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Category Archives: Franklin Delano Roosevelt

 

 

The Vampyres Of New York

Vol. I, Clip 8

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Story continues:

Ange: Partly, I tremble when I think about growing up in a country fraught with dangers I could never conceive as a child. For me my life has been an amusement park House of Horrors. The adaptations I have made to survive terrorize me. I haven’t been able to sleep well because of horrifying nightmares. Perhaps that is why I went catatonic as you say. I’m alone, or I was, and defenseless against forces I can neither evade or control. Life is a nightmare with that bastard Adelstein hounding me, demanding what I don’t want to give and he is the most powerful judge in New York.

You want me to tell you my story and I’m almost in tears thinking back to my girlhood. As you know I was born in nineteen forty-eight; that was in Orange County, California during the Gidget and surfing days. It was all oranges, sun and water, a near paradise.

Me: So you became aware somewhen around nineteen sixty.

Ange: Yes, and my parents got divorced at the same time. I was an only child and so I went with my mother. I don’t know what she was thinking when she divorced my father. He took care of her. She was a beautiful airhead and at the risk of being vulgar she didn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground. Men flocked to her and she couldn’t handle herself at all. It was horrible. Finally my father put me in Warren’s Finishing or I don’t know how I would have made it through my childhood.

Fortunately my father stuck with me. After Warren’s I went to UCLA and from there believe it or not, I graduated from Harvard Law School. That was in nineteen seventy-six.

As you may believe I was very good looking and had this amazing chest and you know what it was like in the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties.

Me: Only hearsay. I was married. Since then, of course, I’ve done a lot of reading. UCLA. You missed the Really Big Shoo up at UC but you must have around for Sunset strip in the Sixties. Sex, drugs and rock and roll and all that . How did you survive that?

Ange: You were up in Northern Oregon at that time?

Me: My wife and I left the Bay Area in sixty-six for grad school in Eugene then I opened a record store that became very successful. LA was the record capital of the world so I spent maybe three or four weeks a year on business in LA. I caught some of it but more from the fringe. I felt threatened too, perhaps in a different way but for me the terror started in Sixty and never let up until I got clear in about two thousand five. It was hard, hard travelin’ through those years. I can tell you stories.

Ange: Yes. I wish that Pill had never been invented. Of course as a silly young woman I had to have it.

Me: They beat the drums loudly, didn’t they? The Pill, the drugs, the disintegration of society; there was no safe place.

Ange: The drugs! I can’t tell you how many women I saw destroyed by some joker with cocaine. My father warned me about drugs and thank god I listened to him. Not that I didn’t do them a little, but on top of Dad’s warning I had a strange inhibition as though some hand prevented me from taking them.

Me: Really? That is strange. But, tell me, you were twelve in sixty, eighteen in sixty-eight just as things really got rolling. You say you lost your virginity in sixty-six. Was your mother from Michigan? Did you grow up in Michigan?

Ange: I was born in Battle Creek but we moved to Orange County shortly after. Have you ever been to Battle Creek?

Me: Yes, relatives there.

Ange: That’s where mother got in trouble. Some boy seduced her when she was sixteen and I was born when she was seventeen. My grand parents were horrified. They took me from her and raised me while they banished mother as a disgrace to them. That’s when she went up to the Grand Traverse where she met you or this other you. She was allowed to come back shortly after you left when I met her for the first time. She married father and we left for California.

She used to speak to me of ‘that boy’ often. She could never understand why you left without saying goodbye. Why did you?

Me: I have often thought about this Ange with an aching heart. You see, I had a broken wing and your mother had a broken wing. To salve her hurt she took to injured and things with broken wings. Toward the end she came across a deer injured by a hunter. She brought it to her cabin where she lavished all her attention on it bringing it back to health.

Then, one day, when it had recovered it looked at her with those big doe eyes lowered its head and walked away, disappearing into the forest. I thought, I don’t know what I thought, I was far from healed but I knew I that to leave too and so I just disappeared too.

I’ve always been ashamed of that but still I had no choice. In order to survive I had to cross the straits and disappear into the UP.

Ange: Where did you go?

Me: Oh, I don’t know. It’s all a blank space. The next thing I knew was that I was in Madison Wisconsin. I was already in the Naval Reserve so not knowing what to do I went active for three years and when I came out I was beginning to become Partly Wright. The name wasn’t really my mother’s joke, it was mine.

So, how did a young girl like you react to the Sixties. It was a pretty strange time. Strange Days like Morrison sang.

Ange: The Sixties pretty much passed over me. I was boarded at Warren’s most of the time so I was pretty insulated. At UCLA I spent most of my time in classes. Other than listening to a few records I don’t remember being too involved in what was going on and then I left for Harvard.

