file a law suit.  You’d be clearly in the wrong and have the extra expense of moving it again.’

     ‘Why?’

     ‘Why, what?’  Toni asked, startled.

page 92.

     ‘Why would I clearly be in the wrong?  Once it’s done it’s legal.’

     Toni explained to Owney that the pumphouse should be set back six feet but if they got it built without Trueman objecting the law wouldn’t require them to tear it down.  Owney extended to notion to mean that, if built on Trueman’s property the law couldn’t require him to tear tear it down; from there he extended the principle to mean that anything done could be gotten away with.  He went back to snort the another line.

     ‘Well, Owney, the law looks at things in a funny way.  You know, as a legal secretary I see these things happen a lot.  The law isn’t fair, they just will rule against you.’

     Really?  Boy, that’s rotten.  I know a lot of people too.  Well, I’ll ask him.  He probably wants to level his lot.’

     So, with what passed for close reasoning in Madmun’s mind he approached Trueman who was standing in his backyard with his German Shepherd, Savage, waiting for the big dog to do the natural thing.  His lot dropped thirty feet from Camelot to Cambenic.  The sharp drop from Camelot leveled into a small plateau.  this fell away sharply to Cambenic.  Owney dashed across the lot and scrambled up the drop off.

     Savage, sensing Madmun’s innate hostility lunged forward with the serious sounding growl of the Shepherd descending into a deep throated aggressive bark.

     ‘Whoa.  Down, Savage, down.  Come here, my good dog.  Sit, mighty fella.’

     Savage sat leaning against Trueman’s right leg, tense and quivering, lip curled back.

page 93.

     As an opening card Madmun threw in:  ‘If that dog bites me, Trueman, I’m going to shoot him.’

     ‘Poison’s more your style, buddy.  He’s defending his property.  You shoot him and I’ll shoot you.  Now get off my property.  Furthermore keep those trucks off my property from now on.’

     Madmun remembered what he had come for.  He followed up his opening with this non-sequitur:  ‘You’re a pretty good guy Trueman.  Listen, I’ve got a deal for you.  Won’t cost you a thing.  You know, my wife and I look out at your lot from our window there and see how it falls away here where I had to scramble up.  Damn near fell too, I might of had to sue you.  We got all this dirt they have to remove from our lot.  I’ll tell them just to come over and dump it here.  Fill this in for you, make it look pretty good.  I won’t charge you for trucking it over.  It’s free.  Free’s a pretty good price.’

     Dewey looked at him dumbfounded, while Owney apprehensively eyed Savage who shifted restlessly on his hindquarters.  Dewey had a quick mind, he was not only capable of intellection he had a remarkably analytic mind.  In the first place he almost emitted a scornful laugh at Madmun’s stupidity.   The amount of dirt coming off Madmun’s lot would more than fill Trueman’s.  Heaped around the trees, they would all die.  The peaks and valleys of the heaps would make it impossible for the equipment to cross Trueman’s lot.  Besides Madmun would never adhere to any agreement.  Trueman was already resentful of all the liberties Owney was taking.  Already an outlaw with no civil rights his only recourse with Madmun would be to file a lawsuit that might be loaded against him.  He knew that if he did a new load of opprobrium would be dumped on his head.  His reputation as a ‘rotten guy’ would be increased.

     ‘People would think you were a pretty good guy..’  Owney began interpreting Trueman’s delay in answering shrewdly. 

     ‘Oh yeah?’  Trueman interrupted, transmitting his anger to Savage who shifted aggressively increasing the intensity of his growl.  ‘Either that or they’d think I was your fool.  No buddyjack, I don’t want your dirt on my land.’

     Madmun was incredulous.  ‘Don’t be a bigger fool than you need to be Trueman.  I’m giving you a golden opportunity here.  This much dirt would cost you hundreds maybe thousands of dollars.’

     Savage responded to Owney’s tone by straining against the leash, while his growl increased in intensity as his fangs drew apart.

     ‘I’m going to give Savage a golden opportunity if you don’t get off my land now, jerk.  We’ll see if you can even handle a gun with what you’ve got left for a hand.’

     ‘God, you’re a prick Trueman.  I can see why people say the things about you that they do.  Goddam, what a asshole.’

     Owney Madmun retreated.  He still wanted to just dump the dirt on Trueman’s lot but Toni dissuaded him.   Still, rather than pay to have the dirt hauled, Owney instructed the workers to shovel the dirt against his foundation.  Then, not so much because he thought Trueman was that stupid but because he thought himself that clever, he ordered the workemen to feather the dirt gradually out over Trueman’s lot.  Dewey noticed.  He spoke to the workers forbidding them to come on his lot; they spoke to Madmun who was then forced to the expense of hauling it away.  He blamed Trueman for the additional expense.

page 95.

     The excavation completed and, in the fact of Trueman’s refusal to permit him to use his lot for access, Owney had no choice but to have the concrete poured from above on Camelot.

     The concrete work done they began to build his pumphouse.  He built according to his original specification on Dewey’s lot.  In addition, to enlarge his patio he extended a terrace to within a few inches of Trueman’s house.  The house was set back ten teet from the property line.

     Trueman couldn’t believe Madmun’s effrontery.  He knew his only recourse would be the law.  He trembled inwardly at the thought.  In his whole career in Oregon he had fought desperately to steer clear of the courts.  His enemies had fought just as hard to get him involved legally.  As an outlaw Trueman was routinely denied his civil rights.  He knew tht he would be denied and possibly in all circumstances.  He knew that his opponents had no sense of shame or pride.  Even in a clear cut case such as this he thought the law would be perverted to his injury.  Nor were his fears unjustified.

      He dreaded to approach Owney.  His rage and sense of injury, not to mention insult, through injustice now dominated his mind.  His sense of defenselessness gave a snarling whine to his justified indignation.  Owney, on his part, believed he could tough it out, that nothing would come of Trueman’s indignation.

page 96.

     As a native Oregonian he knew that he had the power to slander Trueman so that not only would no one talk to him, which was his status already, but so that he would find it impossible to even contract services let alone have the work done honestly, correctly and economically.  To ensure that Dewey knew, he had anonymous figures tell Dewey where he stood.  In the meantime he refused to answer the door and hung up the phone without a comment.

     Dewey had taken a lot of abuse over the years without complaining, knowing that complaint would only lead him into a morass from which he could never extricate himself.  But this was such a gross violation of his rights, such a tremendous indignity that he could not let it pass unchallenged no matter what the consequences.  He left a note advising Owney to respond or else.  Toni advised Owney to respond as she, not understanding the pervasiveness and depth of the animosity against Trueman, knew that in court Owney must surely lose.

     Trueman’s note had advised Madmun that he would return at six the following evening for an answer.  Madmun chose to tough it out.  He thought he held all the aces.  The social consequences of challenging him would be too much for Trueman, as his crowd advised him.  As his crowd said, meaning Trueman, when you know you’re going to be raped just lay back and enjoy it.  Owney thought that when push came to shove Trueman would buckle.

     Dewey rang Owney’s bell at six.  Owney’s voice came through the door:  ‘Who is it?’

page 97.

     ‘Your neighbor, Dewey Trueman.’

     ‘What do you want.’

     Dewey fought to control his rage at this additional insult.  His voice always high under stress, became a piercing shrill soprano.

     ‘Open your door so I can talk to you.’ 

     ‘No.’  Owney said, his voice shaking with suppressed laughter.  ‘If you’ve got something to say, say it through the door.’

     Dewey took several seconds, close to a minute, to seek control of himself before he could answer, then he didn’t say what he intended to say.  Instead he strangled out the word:  ‘Get your pumphouse off my property and move that terrace back.’

     ‘What?’  Said Owney, trying to enrage Trueman to the point where he could call the police.

     Overkill always calmed Trueman.  ‘You heard me.’  He said, his voice dropping back to Irish tenor level.

     ‘Don’t give me any of that Trueman.  You don’t have the right to abuse me just because you can’t hold your own.  This is a rough and tumble world; only the strong survive.  You’re not using the land, I am.  Use it or lose it, that’s what I always say.’

     Dewey saw the futility of trying to deal with such an idiot.  He simply turned and walked away.  He had no choice but to hazard the law.

     ‘So what’s your problem, Trueman?’  Owney shouted through the door.

     ‘So, what’s your problem?’  He repeated still receiving no answer.

     He pulled the door open to find the porch empty.

     ‘The nerve of that son-of-a-bitch.’  Madmun said to himself.  ‘I was talking to him.’

page 99.

VI.

Standing like a hobo in the morning rain,

Staring down the rusty tracks

For one more train.

God knows why a man should have to live this way,

But I ain’t got no choice

Unless I die today.

–Mickey Newbury

 

      ‘Quite frankly, Trueman, I don’t see that you’ve got a case.’  Pig Bowser said with studied matter -of-factness.

     ‘I don’t have a case:’  Dewey repeated blankly.  ‘Do you mean to say that in Oregon it’s legal to steal another man’s property?’

     ‘No, I don’t say that.’  Bowser said, idly pushing a couple drawers of his messy desk open and shut.  ‘But do you know this word- evidence?’

     ‘Yeah, I know what evidence is, Pig.’  Dewey said with repressed anger.  ‘The evidence is my lot.  I already told you that he built a terrace to within a foot of my house.  His pumphouse is partly on my property.  He admits it.  What better evidence do you need?’

     ‘Well, I’ve got your word for it, oh, and your word is good with me Trueman, unfortunately a court might not offer you the same indulgence.  Do you know this word?  Survey.’

     ‘So?  We can get a survey.

page 100.

     ‘Well yes, but we don’t have a survey, do we?’

     ‘Yeah, we do, Pig.  We’ve got the survey from when we bought the house four years ago.’

     ‘That’s old now.  It could be contested.’

     ‘What?  Contested? It’s nearly brand…I can have a new one taken now.’

     ‘Well, then, by all means do so, my boy, by all means do so.’  Bowser said with mocking exuberance, flinging his fat legs into the air.

     ‘Yeah.  OK.  I will.  So file the suit and I’ll get it done.’

     ‘Oh, no no, I’m not going to put myself out on limb for you.  First you give me the results of the survey, then, if everything is proper, I’ll file the suit.’

     ‘Sure, Pig.’

     ‘Well, I have a divorce case waiting.  So, it’s been fun, at least it has for me, but all good things must come to an end.’

     ‘Divorce case?  Boy, Pig, are you so desperated for business you still have to take cheap divorce cases?’

     Bowser was stung because regardless of what he told Dewey his level of competence did not rise above divorce cases.’

     ‘Oh, this a favor for an old friend.’  Bowser lied.

     ‘You aren’t named as a corespondent are you Pig?’  Trueman joked eyeing Pig’s more than protuberant belly.

     ‘Be serious.  Be serious.’  Bowser replied with false benignity.

page 101

     Dewey did not yet have that much experience with lawyers.  Under the best of conditions the legal relationship is difficult.  But the Old Boy Network was shameless.  In Trueman’s mind if you accepted a client’s money you served the client’s interests.  Bowser had been assigned to Trueman by the Old Boy Network to subvert his interests.  A lawyer of the meager talents of Bowsen had to do dirty deeds to earn the crumbs thrown his way as a reward.

     Trueman knew this.  But bad representation is still better than no representation.  His status was a major improvement from Eugene where he had been unable to obtain any legal representation at all.

     He had been in the same class as the Wobblies of the first quarter of the twentieth century.  That labor organization had been so thoroughly detested and hated that no lawyer in the entire Northwest would represent one of them.  They were denied their civil rights completely.  Like them Trueman was not only denied legal representation but he had been unable to obtain any essential service like accounting or even insurance.

     After his expansion to Portland he represented a large enought sum to admit of plundering.  Even then, at first, he had been unable to obtain adequate accounting.  He hated, by nature, to ask help of anyone but, indesperation he had turned to his Eugene landlore, Hymie Dickstein, who worked out of Portland.

     Dickstein was a successful property owner.  He had paper holding in Washington, Oregon and California in excess of a hundred million.  He was a power in the American Jewish Committee and the ADL.  All of the Jewish organizations had offices in his buildings.  He was also of the inner circle of the Old Boy Network but not a power among them.

page 102.

     Notwithstanding these attainments he was held in low esteem because of the grasping nature of his public deeds.  He had recently purchased the Adolf Kraus building.  This was an art deco building decorated with real gold leaf.  Gold can be beaten down to a thickness of one molecule so that the gold leaf on the Kraus Building represented very little gold.  Dickstein did not know this so that he had the building stripped of the leaf.  He ended up with a bill for several thousand dollars and an ounce of gold and the enmity of innumerable people.

     While deeds such as this held Dickstein up to ridicule he was nevertheless a power to be reckoned with.  Thus Trueman stepped squarely into the web by asking for his help.  Not that that really mattered; his movements were closely monitored anyway.  The Old Boy Network could and did see that he didn’t get good service.  This way the plunder could be kept in the club.

     Dickstein had suggested one of his tenants by the name of Dots Cerou.  Dots was a certified CPA. Dots was recklessly pundering Trueman offering little and charging much.

     There was no hope that Trueman would ever be able to obtain a bank loan but, as insurance, Dots turned out such erratic monthly statements that no lender would consider such a request.  Dots had Trueman paying twice the taxes he should have been.  Through Dots the Old Boy Network had Trueman referred to Pig Bowser on some business matters.

page 103.

     Trueman was aware of the situation at all times, but he had no alternative.  No one would touch him without permission.  Any who would were totally incompetent or crooked.  His choice was to be plundered or robbed.  He was the goose who layed the golden eggs.  He had to make the best of a bad situation.

     Dewey’s worst fears were now realized.  It was clear to him that Bowser would betray his interests as much as he could, nor would he be subtle about it, but blatant.  Dewey understood his disadvantage.  He knew he could be controlled by his lawyers better than he could control them.  The specter of the humiliation of defeat in court on what should have been an open and shut case would be too great a challenge to his manhood even if the odds against were a thousand to one.

     Fearful of this great humiliation he chose first to suffer a smaller one.  He dreaded to approach Madmun again.  When he did Madmun chose to believe that he was dealing from weakness.  He sneeringly dismissed Trueman through his door with a ‘See you in court.’

     Dewey had enough experience to know his total jeopardy.  Dewey was afraid of the results of a new survey.  He had worked for a surveyer in Eugene.  That surveyor, after accurately determining the lines ahd altered them to his client’s specifications.  Trueman already had the survey from the purchase of the house but Bowser had informed him that he wouldn’t accept it, he must go to the expense of a new one.

     In real desperation and fear he tried to get the original surveyor to date the survey with the current date or athenticate its accuracy.  that surveyor refused to guarantee his owrk.  He refused the task again because as he said:  ‘I don’t need your kind of trouble.’

page 104.

     Trueman showed the old survey to the new surveyor, Tom Robbins.  Robbins said:  ‘Hmm, well, they make a lot of mistakes on these things.  Can’t go by that.’

     Dewey laughed out loud.  He thought:  If you can’t trust one survey, why should you trust another?  But he wisely failed to voice his humor.

     Instead he said:  ‘They built the house based on this survey.  See that.  The house is ten feet from the property line all the way down.  Nothing has ever been changed or contested.’

     As a joke he was given a duplicate of the original survey and charged for a new one.  At least, he thought, I’m secure on the survey.

     Pig Bowser filed a suit on receipt of the survey.  A court date was set.

     Bowser plundered Trueman mercilessly.  He ran up immense bills at the rate of fifty dollars an hour.  Trueman was under the impression that whatever work was done by the firm was at that rate.  Bowser would call in one or two other attorneys to sit through two or three hour bull sessions that were unrelated to legal matters.  Each attorney charged fifty dollars an hour but Trueman was given a bill for only the gross amount.

     On the day of the trial Dewey showed up at Bowser’s office in a state of worried trepidation.  He had never been in court before.  He had expected Bowser to brief him on points of law and procedure.  Bowser had declined on the basis that that was coaching.  Coaching was illegal Bowser said and something so unethical he would never do it.  Trueman was admonished to never make the request again.

     Upon arrival he was greeted by Riley Gurgate who announced that he would represent him.  Riley Gurgate explained that the was fresh out of law school.  He admitted that he hadn’t been briefed on the case and had never been in court before.  With lawyerly gallows humor he laughingly joked that it was tough on clients for lawyers to get experience this way but that no better system had ever been discovered.

     Dewey was aghast at the insult.  He began to realize just how easy it was for a lawyer to sabotage a client’s interests.  He sought Bowser only to find that the office was empty and there was only ten minutes to get to court.  Trueman’s mind was in a turmoil on the walk up to Judge Eugene Springfield’s court.  Once there he was awarded with a phenomenal stroke of luck.  Owney Madmun heading his wife’s advice was too embarrassed to appear.

     Dewey had attained a great deal of notoriety because of his television ads.  But because he had been outlawed, excluded from clubs and civic organizations, no one actually knew him.  Everyone wanted to see him up close and live.  Because they had invented the most preposterous character for him they approached him with revulsion and contempt.

     The kindest thing that could be said of their attitude was that they believed Trueman to be an extroverted publicity hound.  Trueman was an original believer in targeting his audience.  He saw no sense in trying for the approval of people who would never buy his product.  He used a style of humor in his ads directed at this primary market.  The human was not accessible to everyone.  Actually his ads were parodies of the Oregon mentality.  Many thought the ads and himself outlandish, even ‘wacko.’  But as Trueman interpreted these people’s ability to judge anything accurately he dismissed their opinion.  Unfortunately for Dewey the only people who approached him were his detractors.  His admirers admired from a distance.

     Now they had the beast in the middle of the ring.  They meant to crack the whip to see how he could jump.  Judge Sprinfield ordered him to the stand.  Instead of finding an extroverted wildman Dewey showed himself to be shy to the point of crumbling.  He held his head down, fact turned to the wall.  He answered question is a thin, high, barely audible voice.

     The psychological battering he had taken as a child in the second grade had rendered him incapable of facing a crowd.  The subconscious memory of the hatred of his classmates gathered around him in a threatening half circle paralyzed his mind in all similar circumstances.  Not understanding why he couldn’t respond as he knew he should.  He sat on the witness stand cringing before his interlocutors.

     The contrast between this reality and their expectations brought gasps of surprise and a pleased laughter from the audience.  Springfield’s expresseion as he gazed condescendingly down on Trueman betrayed his feeling that he considered Dewey’s response unmanly.  It was.  It was the response of a seven year old boy before the force of condemnation of his classmates.  Dewey’s chagrin was further compounded by the fact that in both cases he was the injured party.

page 107.

     As Owney hadn’t showed Springfield had little choice but to award the decision to Dewey.  Trueman received a four thousand dollar award plus Madmun was required to remove his pumphouse, terrace and dirt.  Riley either forgot or neglected to ask for costs so Trueman was saddled with those.  Dewey never saw the four thousand which disappeared into thin air although Owned paid the amount.

     Trueman’s testimony had been given in such a listless manner that contradicted the aggressive impression of his TV ads that Owney’s lawyer took heart.

     He thought that he could manipulate Trueman and the proceedings in such a way that he could make it appear that Owney had Trueman’s approval for the use of the land.  He got together with Pig Bowser who agreed to let Gurgate sit silently while Truncate went about his business.

     To reopen the proceedings would need Trueman’s consent.  Bowser said he had his client under tight control, no problem.  He then went to work on Trueman at Trueman’s expense for a new trila on the basis that Owney had had conflicting obligations and couldn’t attend the first trial.  How to express the bitter chagrin in Trueman’s heart at such base betrayal.  But, this is how lawyers operate in Portland.

     ‘Where was Madmun’s lawyer, Pig?  He could have showed.’

     ‘I don’t know, Trueman.’  Bowser said reproachfully.  ‘Why do you ask things I can’t explain.  I only think it’s fair to give him a chance to tell his side.’

     ‘You think it’s fair?’

     ‘Yes, I do.’

     ‘Well, Pig, if you think it’s so fair I’ll tell you what.’

     Bowser’s eyes rolled slightly to the upper left in synch with his heads slight tilt as a faint smile of triumph was disguised on his lips.  He thought Dewey was going to go for it.

     ‘If you indemnify me 100%, absorb your fees and legal costs and any other expenses I might incur, I’ll do it.’

     ‘You have to be crazy, Trueman…’

    ‘If you think I’m crazy Bowser what do you think I think of you?’

     Well, why would I do what you ask?’  Bowser finished.

     ‘If you won’t, I won’t.  I tried to accommodate you though.’  Said Trueman shifting the onus back to Bowser.

     Neither Bowser, Truncate or Madmun would accept total defeat easily.  There had to be some way to recover from Trueman’s victory.  Madmun had removed the terrace and pumphouse immediately but he didn’t want to go to the enormous expense of removing the dirt.

     Bowser in collusion with Truncate and Madmun attempted to shame Trueman into abandoning that part of the award.  Trueman in the hopes of softening the defamation he knew was going on agreed to abandon the claim.

page 109.

     ‘I knew it.  I knew it didn’t really matter to you, that you were just causing trouble.’  Bowser said causing Trueman’s attempt at goodwill to turn to dust in his mouth.

     In the light of Trueman’s inexplicable behavior on the witness stand Owney was chagrined that he had taken Toni’s advice and lacked courage.  Keeping Trueman’s conduct in mind he and Tone set about to recover his loss and erase the humiliation.

     Several feet of Trueman’s property had been covered with dirt excavated from Owney’s lot.  Trueman by not enforcing the court decision had, if effect, given them permission to have dumped the dirt on his lot or so Owney and Toni reasoned.  Madmun had used some of the dirt to fill in the front of his own lot.  In so doing he had fanned out firther on Tureman’s lot there than alongside his house making a rounded mound.

     Tone interpreted the law to mean that if they landscaped this area they would have title to the improvements thereby filching title to the land from Trueman.  Owney would thereby redeem what his considered his humiliation in court.

     Owney knocked on Trueman’s door hoping he would step outside without his dog who he heard growling behind the door.

     ‘Hey, get on down here, I want to show you something.’  Owney commanded.  Previous to Trueman’s appearance in court Owney although he despised Trueman had nevertheless been in awe of his achievement.  He had felt inferior to Dewey.  Since Trueman’s appearance and the ‘real’ Dewey had appeared he feld his awe had demeaned himself.  He now assumed a dominant attitude not different from homosexual lust.  In fact, he a desire toshow his dominance by mounting Trueman.  This attitude came through loud and clear to Trueman who bared his teeth in response.  Trueman, in his turn, saw Madmun as soft, flabby, spoiled rich moron.

     Trueman turned to reenter his house.

     ‘Busy, don’t have time.’

     ‘Well, for Christ’s sake, man.  This is in your best interests.  Get on down here.’

     Dewey thought he better go see if Madmun was upto something else which it soundled like he was.

     ‘You get on down there Madmun.’  Trueman ordered harshly in his turn.  ‘I’ll be down in a few minutes.’

     Madmun too offence but as he was trying to rob Trueman he swallowed it, leaving.

     ‘Here, now, just imagine this.’  Madmun said throwing his cuffs with his best snake oil charm.  ‘This isn’t going to cost you a dime and you’re going to get all the benefits.’  Toni, who had joined her husband smiled approvingly.  ‘My wife and I will pay to landscape this whole section.’  He said, foolishly pointing to the dirt he had heaped up on Trueman’s lot.  ‘It will be just beautiful for you from your deck.’

     ‘Your name is Mad-man isn’t it?’  Dewey asked.

     ‘Madmun.  Yeah, why?’

     ‘No reason.’  Dewey said musingly.  ‘Don’t do it.’

     Owney opened his mouth to speak.

     ‘Don’t do it.’ 

page 111.

     ‘Yes. Now, you just listen to me…’  Owney began gesturing the beginning of an artistic curve.

     Dewey wasn’t going to listen.  He made a quick decision without shifting his feet.

    ‘I’m putting up a fence in a couple days.’  He said drily.

     That particular response wasn’t in Owney’s projected scenario.  His projection of ‘reality’ had been quite different.

     ‘A fence!  A fence!.’  He squealed as the statement broke through his thought pattern.  ‘Why that will ruin the neighborhood.  No one else has a fence.  Why you?

      ‘How many times a year do you touch down Madmun?’  Trueman asked in all sincerity.  ‘I have to go to court to get you off my property.  You’re trying some ploy to get my property now and you ask, why me?’

     ‘What are you talking about?  Go to court to get me off your property?  I haven’t been in any courtroom.’

     Dewey studied Owney cooly.

     ‘This guy is either trying to be a frustrator or insane.’  He thought.