Me: From the West Coast to Boston. That must have been culture shock.

Ange: Talk about culture shock! I learned a thing or two at Harvard apart from law.

Me: I can imagine. And then you came down to the Big Bagel and then what.

Ange: Well, I had good grades, finished in the top ten percent, passed the Bar and was recruited off the lot by a middling level firm did well and was then taken by Barton, Adler, Adelstein and Dollop, a top firm.

Me: Adelstein? Is that where you met this Merivale Adelstein character.

Ange: Yes. A black spot in my life that, that I will never be able to erase.

Me: Oh, sure you will, I can erase that for you but tell me but this BAAD

Firm. A black spot. What exactly is your grievance, Angeline?

Ange: I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it but every time he leaves I have this revolting feeling and I hate him. I always have to take a shower.

Me: Every time he leaves. Yes, I think I see. So you are aware of his coming and going but not what happens while he’s with you, is that right?

Ange: Well, I never thought of it before but no, I don’t remember anything between his coming and going, it’s just a black spot, and I always feel dirty.

Me: Hmm. And this list of women you gave me. How did you know them?

Ange: Oh, we all worked at BAAD.

Me: Let me guess. You were all blond and attractive.

Ange: Yes, either natural or peroxide.

Me: And why did you leave the old firm…what was it called?

Ange: Gorden, Oils, Oswald and Dustbin.

Me: I see, so you went from GOOD to BAAD. Why did you go to BAAD?

Ange: Well Merivale made me an offer I just couldn’t refuse; it was nearly double what I was getting at GOOD.

Me: How about that. Very nice offer. So he was impressed by your work at GOOD?

Ange: That was the funny thing. He never checked. I thought it must have been because I was from Harvard.

Me: Well now, these women hired at BAAD, did they all get real nice salaries too?

Ange: Oh yes, BAAD paid its women well. Even the receptionist made a fabulous wage for a receptionist. It was nearly a dream.

Me: I think it was a dream Ange. Do you know what a Monarch slave is my darling girl?

Ange: No-o-o.

Me: I’m beginning to understand your situation at BAAD.

Ange: You mean catalepsy?

Me. If you prefer. I’m going out on a limb here but you know what hypnotism is don’t you?

Ange: Of course. What do you mean?

Me: Umm, I don’t know how they did this. By any chance did the firm require you to see their doctor for a physical exam?

Ange: Yes, we all did, Dr. Wormowitz.

Me: Right! And was Adelstein the only Jew at BAAD.

Ange: Well, Partly, I’m not prejudiced or an anti-Semite so I don’t look for that but yes, now that you mention it Jews might have been half or more of the attorneys.

Me: And the attorney’s you knew best were all more or less chummy with Adelstein and you women were all Anglos, perhaps?

Ange: Partly, I don’t know what you’re getting at.

Me: I will tell you Ange. In your present state of mind you might not find what I have to say believable. Just listen, ask questions if you need to, think it over, that is, sleep on it and then we will see if it applies to your situation.

I think what we’ve got here is a problem in psychology. Hypnotism and suggestion. That’s a problem society is unwilling to address and of which most people have little to no awareness.

In the nineteenth and early twentieth century when thinkers began to develop a rational understanding of mental processes the discipline was co-opted by a Viennese Jew, Sigmund Freud, who then began perverting psychology through psycho-analysis for Jewish national ends.

I am not opposed to psycho-analysis per se, Ange, in fact I use it for the basis of my understanding of the mind, but a discipline can be used for good or evil and psychoanalysis has been organized for evil ends; not all practitioners are guilty and may even not be aware of the ends others are seeking.

Freud himself developed little merely adapting and organizing what other researchers had discovered while taking all the credit and suppressing the others. Two very influential in the development of Freud’s program were the Frenchman Gustave LeBon and the Russian Ivan Pavlov. LeBon gave Freud the key to mass hypnosis while Pavlov showed him how to master indoctrination and conditioning.

Freud was fortunate in having developed his program, I won’t call it a theory, just as the great hypnotic media of movies, sound recordings, radio and later TV came into existence, all developed by gois. Thus the means for a blanketing dissemination of propaganda came into existence making his program possible.

As a Jew Freud hated the European civilization that had made the Jewish ideology obsolete and like his hero the Carthaginian General Hannibal who ravaged Rome he wished condign punishment on Europe and Europeans. As a field of battle he chose European mores and morals and by extension North America.

Freud’s rise also coincided with the years of projected Jewish redemption that the Elders Of Zion had scheduled for nineteen thirteen to nineteen twenty-eight. Freud made himself a leading light of the redemption, one might almost say its Messiah. This is clear if you read his collected works aright.