     Actually Madmun was neither.  He jus so narrowly interpreted his self-interest as to have no idea of the effect on other people.  He didn’t have a clue.  It may be true that nature abhors a vacuum but somehow nature overlooked Owney’s mind.

     ‘The anwer is no Madmun.  I’ll be putting up the fence soon.  I’ve got to go now.’

     ‘You know, everybody is right about you.  You’re a real prick.’

     ‘If everybody does say that then you’re all talking about yourselfs.  You’re all talking about yourselves.’

 

     The next morning Angeline was reading the Daily Assassin.

     ‘Oh look Dewey.  Here’s another article about how prostitutes from Illinois and gangs from California come here to take advantage of the innocence of trusting Oregoniana who know nothing of such behavior and don’t have natural resistance.’

     Well, Darlin’ it’s just like they tell me.  It’s just the wear and tear of living.  If they can’t stand the heat stay out of the kitchen.’

Finis

The Sonderman Constellation

by

R.E. Prindle

Chapter IV-2

Continued from Chap. IV-1

     Sonderman, who now had the most authority in our club began to undermine my authority as soon as he was selected.  Ever the dupe he followed Hirsh’s directions.  Sonderman was a nothing himself.  Trapped in his father’s box he didn’t have and never could have initiative.  He was a neuter.

     I had started, built up and maintained the club.  Sonderman wore the shirt I had selected one day a week.  He wore it proudly too.  The shirt gave him status and prestige he could never have attained on his own.  Sonderman was and is actually in debt to me for the best times of his youth.  In what form did he show his gratitude?

     Once in the club he began slandering and belittling me constantly on the old ‘bore from within’ principle.  Whereas before we had always had friendly dinners I now became the butt of ridicule.  Everything I said and did was belittled.  I became the victim of practical jokes.

     Sonderman and Hirsh’s first intent was to drive me out but failing that to lower me in the estimation of my fellows to a walking joke, a subhuman who had come to the defense of the Negroes.  Probably Sonderman’s own thinking was that with me out of the way he could claim he had originated the club reducing me to the role of jealous imitator; perhaps he could have represented me as someone who wanted into his club but couldn’t make it.

page 1.

     He demanded the first dinner after he became a member which was in January just before they moved.  The dinner was a studied insult to me.  I was denied a place at the table while the abominable little was seated at it.  He shouldn’t even have been allowed to be there.  I was given a plate and told to sit in the living room by myself.  So, as you see Law and Order has nothing to do with right or wrong or justice; it is a question of police power.

     I stared bemusedly at the torn up rug which Mrs. Sonderman had seen fit to leave on the floor.  What strange people.  Did they walk over it every day picking their feet way up to get over the bumps while cursing me?  What queer notions prompted them to leave that threadbare rug on the floor?

     I would have walked out but I knew what the gig was.  I had to keep the club together till the end of the year.  I couldn’t let the Hirshes humiliate me in that manner.

     It became less and less possible to enjoy myself during the February and March dinners.  Even that dolt, Denny Demwitter, who owed me everything, turned against me.  Now that I think about it maybe my attitude toward Ed Phlatoe had something to do with that.

     Unable to garner the votes to have me ejected Hirsh had his tool Dirk Klutz, who was to host the April dinner, cancel the dinner.  As May coincided with graduation Sonderman determined to void the dinner for that month.

     That was alright with me, an honorable way out.  Given another couple months and they would have defeated me but in their eyes I had been already.  The club disintegrated after the aborted April dinner.  We began to look to the future beyond high school.  Sonderman had already been accepted as a cadet at West Point which accounted for a lot of his prestige in the club at the end.  Some of the others were destined for colleges while half of us including me had less distinguished prospects.  Time would tell who had risen and who had fallen but the future couldn’t be seen by our high school eyes.

page 2.

     Klutz did not escape criticism for reneging on his obligation.  In their single minded pursuit to hurt me they didn’t think of the others they were injuring.  The social status of every member of the club depended on its continuance.  In order to deflect justified condemnation Klutz gave a graduation party to which all the club members but me were invited.  So, in a way Hirsh would have gotten me expelled from the club but giving in to complaints from some other members Klutz said that I could come if I really wanted to.  Well, it was a difficult choice but the end result if I hadn’t gone would have been that I was booted out of my own club so I swallowed my pride and went. 

     As it turned out Klutz, it seemed to me at the time that if not a member of the Hirshes, was in with them because they were all there, the whole bunch.  Symbolically they subsumed our club to them by transferring the dinner meeting to this party under their auspices allowing them to still feel superior.  To heighten their triumph my club members were all shuttled into a game room off the front door while they were escorted past us into the living room and main party.

     When I saw Consuelo and Meggy Malone and Michael Hirsh enter casting disdainful glances in my direction I knew I had been had.  Well, it was a push; I had been invited to the same party they had. Still left a sour taste in my mouth.

page 3.

     If I had been had, strangely so, as I learned later, was David Hirsh.  Hirsh had given egregious offence to his wife’s family who were not the forgiving kind.  They had been nursing this grudge for three years.  On this night they collected the debt.  Michael Hirsh had knock out drops placed in his bourbon and coke.  Then before the drops took effect he was challenged to a drag race.  The drugs hit him just at peak acceleration.  He veered off the road into the ditch hitting a concrete culvert at the intersection.  He didn’t feel a thing. 

     So the querolous Hirsh even though he had defeated me suffered a defeat from which he would never recover.  Ain’t life funny that way?

3.

     Michael Hirsh’s death on graduation night created shock waves in the community.  However as life is for the living and the dead are soon forgotten Michael Hirsh being no longer with the living was no longer of any consequence.

I was still there.

     Judaeo-Christian mores say that the penalty must fit the crime.  Although I had committed no crime I think that surely the imagined insult to the dignity of David Hirsh should have been satisfied long before this.  However graduation was not the end but only the end of the beginning.  A second phase began that lasted for at least another ten years with ramifications that are still going on.

    Not content with having ruined my life through the school years, Hirsh began a program to extend into the future.  As usual he enstooged Sonderman.

page 4.

     I can only guess at the terrible repercussion to Sonderman’s psychology from his failed attempts to injure me and the actual murder of Shardel Wilson.  As people do in such situations he blamed me for his own actions.  I ‘made’ him do it.

     Probably he was brought low in his own estimation by his crimes.  It was necessary for him then to reduce me to a level beneath his opinion of himself.  As he had emotionally emasculated himself he sought to physically emasculate me.  Thus he bent all his efforts toward sodomizing me.

     Hirsh wanted to isolate me, to cast me on the dung heap of society.  He had messed up my club at the end; stung by his son’s death he now wanted to destroy my friendship with Denny Demwitter, to isolate me completely.

     Although a member of our club Sonderman had made no effort to befriend the members.  If he had he would have expected them to visit him; he never visited anyone else.  The summer of ’56, the greatest summer in the history of the world, there is no feeling like being eighteen, was a time of deep recession in the Valley.  Cars weren’t selling so there just weren’t any jobs; we all had time on our hands.  I began the summer spending most of my time at Demwitter’s.

     Sonderman had never voluntarily left his porch in my memory.  Now, violating all his lifelong habits he began to call on Denny.  Demwitter had been putty in my hands but I wasn’t going to  spend all my life trying to shape him.  Sonderman’s influence became more effective than mine after the Blockbusters won the championship.  Demwitter now deferred to Sonderman’s influence.

page 5.

     Except for the football groping under the influence of Sonderman Denny and I had always had a chaste relationship.  We had always respected each other’s person; no punching, wrestling or grabass of any kind.  We had never even discussed girls or sex.

     Now, with Sonderman present the two of them started pushing and shoving, groping in the most obvious fashion; not just a pat on the ass which would have been offensive enough, but grabbing a whole cheek in the hand.  They started goosing, not just lightly, but trying to hook a thumb or finger into the rectum.  Real queer stuff.  Makes me wonder about Ed Phaltoe and Demwitter now.

     Sonderman, who had never left his porch, now began to show up at Demwitter’s shortly after I did.  Obviously someone was watching me and reporting my movements.  Sonderman no longer lived across from me so he couldn’t have seen me leave my house from his perch on the porch.  Sonderman’s style at his house had been to hold court in his bedroom.  I never appreciated that aspect of his behavior as bedrooms were always private with me.  I preferred living room or porches.  Denny and I had always used his living room in winter and his porch in summer.  With Sonderman there everything was moved upstairs to Denny’s bedroom.  Sonderman insisted that all the shades be drawn so we were practically sitting in the dark.

     Now that I think about it  Old S was such a devotee of his hero Roosevelt that it is quite probable that Old S thaught his son to hold court in his bedroom a la FDR.  Sonderman always used to sit on the bed while I stood talking to him.  Roosevelt while president used to hold court in bed in his silk pajamas.  As Dean Acheson said the only thing he could compare it to was the court of Louis XIV.  King’s men aftershave and emulating Louis XIV, it’s not hard to see what Roosevelt was up to.

page 6.

     So the Old Sod was probably training his heir and successor to the manner of command and royalty.

     At Demwitter’s the conversation got more smutty and faggy as time passed.  I read the handwriting on the wall trying to discourage Sonderman’s visits.  Sonderman was intent on his purpose.

     One day I was visiting Demwitter.  He was slouched against the wall sitting on the floor as we talked.  Sitting on the floor was another of Sonderman’s innovations.  Probably because he couldn’t command Demwitter’s bed himself he didn’t want anyone to use it and be in command.  Especially me.

     I was lying belly down on the bed with my chin resting of the footboard.  As Sonderman always showed up twenty minutes after I did it must be true that someone watching me phoned him.  He bounded up the stairway, entered the room and seeing me lying prone on the bed he jumped on my back.  Grabbing me around the neck as he had at the Y he began dry humping me.  I threw him off with great indignation but neither he nor Demwitter seemed to take any notice.

     It was clear that I would have to abandon my visits or become a ‘consenting’ adult.  This direction was made clear shortly thereafter when I went to visit Demwitter.  Some guy I had never seen before was there and then Sonderman came traipsing in.  We sat around talking until Sonderman had a bright idea.  He suggested we turn out the light and masturbate together.  I was still completely innocent sexually.  Even if I hadn’t been, for me sex was something between a boy and his girl not to be discussed with anyone else.

page 7.

     I don’t know whether I had heard the trick discussed or whether I knew enough of Hirsh’s style to divine the trick.  It really wasn’t hard to figure out.  I knew then that this would be the last time I visited Demwitter.  Sonderman and the Hirshes had won the round.  I was isolated.  Demwitter betrayed the best friend he would ever have.

     Sonderman flicked off the lights.  They were so stupid.  Even with the shades drawn there was enough light so that I could see.  Apparently they couldn’t.  I went along with the joke to a point.  I huffed and puffed and slapped the bedspread in rhythm.  Sonderman leaped up to turn on the light expecting me to be the only one masturbating.  I sat looking at him with my most sardonic smile.

     I wouldn’t put up with anymore.  That terminated my friendship with Demwitter.  Once I was gone Sonderman stopped calling on the boob too.  I suppose Sonderman’s version was that Denny was his old friend and I tried to horn in.

     Denny owed me everything.  That he had attained prominence in high shool was due solely to me.  I introduced him to a higher quality of friends.  The other guys he knew were thugs or slugs.  If it hadn’t been for Sonderman’s hope for vengeance on me there wouldn’t have been any Blockbusters for Demwitter to quarterback.

page 8.

     That he should have sacrificed our longstanding honorable friendship for a temporary alliance with Sonderman was incredible to me.  Denny never was smart.  Now that he had betrayed our friendship he was no longer of any use to me and I have never given him a second thought.

4.

     I had been taking a psychological battering all my life.  One personality lay dead on the second grade playing field.  I had never been able to build a viable alternate personality or even persona.  I lacked all male force which is to say my Animus was completely beaten down.  In Freudian terms I had a weak Ego.  Now that the support of the camaraderie of school was gone the prop it had given to my deteriorating mental state was removed.  I collapsed into an inert pile.

     Everyone had their plans.  Some had seemingly glittering prospects at college; some were even lucky enough to find jobs.  I had nothing.  My mother had signed me up to go into the Navy.  She apparently thought that the Navy would be my last foster home.

     My mother! There was a source of information for the Hirshes I never even considered.  She babbled things to anyone who would listen.  Who knows who she talked to, but she had been telling unknown hordes that I was going to make the Navy my career.  She told others but not me that I was going to be a Chief Petty Officer and be back in twenty years.  She never talked to me about it but the story came back to me from some girl I hardly knew and didn’t like.  When I said I wasn’t going to make a career of the Navy the girl grew angry with me saying I was wrong because my mother said I would, just like my mother would know more about it than I would.

page 9.

     The fault lies within?  In the sense that conditioning determines conduct but once the die is cast it is all preordained, only the variables can be manipulated.

     My mind at this point turned to stone.  I was capable of only the slightest exertion as I inertly waited to be called up.  The only friend who stood by me was Larry Dubcek.  He had also enlisted and was waiting to be called up.  As for Sonderman the last two stars in the Constellation were placed just before he left for West Point.

     Our relationship ended on a tragi-comic note.  Although I had sworn I would never speak to Sonderman again after the the incident in Demwitter’s room it chanced that I met this really swinging girl.  She wasn’t my type but she was a total knockout.  I just couldn’t resist her.  She was one of those hot little numbers that you want to meet because you think you know what to do with them but then find out they know a heck of a lot more than you do.

     For a while we were really flaming.  I was even introduced into her family circle as a sort of suitor.  Her hotness was in reaction to a very traumatic experience.  I don’t really understand what I represented to her because I wasn’t her type either.  Her father owned a wholesale janitorial supply business.  I was shown the premises.  Mr. Fotheringay had had the misfortune to call the attention of the Outfit to himself.  The Outfit was the Chicago Mob.

page 10.

     He sold to hotels and restaurants so it was natural that the Mafia should annex his business.  Strangely he was quite open about it with me.  When I, in my ignorance of social realities, reproached him for being involved with the Mafia he gave me a painful snarl and a look that showed both his impotence against the Outfit and his disdain for such a dolt as myself.  He had already suffered unbearable ignominy at their hands and he was to suffer more.

     Terrorism in the United States is treated as a recent importation from the Moslem countries but terrorism has been practiced by the Mafiosi since the turn of the last century.  The Mafia had terrorized Jack Fotheringay in a particularly effective way.

     Briony or Brie Fotheringay when I met her was entering her Senior year.  She was just seventeen.  She was more flashy than beautiful but then it’s a fine line between flash and beauty, I suppose.  At any rate a couple days before her birthday, which was two days before mine, she caught the eye of her father’s Mafia handler, Two Ton Tony Lardo.

     Two Ton Tony was an underboss from the Chicago Outfit assigned several areas in the State including our county the county to the South of us and the county to the North.  He was your typical Mafioso- ignorant and uncouth.  He was six-five and three hundred twenty-five pounds.  Foul mouthed, vulgar and intrinsically obscene.  All he had to do was show up to fill a place with obscenity.  He announced to Jack Fotheringay that his daughter was a good looking piece.  Fotheringay had only been annexed for a few months so he told Lardo that she was none of his business.

page 11.

     The details are unimportant; you can devise them anyway.  Jack personally delivered Brie to Rocco’s Pizzeria down on Thelema then was told to wait in the car.  They had a basement storage room into which this uncouth behemoth carried the terrified Brie by one arm.

     She was about five-four, a mere slip of a girl.  This Mafioso sewer rat literally tore her clothes off.  Without any preliminaries he just rammed it home standing up as she lay back across a chopping block with her head hanging over the edge backward.  Then he grabbed both her ears pulling her up of the table onto her knees and pulled her mouth over his dick.

     Finished with her he gave her a kick in the ass to help her up the stairs as she ran half naked out the back door into the parking lot where her totally devastated father waited for her.  Two Ton Tony followed her out lighting an enormous cigar with one hand while with the other he slowly zipped his pants in Fotheringay’s face.

     Then with a knowing sneer he took his cigar and tapped a picture drawn on the wall by the door.  The picture was of the man with the big nose hanging over a fence with the legend ‘Kilroy Was Here.’  It is hard to tell which hurt Fotheringay the most, but he knew he was powerless, thoroughly emasculated, to resist.  He was a mere cipher.  There was no need to go to the cops; no need to tell you where the cops got that extra little augmentation to the pay envelope.

      As everyone at the time knew, the picture and legend ‘Kilroy Was Here’ was a symbol plastered all over Europe by the troops of the Arsenal Of Democracy as they rolled up those nasty Nazi armies.  Lardo and Fatheringay had talked about the matter previously.  While Fotheringay had been terrorized by the thundering ‘Arsenal Of Freedom’ fighting in the ranks at the Battle Of The Bulge Lardo had been sitting pretty back home with plenty of forged gas rations, stolen food rations, hijacked new tires for his late ’41 Roadster, he was important enough to get one of the few ’42s, and plenty of money in his pocket to spend on the bevy of women without men and fewer morals.

page 12.

     He got so much nooky he laughed to Fotheringay that for all he knew Brie was his own daughter conceived while Fotheringay was stupid enough to be off fighting people he didn’t even know in Europe.

     Fotheringay watched Lardo tap Kilroy with rueful eyes.  Had he fought a war to make the world safe for criminals?  Had he defeated Hitler just so he could become enslaved to a despicable Mafioso?  It seems so.  It was true.  The Fotheringays of the world had the power to defeat the Nazis but not the power to rule out and out criminals in their own homeland.  Zeus is one tricky fellow.

     It was one of those moments from which you never recover.  Never did a man feel more helpless and ashamed as his lovely sweet sixteen Brie shivered and cried beside him.  What could he do about it?

     The Mafia was very nearly protected by the Law.  Even though we had watched breathlessly in 1951 when Senator Kefauver confirmed and revealed the existence and influence of the Mafia the top cop in the country, J. Edgar Hoover of the fabled Federal Bureau Of Investigation, denied their existence.  He refused to move against them.

page 13.

     Hoover was the guy who stood gloating over the dead body of the folk hero John Dillinger while ignoring the activities of Al Capone who led the Outfit in Chicago.  Hoover let those creeps dominate the business activity of the Central States and the West.  At this very moment he was abetting a psychopath like Sam Giancana in terrorizing my hometown.

     Even when I was ten years old I knew organized crime existed.  I read comic books.  I went to the movies.  I knew that Hoover had murdered John Dillenger while he allowed Valentines Day Massacres to go uninvestigated and unpunished; he couldn’t even find the guys who did it, nearly a century later the killers are still unproven.

     I am unable to describe my reaction when I saw criminals defy the Kefauver Committee with impunity.  My faith in the masculinity of the government was shattered when I watched Frank Costello get up and walk out of the courtroom saying he didn’t feel like answering any more questions.  Goddamn the cops.

     If any Anglo, if I, had done the same the police would have grabbed us and thrown us back in his seat but the police, the same cops that told me that I, and only I had to walk my bike through intersections, watched as Frank Costello ambled out of the courtroom.

     I saw plenty of Mafia activity in town while decent citizens suffered helplessly with no recourse, slaves to this vile criminal group.

page 14.

     It reached into my family circle.  While not directly involved with the Mafia my uncle Sammy was a goon for the Mob.  Uncle Sammy was a truck driver.  You don’t think of these things at the time but I guess Sammy thought the ends justified the means.  He thought Jimmy Hoffa was a great man.  Hoffa was another fearsome persona from my youth.  Hoffa aligned himself with the Mob, both New York and Chicago.   You know, he had a foot in both camps.  He adopted the terroristic tactics of the Mafia.

     In the early and mid-fifties these guys bombed and killed in a wild frenzy.  My Uncle Sammy was one of the bombers and hit men.  I don’t know who all knew.  I’m sure he didn’t think I did although I took him to task about Hoffa once.  Sammy was a real labor type so he defended Hoffa vigorously.

     Uncle Sammy was real nervous the day after the simultaneous bombing of the Trans-Central States terminal and the killing of its owner.  I stood looking at him accusingly.  He shoved me away angrily saying something about the bastards wouldn’t listen to reason.  He and my Aunt Jo moved across town shortly thereafter.  He never came around to visit, I never saw him again.

     So this was the environment in which Fotheringay suffered and had somehow to endure with no chance of extricating himself.  The cops and judges were under the thumb of the Outfit.  The FBI would have no time for him.  He had gone to fight in the Big One for this.  Was Hitler a bigger villain than Sam Giancana? 

     These illiterate criminal Sicilians owned America. How had the Greatest Generation allowed this to come to pass?

page 15.

     My youth was the transition from the hopes of the ‘Melting Pot’ to what we at the beginning of the twenty-first century call ‘celebrating our multi-cultural diversity.’  This is no longer the beginning of  the twentieth century when these national groups were new requiring ‘tolerance.’  If we are to celebrate our diversity then we are not only free to do so but must analyze what those differences are if the country is to succeed as a political entity.

     Psychologically the Sicilian mentality can be typed.  Their characteristic way of viewing society can be easily described.  There is no mystery.  All you have to do is celebrate this particular diversity.

      Prior to 1950 movie makers felt compelled to celebrate the Anglo Saxon origins of the country.  After 1950 the emphasis changed.  People with ‘foreign’ sounding names had formerly changed them to ‘American’ or Anglo Saxon names. As Monsieur Arouet who became a gentleman by the name of Voltaire said:  The name’s the thing.  So I don’t quarrel with any actor who wishes to change his name to something that may lead to greater success.  John Saxon whole Italian name I forget was the last person who changed his name for immigrant reasons along about 1957-58 or so.  His putdown of the process probably cost him his career as the Anglo-Saxons resented his sardonic use of Saxon.

     Also the emphasis shifted from doing mainstream movies to presenting ethnic movies that celebrated a particular diversity while denigrating the Anglo-Saxons.  Reacting against the sense of inferiority caused by immigrating these always placed the dominant culture in a bad light.  In the manner of immigrant cultures they especially belittled the virtues of the dominant culture.

page 16.

     As we have seen the movies are a powerful medium for conditioning the thought and actions of viewers.  Anglo-Saxon women are always depicted as nymphomaniac bimbos while all other women are depicted as women of high virtue.

     It was thus that Lardo took great pleasure in violating Brie Fotheringay.  He wasn’t really interested in sex per se but he wanted to violate the image the smartass Anglos had of themselves.  They would do nothing to stop him.  He committed his crimes with impunity.  The rules that governed their lives had no restraints for a ‘wise guy.’  If a non-Mafioso had violated Brie in that manner you may be sure he wouldn’t escape the vengeance of Fotheringay and the Law.  Two Ton Tony had a good laugh at America as he sucked on his big Cuban cigar tapping the image of Kilroy.

     The Sicilian ethos was, I must use the word, brilliantly portrayed in the Godfather trilogy of 1972-74 and ’90.  As the movie was co-written by Mario Puzo and Francis Coppola, two Sicilians, it is to be presumed that they knew whereof they spoke.  While the Sicilian psychosis is brilliantly portrayed the analysis limps along behind it but it is there.

     The saga was lovingly executed in epic fashion covering an incredible nine hours.  All of the villainy is done under the cover of sacred ceremonies.  It is necessary for the Mafia to violate everything anyone else respects.  Platoons of wise guys are murdered while the Godfather is attending weddings, baptisms or symbolically in Part III the crucifixion of Christ on stage.  This attitude may hark back to the Sicilian Vespers when the Norman conquerors were locked in churches and burnt, apparently a fixative event.

page 17.

     The basic Sicilian Mafia premise is that they are entitled to all the most prestigious things in life because they entitle themselves to take them.  There is no pretense of earning anything.  They are parasites; they create nothing.

     You get guns and an organization and you terrorize everyone out of what you want.  There is no need to waste effort on education or social niceties.  You merely get ‘respect’ by terrorizing others into submission.  ‘Respect’ means that anyone who shows independence is blown away.  ‘Respect’ means that everyone is servile in your presence.  ‘Honor’ means that if you say you’ll kill a man, you do it.

     As parasites the Mafia makes no contribution to society, they merely consume what others make.

     Just as their transportation in 586 BC destroyed Jewish self-confidence and gave them an apocalyptic vision of history so did Sicilian history fixated the Sicilian mind.  The theme of the Godfather movies seems to be that the winner is the last guy standing when the carnage is over.  That is also what the Mafioso Santos Trafficante of Miami, once said.

page 18.

     The denouement of Part III in a dream sequence stunningly portrays this vision.  The Mafiosi involved themselves with the Vatican in the most intermingling way.  This part was apparently true. The Papacy thinks it is in control but as usual the Mafia uses violence to dominate the Papacy.  The Pope himself is involved in their sewer machinations.  The criminal Mafia has captured the citadel of the Sacred.  Evil rules.

     As the hero Michael Corleone’s son wants to be an opera singer he is placed on the stage.  To a Mafioso to want is to have.  There can be no denial.  Obstacles such as training and talent are not allowed to get in the way.

     The opera is Cavalleria Rusticana which concerns the crucifixiion of Christ.  There, as Christ is being crucified, the murder machine goes into full operation.  In dream like fashion an apocalyse of bodies is falling everywhere.  One in an evocation of the fall of Lucifer descends from the crown of the cupola.  The poisoned Pope dies in bed with a smile on his face.  Corleone’s enemies are falling in carloads as he stands untouched in their midst while tremendous operatic music is being performed.  He’s the man with the most ‘respect.’

     The assassin designated to dispose of Corleone fires off a couple rounds point blank but he somehow misses Corleone and hits his daughter instead.  Sicilian girls count, Anglo girls like Brie don’t.

     The final scene shows an aged Michael Corleone (translated the name means Lion or Stouthearted) sitting alone in a cemetary like a sole surviving anti-Christ where he stares mournfully at the tombstone of the only thing he ever loved in his life, his beloved daughter.  He’s won the battle but the only price is sorrow.  Nice view of life.

page 19.

     Well, if he wasn’t an ignorant moron who caused his own troubles one might feel for him.  As to his daughter what made her more valuable than Briony Fotheringay and all the Anglo women abused by stouthearted Mafiosi?

     Hoover might not have acknowledged the problem but the TV movie ‘The Borgia Stick’ of the early sixties did.  A variation on Jack Fotheringay’s predicament was accurately portrayed in the movie.  In the movie an Anglo is coopted into serving the Mafia where his life becomes a living hell.  He himself is a virtual slave while he is compelled to give his wife as a prostitute.  You might not believe it could happen but believe me it does.  Briony is only one example.

     When I met her she was just emerging from her shock or depression or whatever you wish to call it.  Perhaps she was attracted to me because my name represented a secure English past.  If so she was to be disappointed in me as she was in her father.  It never came to that exactly but our date at Hillbilly Heaven convinced her I wasn’t the man.

     Wherever she was to turn she could find no man who could stand up to the Mob.  Disappointed by her own men, in later life she was attracted to the apparent male superiority of the Mafia.  She became one of their party dolls and prostitutes.

     But all I knew at the time was that she was one hot number ready to go.  I had to make some kind of splash as a spry young fellow.  If you noticed you have never seen me behind the wheel.  That’s because Tuistad and my mother were adamant in not allowing me to drive.  They were terrified I might have a good time or become a normal young man.  So I had this hot little number who was ready to go and no way to get her there.

page 20.

    My only choice was to double date.  I sure couldn’t ask Tuistad to drive.  Graduation had completely disrupted my social patterns so I knew no one but Dubcek, Demwitter and Sonderman to ask.  I was completely disgusted with Demwitter, Dubcek was out of town courting his girl and that left only Sonderman.  So I asked him.

     After the scene at Demwitter’s he thought he was rid of me.  I saw the haughty sneer on his face as he prepared to crush me by refusal but showing some strategical sense for the first time he asked me where I wanted to go.  My heart sank.

     I was a fan of Country and Western music.  This guy named Freddie Hart had a record out that I liked entitled:  Drink Up And Go Home.  It went something like this:

You sit there a cryin’,

Right in your beer.

You think you got troubles?

My friend listen here:

Now, there stands a blind man-

A man who can’t see-

He’s not complainin’

Why should you or me?

Don’t tell me your troubles,

I got enough of my own.

Be thankful you’re livin’

Drink up and go home.

 page 21.

     I was sailing on a sea of troubles that I knew no one wanted to hear or would sympathize with me if they did listen so Freddie’s advice was pretty timely for me.  I took his sentiment to heart.  I have never complained since but just soldiered on.  I thought I would like to hear Freddie sing his song.

     The guy wasn’t appearing in town.  There was a hillbilly bar over by the time line in the central part of the state called Hillbilly Heaven.  It was about fifty miles away.  I had never been there but I knew from the radio announcer that the building was divided into two halves by a floor to ceiling chain link fence.  You could drink on one side while the other side was for underage kids.

     Freddie Hart was playing that weekend.

     Most people despised C&W; Sonderman was no exception which was why I quailed at asking him.  I could see his lip curl in contempt as he prepared his rejection but then a light went off in his head while his lip uncurled and he broke into a wide grin.  I was giving him a better chance than the railroad trestle.  He asked for two bucks for gas and said he’d pick me up.

     I didn’t like the idea of paying two bucks for gas especially as it only cost fifteen cents a gallon and we wouldn’t use more than three or four gallons but I considered myself lucky to get a driver.

page 22.

     I had never seen Sonderman with a girl before so when he picked me up he had a very ordinary looking girl by his side.  She had that cousiny kind of look.  I could never figure out my group; none of them ever dated girls I’d seen before.  They always came from somewhere else as was the case with Sonderman’s date.

     Brie came from a fairly affluent family.  Not rich, but Jack bought one of those new houses in a development; a pretty nice house.  It was three times my house and double the Sonderman’s new bungalow.  You could see the anxiety on Sonderman’s face when we drove up.

     When I escorted Brie back to the car you could see that she knocked Sonderman’s socks off.  I don’t remember Brie as being actually that beautiful but she had this blonde, sophisticated Audrey Hepburn movie star quality that just thrilled you into instant excitement.  It was that quality that Two Ton Tony Lardo wanted to sully.

     We set out for mid-state with Sonderman in a flush.  Hillbilly Heaven was just across the line that divided Eastern Standard from Central Standard.  At the time the dividing line ran through the middle of the State so we left at eight and got there at eight.  I impressed Brie with that one.

     Brie had had some sexual experience before Two Ton banged her.  Now recovering from the trauma she was fixated fast and loose.  She was hot on making out.  She didn’t care whether the sun was up or not.  She threw herself across my lap, flung her arms around my neck and got down to it.  Lardo had taught her that niceties didn’t count so rather than wait for me to get up the courage she guided my hand straight to her breast.  I could have made her right there but I was a little too backward.  Sonderman was stunned at what seemed to be my sexual virtuosity; he spent as much time watching the rear view mirror as he did the road.  There wasn’t that much traffic back in those days.

page 23.

     If you’ve never been to a hillbilly bar it’s quite a shock.  They’re a pretty rowdy bunch.  They let loose like a bunch of Holy Rollers in a frenzy.  Each one is trying to out have a good time the others.  One talks loud the other talks louder, one acts proud the other acts prouder.  Men and women alike.  Man, they call that setting the woods on fire.  The place was packed on both sides.

     Freddie, still a young guy, bounced on stage to do his thing.  They had the stage behind mesh wire fencing too.  On a good night they used to shower the band with beer bottles whether the drummer was on time or not so they put up this fencing so band members wouldn’t have to pluck beer bottles from between their bleeding gums.

     The crowd wasn’t that rowdy this particular night but I was the only one listening to Freddie Hart, or trying to, as everyone was into a noisy something else.  Sonderman got up.  While I watched he went to speak to some long tall raw looking cowboy type.  The guy was six-five and lean as a rail but he still weighed in at two-forty.

     When Sonderman came back he stood over me and pointed down so the cowboy couldn’t make a mistake.  The thirty year old cowboy type came over by us on the other side of the fence where he began making  provocative comments to me.

page 24.

     Sonderman sat smugly so I guess it’s clear why the light went off in his head.  His dad and Hirsh took care of the details.  Hirsh was nearly in a state of shock because of his son’s death.  He considered my survival a gross miscarriage of justice so now he gave up any pretext of Law and Order.  The cowboy was hired strictly on the basis of Mafia Criminality.

     Freddie sang his song.  Since that was what I mentioned I wanted to hear, after the song was over, Sonderman curtly said we were leaving.  He had to try to look powerful in front of Brie, who he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off, by cutting the evening short.  It was his car and I had an hours worth of smoldering makeout time with Briony so I didn’t put up too much of an objection which wouldn’t have done me any good anyway.

     I saw Sonderman motion to the cowboy so he was waiting for me outside the door in the parking lot with a couple other guys.  Those rowdy bars don’t like to have the police come around because sober citizens are always trying to shut the places down so I don’t know whether the bartender put these guys on Cowboy to slow him down or not but they were trying hard to dissuade him.

     The guy was obviously a hired slugger, as I look back on it now, because he raised his great big ham fist not like he wanted to punch me but like he was trying to knock my eye out and fracture my skull.  I could see this guy was a brawler with plenty of experience; I was only eighteen with no fights to my credit but I felt like a virtual midget in front of this towering behemoth.  I mean, I had to tilt my head up to look at that huge fist hovering over me.  There was no doubt in my young mind that he would stomp me to dust.  Something smaller than that if possible.

page 25.

     Boy, I sure didn’t want to fight this guy but I didn’t want to look bad in front of Brie either.  I thought the Cowboy was jealous because I had this hot looking chick.  Fortunately Sonderman got anxious to leave me to my fate.  I guess this was a reenactment of the State game when they tried to drive off without me.  Laughing with satisfaction he grabbed both girls making a run for the car.

     The Cowboy’s friends or bartender’s agents who looked like dogs jumping at an elephant were trying to pull him back telling him to leave the kid alone which cleared the way for me.  I knew Sonderman intended to drive away without me. With bowels quaking I scooted after him grabbing the door as he backed out of the space.  Brie threw it open.  I tried not to look like I was loading my pants.

     Yeah, well, he had humiliated me in front of my hot number.  My manhood was really shaken.  It took me weeks to rationalize the affair and even at that I wasn’t too successful.  It was almost like Brie and Two Ton Tony although hers was much worse than mine.  She seemed to understand, wanting to get back into it hot and heavy, but I was so shaken I was less than satisfactory.

     Sonderman wasn’t finished.  Even though he and Hirsh had failed to have my eye knocked out and my head broken into pieces the effect of Brie on Sonderman was incredible.  He was in love.  His date had been totally outclassed by mine, if his wasn’t his cousin.  Sonderman felt inferior to me which was something he couldn’t tolerate.

page 26.

     When I got out of the car to escort Brie to the door Sonderman put the pedal to the metal peeling rubber for half a block in his haste to leave me cold.  I made some comment to Brie about how jealous he was, kissed her goodnight, then began the long walk home.

     I had plenty of time to think about Hillbilly Heaven as I walked along.  The Cowboy seemed fishy but I was shaken to my socks by him.  I felt that I had really failed a test of manhood but at the time I didn’t see why I should have hung around to get pulverized.  I could have had a readier repartee in avoiding him but I was certainly under no obligation to fight a guy twice my age and three times my size.  Good rationalizing but it didn’t change my feeling of failure.

     Just as today I eat my food standing up as a result of Sonderman so decades later I wore a lot of suits with the pinch waisted Western jacket.  Just like the outfit the Cowboy wore although I have always detested cowboy boots.

     Sonderman had been thrown a loop by Brie.  Even her name, Briony Fotheringay, had an exotic but soundly English tone.  Aristocratic.  In the early fifties English names still carried a lot of weight.  The name itself was a reason for Two Ton Tony to want to dishonor her and through her the detested Anglo-Saxon culture.

     Briony was so much more than Sonderman had ever imagined for himself, let alone me, that he was thrown into a terrified jealousy.  He had to  find a woman to outdo me.  He had to do it quick, too; he only had a couple weeks before he left for West Point.  The pressure was on.

p. 27.

     He suddenly appeared with a girl named Donna on his arm.  She was a real knockout too in a conventional sort of way.   She didn’t have the flair that Brie had but she had a terrific full figure with a really impressive bust line.  That was one thing Brie lacked.  Big ones.

     He and she stood at a distance while he glared at me as though to say:  Check this out.  He didn’t greet me; he just stood there with an arrogant look on his face.  I signed to him.

     That’s one thing about Law and Order guys, they don’t care who they hurt to get what they want.  Once he located her he must have really come on to her.  He had obviously diddled her as he believed I had gotten it from Brie.  Donna stood there clutching his right hand with both of hers like she thought she was betrothed.  Sonderman must really have deceived her in the hope of shafting me.

     He must have talked to her about me a lot because she seemed eager to meet me.  Sonderman pulled her away with a shrug saying I wasn’t worth the bother.

     Sonderman may have thought that he won Donna with his own manly attributes but Donna had been attracted to him by the prospect of being an officer’s wife.  Some women are attracted by the uniform, taking the symbol for the man.  Their desire for the male draws them to the outer symbol as young girls are drawn to horses.  When the true man separates from the symbol they are often disappointed, turning in chagrin to drink or other men or both.

page 28.

     Sonderman cruelly disabused Donna of the notion of being an officer’s wife.  He cut her dead a few days later when he left for the Point.  She had served his purpose when he tried to put me down.  Now useless, she could be discarded without a thought.  Makes me wonder why I was so concerned about Ange when I cut her dead in the same manner.  It must be some shortcoming in my ‘breeding.’

     Sonderman west East to West Point.  I just went West in the Navy.  We parted company forever.  I had no idea that he was the most important male figure of my life.  He had become my Animus.  I judged all men through that lens.  It wasn’t pretty.

     Sonderman did not leave town with the healthiest of minds.  The past weighed as heavily on him as it did on me.  He was able to function better than I but you’ve seen the psychosis he acquired in his childhood and youth.

     The last get together with him at Hillbilly Heaven had left an indelible impression on my mind.  The Cowboy slugger had entered my subconscious attached to a cluster of memories that formed a dream element that persisted for decades which I call the Brown Spot.

     The dream was a simple image of a pulstating brown spot like a round bog in the middle of an open field.  The sight of it roused tremendous terror in my mind.  This was a very tough image to crack especially as it conflated disparate and widely spaced incidents in my life.  I’m still not sure how they are parallel.

page 29.

     I had always been able to remember all these incidents clearly but their combined significance was suppressed and incomprehensible.  In  the strange way that the mind works the trail led backwards from the Cowboy slugger.  Stranger still is that it was not until I understood why Sonderman showed Donna to me that the whole thing cleared up.  I am not clear how Donna and Brie lead back to the initial incident of the Brown Spot.

     However the path from the Slugger led back to an incident between the fourth and fifth grades when for some reason I decided to visit the Junior High I would be attending from the orphanage, but two full years later.

     The fourth grade had just ended.  I thought school would be empty.  I entered the building to look around.  The school was empty except for eight Black boys who were lurking around.  These fourteen year olds spotted a ten year old White boy they could terrorize and they did.  They chased me back and forth through the halls saying all the horrible things they were going to do to me when they caught me.

     They had no intention of catching me but I was so terrified that I ran past the entrance doors several times without seeing them.  That’s how my mother’s breast fixation worked.  Finally I identified the doors and ran out into the sunshine.

     Now, I had risked life, limb and mental health in the kindergarten to defend some Black kids.  I took the harassment of these kids as a betrayal of that deed.  I wouldn’t say I hated Negroes after that but I thought them undependable and untrustworthy.  I would not rely on them for any purpose.

page 30.

     In my liberating or explanatory dream of this incident as I ran through the halls the walls collapsed covering me with brown horse dung.  Evidently I found my conduct with the Black boys as cowardly as I found myself before the Cowboy slugger.

     When nearly buried a path led down to the bottom of the pit to the initial incident when I was in kindergarten.  This memory was the source of the terror associated with the Brown Spot.  This occurred after the Black kids left me to hang out to dry  which leads back to the Black boys at the Junior High.

     When my mother filed for divorce she began to revile my father to me, terrifying me of him and turning me against him.  Thus when my father came to visit me the last time I was too terrified to go to him as he begged me to do.  He accused my mother of turning me against him which she denied with a straight faced lie.  Don’t think I didn’t notice.

     My father left me this really neat dark green corduroy outfit with a spiffy traffic light aplique on the front pocket then he walked out head hung low crying softly and never came back.  I never saw him again, however for a period of years in my thirties I wore nothing but corduroy pants and jackets including a spiffy dark green one.

     Thus the theme of cowardice connected all three shaming incidents creating a brown spot like a big bruise on an apple.  Psychologically the reference to the bruise on an apple has a reference also.

page 31.

     During the war, about 1942, the country was terrified that the Nazis were capable of bombing the whole Midwest to pieces all the way from Berlin; or so Roosevelt let on.  We were said to be a prime target with our auto, now defense, plants.  Even as a little child of four I found this notion ridiculous but my elders had set up a system of air raid drills for our protection.

     My mother and I were on a bus going down Main downtown one night when the sirens went off.  We were all herded out of the bus to stand in storefronts for protection from the bombs.  Even then, as I stood in front of those plate glass windows, I thought we would be cut to shreds if they shattered all over us.

     For some reason I can’t imagine now I was terrified and set up a wail equal to those of the air raid sirens.  As may be imagined this annoyed the other bus riders considerably.  In an act of desperation which I sensed and didn’t appreciate and reacted to a woman reached into her grocery bag and pulled out a nice large apple and handed it to me.

     I examined the apple carefully noting that it had a large bruise or brown spot.  I handed the apple back to her cooly saying:  ‘It’s bruised.’

     She dropped it back in the bag in a huff but she still had her apple and stopped me from crying.

     The relationship between my mother, Brie and Donna is not clear to me although my mother and Brie were both hard women.  I don’t know the meaning of Donna unless it was that she was well built like my mother thus creating an association or, perhaps I associated Sonderman’s treatment of her with my mother’s treatment of my father.  All incidents in personal psychology are related.

page 32.

     The result of all the images was that my father was buried deep in my subconcious under a heap of horse pucky.

5.

…O Zeus and Athena and Apollo

If only death would take every Trojan

And all the Achaeans except us two,

So we alone might win that Sacred City.

–Homer

     Hirsh had succeeded in degrading me but I had avoided his desire that I debase myself.  However as a result of the persecution I had been put into a certain mind set which stigmatized me until I integrated my personality.  You know, psychology is so much more complex than Freud imagined.  He thought that his Oedipus Complex solved everything whereas in fact it is practically meaningless.  If such a complex exists in the universal psyche, which it doesn’t, it would only be a minor and passing part of a man’s psychology.

     Freud had a pretty shallow understanding of Greek mythology.  He wasn’t very well read in it at all.  He seized upon the Oedipus story in an unwarranted manner completely ignoring the reaction of Oedipus when he discovered that he had married his mother.  With a deeper understanding of Greek mythology he might have noticed the myth of Io, the Holy Cow.  Rather than having a desire to copulate with his mother which is beyond a young boy’s ability to imagine it is more likely that he views this woman who has not only fed him from her own body like a cow but has tended to his every need willingly, lovingly and with self-abnegation as his personal milk cow.  At a certain point when the child perceives that this woman is dividing her concern between himself and his father he may fear losing the economic privilege he enjoys.  Thus he may believe temporarily that he is in competition with his dad.  If so, the feeling passes within a couple years as he realizes the true situation.

page 33.

      I can say that I never had a desire for an old used woman from whose womb I had emerged when there were plenty of fresh young heifers around who could do me more economic good in the future than my mother.

     But then Freud was a pioneer and not a developer.

     There are only so many visions of reality that a human can hold.  The uniqueness of the individual is mainly illusory.  Or at least that uniqueness exists only as an individual is representative of a mind set.  I had my own Responses in dealing with the Challenges from the Field but the Field remains paramount in my own and everyone else’s personal psychology.  Then as I began to understand to which psychic fraternity I belonged I recognized some of my fellows.  Over the years I came to realize that I was akin to others in the same mind set.  We all pursued the same goal and our objectives and methods were not all that different.

     Certainly Tim Leary and I were psychic brothers as well as Dr. Petiot, Moses, Richard Speck, Charlie Whitman, Sonderman and the most prominent member of our septum, Adolf Hitler, not to mention Brave Achilles.

page 34.

     The stimuli for each of us was undoubtedly somewhat different but our Responses were also somewhat of the same character if not the same degree.  If we’d all been as capable of Hitler you may be sure we would have acted the same as he did although our personal objectives may have been different.  We wished mass destruction on all our tormentors.  We had our eyes on the gates of that Sacred City and it mattered little who died so long as we passed through those pearly gates, preferably alone.  We sat and sulked in our tents waiting to be called to save humanity.  When that didn’t happen, like Nero we wished that they all had one neck so we could strangle them all at the same time.

     Of the group I am the only one to break on through to the other side and freedom.  The rest remained trapped in their pasts.

     It is not to be assumed from the cast of characters that our mind set among the others is particularly vile.  After all Mao Tse Tung, Joseph Stalin, Pol Pot, Idi Amin, Charlie Starkweather, Ted Bundy, Lord Strafford, Hirsh and host of great destroyers belong to other mind sets.  Your is one of them.  Saints and Sinners abound in any of the mind sets.

     But I know my brothers.

     Each of my brothers here mentioned responded to his Challenges from the Field in different ways.  Each chose to resolve his dilemma in his own individual way as his circumstances dictated.

page 35.

     The most conscious or willed Responses were by Dr. Tim of the Ozone Space Patrol and myself.  We both are or were psychologists.  Tim of course was certified by society and I am not.  However I succeeded where Leary failed.  Tim left behind him a fairly extensive body of writing, the most finished of which is of a very high literary quality.  His autobiography ‘Flashbacks’ is very innovative in the first half while his most literary production ‘High Priest’ is, shall we say, unique in format and style.  Very avant garde.  Timmy had it, but he blew it.

     The problem with Tim is that when he realized that the key would be hard to find he gave up; he turned to drugs, no stamina.  The guy really needed instant gratification.

     Tim’s central problem which he inexplicably failed to recognize was his abandonment by his father.  His father’s leaving muddied his waters for all time.  As a psychologist his fixation was staring him in the face but in the peculiar way of fixations it remained invisible to him.  Such is the fear that one is prevented from seeing what is before one’s eyes.

     Like many befuddled people he became a psychologist in the hopes of discovering his problem.  Instead he found that psychologists were impotent before their own and their patients’ illness.  With or without help a third got better, one third got worse and one third stayed the same.  Tim was of the group that slowly got worse.  He accordingly gave up on psychology.  No staying power.  Tim was a sad case.

     Before he gave up he made a fateful contribution to psychological literature while employed at Kaiser.  Interestingly he never mentions Kaiser in his autobiography.  Slides right over it.  He realized he had been manipulated into his psychological disorder.  As Judaeo-Christian thought decrees that the punishment fit the crime he set about to divise the tools for the psychological manipulation of the whole world.  He want everybody else to get screwed up too.  He did this at Kaiser when he devised the personality tests that are still in wide use.

page 36.

    Once the tests were devised Tim had no sense of direction.  The pernicious use of his personality researches remained fallow for the time being except that as Tim sank over the deep end he turned to psychedelic drugs.

     When his LSD researches began he drew into his circle the most pernicious of post-war movements, that of the Beats, the stage was set for his merry pranks.  The so-called Beats, can be summed up by Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac and William S. Burroughs with Ginsberg as the most important member.  Actually the roster of important Beat writers can be rounded out with Leary himself, Bob Dylan and Ken Kesey although the last three are sort of an after Beat.

     Their novo literary plans were lauched and were being propagated by Ginsberg’s ‘poem’: Howl.  Once through the publishing door Ginsberg helped bring out Kerouac’s ‘On The Road’ and Burroughs’ ‘Naked Lunch.’  The three works were slim fare to get and keep their ‘rucksack’ revolution rolling, but boy, did they have an effect.  Thus Ginsberg, who knew the main chance when he saw it, searched out Tim Leary as soon as his psychedelic researches reached his ears.

page 37.

     Ever ingratiating and insinuating Ginsberg’s seed fell on Leary’s fertile mind.  The two men had the same goal but for different reasons.  Leary in effect became the fourth Beat and its Pied Piper.

     Tim had no intellectual content beyond some vague notion of some ‘politics of ecstasy’ but he became a master showman and clown.  When the mind of a generation was blasted apart by LSD which has absolutely no content but opens the mind to immediate reconditioning Ginsberg and the Beats provided the intellectual attitude grafting it onto the blown minds of the generation by using the substance of Leary’s brilliantly manipulative personality theories.

     It must be noted that Leary himself seemed unable to penetrate to anyone’s ulterior motives.  He calls it naivete but such simplicity is almost impossible to believe in one so intelligent.

     Ginsberg’s trained agents infiltrated every Beatnik or Hippie group to graft his value system unto their blown and receptive minds.  This was the brainwashing technique that Leary believed the CIA was probing him for although Doctor Timmy blithely claimed to know nothing of any such technique.  It should be noted that Leary was quite as capable as the CIA of lieing to protect his own.  As an instance, in his autobiography he spectacularly shifts attention away from the crimes of Charles Manson who he defends to direct attention to a similar crime for which the ‘establishment’ Army officer Jeffrey MacDonald  was convicted.  Although the crimes were quite dissimilar in some way he thought the latter crime somehow absolved the drug culture.  Tim was not an honest man.

page 38.

     So as Ginsberg appropriated Tim’s research to further Semitist and homosexual goals, Leary in his frustration contributed to the befuddlement of society just as he had been befuddled by his own central childhood fixation.  As he was naive he considered himself innocent.

     Freud believed that morality was of no consequence.  His belief has been embraced by psychologists subsequently.  Psychology has no concern with morality.  Freud believed that anyone who knew certain ‘truths’ about themselves was incapable of committing an immoral act.  Tim Leary disproves his theory.

     If anyone cares to apply my psychological approach my only fear is that they will liberate themselves without having good morality.  Thus, if criminals, they will only be more effective criminals.  A clear mind and vile methods can never create good.

     So Tim and I differ in methods and goals.  I want to correct and eliminate the evils practiced on me while Tim merely wanted to pass his monkey on.

     Nevertheless his researches are valuable and useful for understanding who you are.  At the very least such an understanding will prevent your being easily manipulated by pernicious people.

     Tim gave vent to his fixation in his way as I have in mine.

page 39,

     Tim never mentions a fear of the law.  In point of fact at the time he was arrested in Laredo he had broken no laws.  Psychedelic drugs had been legal to that time.  So the man was actually railroaded into prison merely because he had made himself unpopular with certain governmental officials.  Still, he must known he was barefoot on a barbed high wire so he should have taken extreme precautions.

     I too have never done anything illegal but I learned very early that laws for me were different than the laws for my enemies.  You’ll remember the cop who said only I had to walk my bike through intersections, so, you see, you don’t have to do anything to end up on the wrong side of the law.  I have always known that innocence is no defense so my ‘paranoia’ has kept me vigilant and alert.  I have never wanted to gratify the hopes of my enemies by spending my life in prison.  Nor did I ever have any intention of killing myself.

     Dick Speck and Charlie Whitman were not of my mind.  Dick was not reflective enough to know what he was doing.  He and Charlie committed their outrages within a couple months of each other in 1966 at a time when I was passing the crisis in my own mental development.  Becoming a serial killer was no longer possible for me but I immediately recognized my kinship to both men.  I too had considered both crimes although Dick Speck’s was not one that would gratify my own malaise.  Speck’s crime was directed against his mother who formed his Anima, thus in his own way he was murdering his Anima which had betrayed him, while mine like Charlie’s was directed against males and, indeed, the whole of society as was Addie Hitler’s and that of Achilles.

page 40.

     Dick Speck, as I imagine is still well known, actually murered six nurses in Chicago one hot summer night.  That his conflict centered on his mother is attested by the fact that he killed young women, so-called Angels Of Mercy.  In attempting to exorcise his central childhood fixation he delivered himself into his enemies hands spending the rest of his life in prison in conditions too horrible to discuss at this time.  Suffice it to say he became his mother.  Society didn’t have the decency to execute him.

     Charlie Whitman took a different approach.  He was the man who barricaded himself in the tower at the University Of Texas.  From there he took pot shots at anyone who fell within his sights.  It was a most futile attempt at exorcising his fixation  with no chance of escape, a mere act of desperate frustration.  At best he killed or wounded a few people but he at least had the self-respect to kill himself when the authorities broke through his barricade.

     I knew that my enemies wanted me to commit some such act which would discredit me while confirming their opinion of me to the world.  By graduation they had formed me and placed  me at the crossroads.  I was programmed for just such crimes; it was up to me to avoid the destiny prepared for me. 

     I had no interest in killing women because I cherished Ange who was my Anima but Dick’s crime thrilled me to the core as I recognized a fraternal brother who had attempted to purify himself of his fixation.  Speck’s act should not be seen as an act of senselessness or revenge but purification.  It failed as I knew that it must.  Purification comes from within rather than without.  No drug, no crime can purify the mind.

page 41.

     A couple years before Charlie climbed the tower I had considered barricading myself at Stanford University, a symbol of social acceptance and my rightful place in society to me.  In my waking fantasy or daydream I commanded a small army to take on the world.  When asked to surrender it was my intent to offer my brain as a scientific specimen to study the working of the mind of the mass or serial killer much as Ted Bundy was to do in an attempt to escape the electric chair.

     Among the reasons I didn’t perform this absurdity was that I didn’t know of a small army that would accept my leadership.  I didn’t even have any friends.  Also I suspected that there was nothing so abnormal about the serial killer’s mind except his exaggerated Response to a Challange that most people would find normal and not remarkable.

     Interestingly enough, in my most desperate moments I thought up an act of desperation that had been considered by the top strategists of the Nazis.  At this time I was living in the Bay Area.  The water supply of the Bay Area is impounded behind a number of massive dams that ring the San Joaquin Valley.  The mighty Shasta Dam had also just been completed which impounded a small ocean.

     During the war the Nazis had formed a plan to bomb the dams surrounding the Bay so that the waters rushed down at the same time would inundate the low areas and disrupt shipping.  The idea occurred to me too.  With the addition of Shasta the effect would have been terrific.  In my plan the waters reached the Bay as the highest tide of the year was coming in.  The enormous flood would have reached into Merced and inundated Sacramento.  The resulting malarial swamp would have got millions.  I probably wouldn’t have entered that Sacred City alone but the devastation would have been a balm to my wounded soul.  But remember, your immoral society had created me.  Responsibility begins at home.

page 42.

     The problem with that one was getting enough plastique and knowing how to use it.  Always something.  I just didn’t have the necessary determination.  Wisely I decided not to try.

     Shortly thereafter I began to organize my baggage better.

     The baggage is important.  For, like Dr. Petiot we all take our baggage with us.  That’s why Tim’s notion of changing consciousness with drugs is so impossible; the baggage remains the same.  The question is do we let it overwhelm us or do we learn to arrange it into manageable units?  Like Tim Leary said only a third learn to do so.  A third just sit on the baggage and a third like Dr. Petiot sink beneath the weight.

     When our attitude is combined with great political skill and determination it becomes most dangerous.  Of the politicians I recognize as being of the same mind set Moses holds the least sympathy for me.  There is a great resemblance between Mighty Mo’ and the most famous representative of our mind set, Addie Hitler.  Both believed that they represented an elect group of people; both were willing to exterminate all other people for the benefit of the elect.  Both ruthlessly eliminated groups of dissidents within their parties.  Both suffered devastating defeats of their programs.

page 43.

     As I say I have scant sympathy for Mo’ but I also find similarities between Hitler and Sonderman.  You may laugh or object to the audacity of comparing myself and Sonderman to important figures like Leary and Hitler and Moses but this is not an exercise in comparing apples and oranges but oranges and oranges.  No matter how influential or inconsequential  the exemplars, these are comparisons within one mind set.  For instance to compare Hitler with Napoleon which has been done is to compare an apple to an orange.  They come from two entirely different mind sets with entirely different motives.  Although they may be similar politically we are dealing with psychology.

     Sonderman and Hitler are examples of Law and Order aspects of our mind set.  Myself, Tim, Mo’, Dick and Charlie are not Law and Order types.  We despise the Law and Order mentality.  Addie Hitler was a foremost example of the Law and Order approach which he combined in the end with our more characteristic chaotic approach.  Contrary to popular opinion he did nothing outside the laws of Germany even if he had the power to write them himself.  He was a Law and Order sort of guy.

     Everything he did was legal.  He resisted the temptation to seize power illegally which he could easily have done.  Once legally in power he legally assumed dictatorial powers and passed laws to suit his purposes but then he was legally empowered to do so acting no differently than other mind sets in the same situation.  That is Law and Order to a fault.

page 44.

     Nor was Addie a particularly innovative man.  He just brought political and historical trends to their logical conclusions.  Totalitarianism was the the order of the day; he perfected it.  In the thousand year war between the Slavs and Germans he merely extended the policty of the Teutonic Knights from piecemeal annexations of Slavic lands to a massive one time takeover effort.

     In the two thousand year old war between the Jews and Europeans Addie merely repeated the Roman solution in its war with the Jews that kicked off the Piscean Age.

     There was no break or discontinuity in historical tradition; Hitler merely brought the trends of the previous two thousand years to their logical conclusions.  Addie was quite conscious that he was creating a New Order.  As he said the Old Order ended with his death.  Unfortunately he committed suicide before he could see the spectacular introduction of the New Order over Hiroshima but, then, those are the breaks.  The guy knew what was happening whether you like him or not.

     Now, the means and methods he chose to end the Old Order were the result of the mind set he had been given as a youth.  He had a Brown Spot the size of a pumpkin.   I don’t know how the cluster was composed but he discusses the last element in his reminiscences or table talk while on the Eastern Front.  He had just graduated from high school.  He undoubtedly was not a popular person with his schoolmates because they got him roaringly drunk to humiliate him.  In an effort to amuse them he wiped his rear with his diploma.  In some manner the schoolmaster learned of this.  No longer drunk Addie was thoroughly ashamed of himself as he should have been.  Not for using his diploma as toilet paper but for allowing others to abuse his good will.

page 45.

     At any rate the incident affected him more than the Cowboy slugger affected me.  Enraged at his youthful treatment in the last and earlier elements of the Brown Spot and capable of killing any enemy he chose with impunity he tried to bundle their necks together and stangle them all ignoring all consequences so long as he might take that Sacred City of the soul just like Brave Achilles.  They both failed.  Hitler was not abnormal.  Far from it.

     Addie’s Animus had been severely blunted while his Anima while not exactly healthy was whole.  He transferred all the energies of his Animus to the Anima and became Matriarchal in intellect no doubt as a tribute to his mother.  A characteristic of the Matriarchal intellect is the belief in the fertility of nature; thus life becomes expendable and replaceable which, in fact, it is.  Compare Hitler with Mao Tse Tung for the Matriarchal effect.

     As a symbol of the attitude let look again to Greek mythology.  These myths are puzzling so I don’t hope to convince you of my interpretations but they are plausible.  In the myth of Demeter and her daughter Persephone, after Hades had abducted Persephone Demeter turns the world into a wasteland in grieving over the loss of her daughter.  In her wanderings she comes to Eleusis where she sits down on a rock to mourn.

page 46.

     There she is approached by a comic toothless old crone by the name of Baubo.  Baubo tries to cheer Demeter up but the goddess remains inconsolable.  Then with a toothless laugh Baubo who is squatting in the birth position lifts her skirts to reveal a baby emerging from the womb.  Demeter laughs and begins to recover.

    Why did Demeter laugh?  To quote the great Calypsonian and the Kingston Trio:  Back to back, belly to belly, I don’t give a damn because I’ve got another ready.  So Baubo’s lesson is what does it matter that you lost one child when you have the means to make many more.  Baubo exemplified the Matriarchal principle.  No matter how many die many times that number are still in the womb.  The individual life is unimportant.

     Hitler’s response to his fixation was to embrace the Matriarchal intellect.  He applied it exactly.  Not only was he indiscriminate in destroying human life, who he killed is irrelevant, but in his frustrated rage at losing the war he was willing to destroy his entire civilization just like Brave Achilles.  Cracow was leveled to the ground.  He gave orders to explode the former jewel of civilization, Paris, in its totality.  It is a miracle that Paris was not leveled like Cracow.  Thank God, Addie, didn’t have the means to reach Chicago.  It is a miracle that Paris was not leveled like Cracow.  Of course, the Allies flattened Berlin and the rest of Germany, so I guess he had some reason to be sore.

page 47.

     When his world had been completely destroyed Hitler put a bullet through his own brain next to Eva Braun who may possibly have been an exemplar of his Anima while ordering his body to be completely destroyed.  My friends, that is complete self-negation.  Thus as I say, Hitler was the perfect exemplar of our mind set.  We’ll never see his like again.

     Speaking of embracing an opportunity, Tim Leary’s death provides an interesting variation.  When he died he had his body put into orbit around the earth.  At some future time when the orbit degrades the missile will enter the atmosphere as a shooting star disappearing in a blaze of glory.

     But wait, that’s not all.  I don’t know if it happened but Leary wanted to have his head removed and frozen with the expectation that at some time science will be able to transplant his brain onto another’s body.  Thus it is possible that he may come back to life in time for his brain to see his body plummet into the sea.  That then would be a headless comet, the first of its kind.  Leary may have been crazy but he didn’t lack imagination.

     Sonderman completly lacked the chutzpah to either sink to the depts of Hitler or rise to the heights of Leary.  In the turmoil of his mind he completed his studies at West Point.  From which institution Tim Leary was expelled, by the way, and then went to his duty station to await his call from home.  When it came he buried his hopes as completely as Hitler or Leary to heed his father’s call.  What biological clock he was responding to I cannot tell.

     Trained by Law and Order he returned home.  Now, interpreted rightly Sonderman was already a serial killer before he left Junior High.  He had offed Wilson while trying repeatedly to kill me.  Unlike Dick Speck with his lawless murders Sonderman was a Law and Order type guy.

page 48.

     I don’t know if having assumed his role in the social structure of the Valley he participated in other murders but as the Valley is known as the murder capitol of the State I wouldn’t be surprised if he has.

     As I sat talking to him during the Reunion I was closing in on my own delivery from the psychology.  The integration of my personality was not far away.  Had I not turned to psychology for deliverance it is not impossible that in an orgy of self-pity I might have gone on a murderous rampage and killed as many of my classmates as I could.  Not of the Law and Order mentality, I would have been chaotic ending my days in prison as a ‘monster.’  To my shame I wouldn’t have had the integrity to kill myself afterwards.

     As that was what my ‘monster’ enemies wanted I was determined not to give it to them.

     I know that most people think their personality is innate and immutable.  Most people think that they are what they are and that they could never have been any other way.  The fact is that our personalities are shaped and not created.  We become what we are by a system of Challenge and Response from the Field.  What has been done can not be undone but one can escape from its onerous burden.  One can use one’s intelligence.

     As far as morality goes the Challenge of Correct Behavior is given us.  Contrary to Freud morality is more important than psychoanalysis.

page 49.

     The psyche breaks on the rock of morality.  Even a Mafioso like the fictional Michael Corleone broke on the rock of morality.  He felt guilt.  While people applaud the notion of morality most people are incapable of embracing the whole system.  They think they can pick and choose which elements are useful to them disregarding the rest.  People have a public morality as they give lip service to Correct Behavior and a private morality in which they indulge all their whims and hatreds.

     My morality both public and private was purer than that of either Sonderman or Hirsh yet both had better reputations than I did.  Whereas they exuded a certain confidence and unwarranted self-esteem I had been robbed of nearly all my self-respect.  I lacked confidence and assurance.  I was tentative and uncertain which translated into a species of guilt and effeminacy.  I was incapable of projecting the person I felt I was inside.

     While trying so hard to injure me my enemies had done injury to their own psyches.  Remarkably, they were to deteriorate as years passed while I would be able finally to cast off the personality they had imposed on my while returning myself to myself.  I have often wondered who the little Grey One that ensheathed me in my dream might be.  Quite possibly she was the personality killed on the playing field in the second grade.  If so she had been residing in the House of Death.  Perhaps she had been released to reclaim me from my psychic prison.

     Now, here, twenty-five years later, unaware of my true relationship with Sonderman I was sitting across from him.  The old resentment still glowed in his eyes; if I was unaware of our true relationship he wasn’t.  Still thinking we had been friends I was hopeful to reconnect with him so I could join my present, my fractured past and my hopeful future into a whole.

page 50.

     If Sonderman had been initially glad to see me it must have been that he had been waiting twenty-five years to tell me he had always disliked me because I copied him.  Once done I presume that he no longer had any use for my presence.

     The ancient traumas had locked him into a state of arrested adolescence.  It was as though he had never left ninth grade.  Except for the addition of the miles he looked just as he had way back then.  He was still slender and square.  He had the same elfin head.  He still had all his hair combed in exactly the same way.  His style of dressing hadn’t even changed from Junior High.  He wore the same Wrangler jeans, although now that his wife had a washing machine they were clean.  He never had and still didn’t have the cool to wear Levi’s.

     It was appropriate, I think, that the jeans were called Wranglers, obviously chosen to fill some deep psychological need.  His shirt might have come out of his teenage closet.  His shirts had always been cut square across the bottom and worn outside his pants.  He was still in the box in which his father had placed him except now he was running the chemical plant.  He hadn’t busted the block.

     Sonderman wouldn’t know and I can only speculate about the subliminal influence of his mother.  I found it of interest that his first and only child was a girl.  It might be thought that having pleased his mother with a grand daughter he didn’t want to run the risk of antagonizing her by having a son.  What did Sonderman know subliminally?

page 51.

     In contrast, my wife and I had no children.

     His role in the destruction of my eating club was uppermost in his mind.  He looked me square in the eyes in an intended insult to say that he had never once in twenty-five years ever seen a member of the club except for a chance meeting with one whose name he couldn’t recall in an airport.

     If he meant to hurt me, he did.  It also brought to mind a chance encounter with me that he had in the Chicago Greyhound station in the summer of ’57 when I was coming back on leave while he was returning to West Point.

     He fled my presence thinking I hadn’t seen him.  Ever vengeful and mean  he went into the reading room to tell the bartender that I was a Communist.  Then he had someone direct me into the room.  Lest I not order a coke I was directed to the bar.  There out of the blue the bartender told me they didn’t serve people like me in there.  Well, you know, I was pretty darn high class for a Greyhound station.

     When I asked why he told me to just keep my political opinions to myself.  When asked what that meant he told me to look at my shirt.  I was wearing a pink shirt.  I guess he meant that I was a Pinko.

     As Sonderman had been in his cadet uniform he commanded a great deal of respect so everyone was glad to do it for him.

     I was lost in a reverie for a moment.  When I came around Sonderman was staring at me with a hopeful smile on his face.  I guess he was saying that he thought he had taken my club from merely as a lark; neither it nor its members had any relevance for him.

page 52.

     He was clearly in a state of arrested emotional development.  I came to the conclusion that he was daily haunted by myself and the memory of those years.  His mind must have been obsessed with the attempts on my life and his murder of Shardel Wilson.

     The vehemence and finality with which he said I copied his every move must have concealed the guilt he felt but couldn’t acknowledge.  He was the result of the training of his people.  I have no doubt that he had absorbed all the rules of Law and Order.  I have no doubt he was capable of cooperating with his fellow trainees to eliminate anyone he or they wanted either physically or socially.  He was paying the price of that immorality.  Breeding will out.

     His wife was a woman named Donna.  She puzzled me because if this was the same Donna I had seen back then her physical attributes had shrunken considerably.  In fact she looked more like Brie than that earlier Donna.  I could find no discreet way to ask so I was forced to assume that after having been cashiered from the Army Sonderman came home took over the reins of his dad’s business then began to look for a wife.  Apparently fixated by me he didn’t go looking for the full figured Donna but a replica of Brie.  It may be coincidence that his Brie lookalike had the name of Donna but then maybe that had been the attraction.  He had gotten the best of both of them in one woman.  Needless to say all those years later they were still together.

page 53.

     I quickly sensed that Sonderman was extremely distraught, sunk within himself.  His voice came as though from the depths of some tank, with each succeeding drink it became moreso.

     Once the novelty of my appearance wore off he seemed to increasingly resent my presence until he blurted out in searing pain that I had stayed long enough; it was time for me to go.

     I was shaken by the outburst but saw no reason to plead to stay.  It was clear he had achieved his purpose when he said I copied him.  The car I had been loaned had been reclaimed so I was without wheels.  I had to ask him to drive me to my cousin’s house.  He was gracious enough to comply.

     On the way I was surprised to learn that he and Wink Costello were still friends and golfing buddies.  I also learned that Wink was a year younger than us which explained some things.   I sensed his dissociation from reality when he showed surprise that I had known Costello.  I knew why he seemed to be unaware of my relationship to himself, Costello and Little.  It was clear that he had converted the killing of Wilson into something else.  He had somehow conflated my copying him with Wilson’s death, probably thinking that he generously concealed the secret of my murder of Wilson to protect me.

     My family had programmed me to get as far away from the family as possible.  They always did that to one member.  They actually intended me to flee to Australia as Uncle Louie had done.  I just wanted to flee.

     Mr. Sonderman had apparently programmed Little to move away also, probably so as not to interfere with Sonderman’s management of the company.  Little had graduated from the University as a nuclear physicist.  I can tell you I was bowled over, I respected nothing more than nuclear physics.  Then I had the pins kicked out from under me when I was told he was abandoning nuclear physics to become a psychiatrist.

     I very nearly laughed out loud.  What a psychological load of baggage both Sonderman and Little were carrying.  It would take more than psychoanalysis to purge them.  Both Sondermans had a great deal of penance to do.

     Sonderman thought he had slipped when he told me that Little was living on the West Coast fairly close to me.  I could see him make a mental note to call Little to tell him that I might try to contact him.  Before his psychoanalytic training Little was already a more astute psychologist than his brother.  He told him that there was no chance I would contact him.  He was right.  Just the thought of Little makes my skin crawl; he really was an evil guy.

     So my wife and I got out of his car.  Sonderman gave her a last lookover with a wistful eye.  I think he thought that I had topped him again but I’d give it a draw with a shade on my side.  I’m a very generous guy.

      I was unaware I was closing the door on my Animus.  This guy was the image of manhood through which all other males were filtered.  In psychological terms he was the image of the Terrible Father.  My Animus was not clothed with a counter balancing image of the Good Father.  All men were insane as far as I was concerned.

page 54.

     I evaluated all men in comparison to this despicable model.  As I perceived Sonderman he was a homosexual, liar, sneak, cheat and thief.  Now, by his own admission he was a willful failure.

     My public persona had been formed in reaction to him and through him the Hirshes.  While I projected Sonderman’s image on all men I also subconsciously  presented an abject figure to them with which I telegraphed my past.  Thus a cycle of mutual repulsion was perpetuated.  The moving finger had written; the stars were in control.

     I was vaguely aware of projecting the abject image but not knowing where it came from I was powerless to change it.  In order to change my image of myself It would be necessary to change the image of the Sonderman Constellation.

     My life was effectively over.  Regardless of whether I could change myself and the Constellation the baggage as Dr. Petiot realized was still in my hands.  The moving finger had writ.  My education was complete.  Nothing could change that.  Even if the men I knew should show me a new countenance I knew the truth behind any seeming fairness.  I knew who they really were.  And having written the finger moves on.

     Nor, even if I changed, would that change be noticeable to those who already knew me.  They would continue to react to me as they always had.  They might not get the same response but their education as regards me was complete too.

     Like Sonderman’s when he met me their minds were made up so that I would be able to present this new persona to new acquaintances who would be apprised of my old persona by my old acquaintances.  A vicious circle.  I was doomed to be a loner.  It was written in the stars.  The Field dominated.  The Challenges had been made; the Responses had been offered.

page 55.

     The question was: Could I realign the Sonderman Constellation from the brooding theatening image reflected on my face or convert it into one which would be more constructive for myself.  The truth seems to be that like Medusa’s sisters the Anima and Animus are immortal.

     I was given a glimpse behind the Constellation.  It was worse than I imagined.  I had a dream of a house.  I was both inside and outside, above it looking down on it.  The house was being assaulted by myriads of bugs trying to break in.  I fought this image for several days until I came to the conclusion that the house represented my mind and the bugs millions of memories that were trying to destroy my mind.

     I retreated back a bit to the other side of the Constellation but then I realized that as I was both inside and outside the house I was in control of my own mind.  I was the proud possessor of my own mind.  I was one of Leary’s third that healed.

     As I looked up the Sonderman Constellation had begun to change form.  The past after all, while not a jot of it can be washed away, is the past.  It can’t pysically hurt you nor can it reach out for you.  The baggage can be repacked so that it can be carried comfortably.

     All the stations of Sonderman’s stars realigned themselves while I watched apprehensively.  Then I broke out into a laugh.  I was engulfed by merriment.  In place of the threatening aspect the stars formed a portrait of Sonderman’s silly Alfred E. Neuman face grinning idiotically down at me.  There was no reason to fear that Animus.

     So in the end Sonderman assumed his true form.  If I wasn’t free from him at least he was always there for a good laugh.

    What, me worry?

The End Of The Sonderman Constellation,