The redemption was going along swimmingly. In Europe the Great War worked to the advantage of the Jewish people. Heavily represented, very influential, at the Paris Peace Conference they achieved signal goals in Europe, especially in the German Weimar Republic that Jews consider the high mark in achieving their goals. In the new Soviet Union they had replaced the Russians as the directing force in government. The native Russians essentially became Monarch slaves.

While Jews practically owned the Wilson government in the United States their plans hit a snag when the Republicans won the nineteen twenty election. At the same time in reaction to their success in Washington during the war Henry Ford began his expose of their anti-American activities that lasted for seven years. The Republican Interregnum endured until nineteen thirty-three when their Democratic stooge, Franklin Roosevelt, regained the presidency.

Then, just as it seemed that success was in reach from the US to the Soviet Union, the Big Clinker showed up in Germany overturning the Weimar Republic and upsetting their plans of capturing Euroamerica. If not the whole story this overturning of the Weimar Republic caused their rage against Hitler compounded by what they would call his anti-Semitism.

Now arising in America during the Great War as a publicist, Freud’s nephew, his wife’s cousin, Edward Bernays, had established his career as a leading Public Relations and advertising man. He had visited his uncle a couple times receiving indoctrination from him. The Jews considered Hitler’s German triumph as evidence of the basic irrationality of the Demos when left to their own devices. Therefore the Demos had to be hedged out, that is controlled so as to remove any threat to the Jews.

As Freud’s agent in the US, much as August Belmont had been the Rothschild’s, Bernays acted to blunt the will of the Demos. As he expressed it a rational elite had to take direction of the Demos to prevent another irrational outburst as had happened in Germany. In his position of Public Relations and advertising he was able to slant advertising to achieve mind control advancing those controls. By the Sixties Jews had captured, for all practical purposes, the advertising industry managing the direction of advertising content.

To set the scene wholly, when Hitler displaced the Weimar Republic he also displaced the whole of Freud’s subversive Psycho-analytic Order. While psycho-analysis was based or disguised as science it was set up as an Order along the lines Medieval Chivalry. Thus the Order’s goals were political rather than medical.

The displaced Psycho-analytic Order, as well as other orders such as the Frankfurt School almost entirely re-located in the United States, mostly in New York and Hollywood, the two most important Jewish colonies in the US. While the gois had a visceral reaction to psycho-analysis it prospered mightily until by the Fifties and Sixties it dominated intellectual attitudes.

That’s a brief history of Freudianism for our purposes Ange. Now, if you haven’t any questions we’ll go on to the application of Freudianism in the US situation.

Ange: This is different than anything I’ve ever heard Partly, where have you read this? Especially the part about the what?, the Jewish redemption?

Me: I am an historian Angeline. The history you and the public read is heavily redacted and edited for Jewish purposes, one might say a conditioning of the mind. Nearly all of it is written by Jews or vetted by them. Thus only a homogenized version of history favoring Jewish goals is made available. Any exposure of its falsity is punished.

The major Jewish actors of the twentieth century are virtually unknown although their influence on the period was immense. I doubt if you have even heard of the most prominent Jewish actor of the period, Bernard Baruch.

Ange: Not that I remember.

Me: I thought that would be the case yet he was known as the advisor of presidents from Wilson to Eisenhower. You may have heard of Felix Frankfurter but I doubt if you know anything but the name.

Ange: Hm, no, not even the name.

Me: Felix is down the memory whole then too. He was as influential as Baruch. Tsk, tsk. Well, historically the Jews have functioned as an autonomous or near autonomous and separate nation within the nations and heavily influenced the Paris peace talks of WWI to place themselves in a very advantageous position vis-à-vis the Europeans. The talks enabled them to virtually takeover Weimar Germany.

In the US they were actually depicted as having their capital in New York City while the American capital was in Washington DC. Thus if you treat them as an autonomous nation working for their own interests as against those of the Americans you get a different and more accurate picture of the period than if you merely read what you are intended to and not read what is forbidden. Right?

Ange: I, well, I suppose so.

Me: What I tell you is true. So, that’s the bare bones of the history of the period. I have lots of corroborating evidence in my blog articles. You can read them if you want. So, now, leading into your situation.

As I say, Freud wanted to destroy and change the moral order of Europe. Having spent some time with Jean-Martin Charcot at the Salpetriere in Paris and with the important hypnosis developers Liebeault and Bernstein at Nancy as well as reading LeBon Freud acquired the means to undermine the mental state of Europeans while he developed his method. This is why the Nazis burned his books; they knew what he had done and what he was up to. These were all defensive moves.

His first assault was to attack the dream mechanism and put the understanding of dreams on a sound basis. This was actually a signal service but very unsettling to conventional understanding. Significantly his motto for the Dream book which while from a quote from Vergil in Latin essentially said that if he couldn’t make it in the gentile world he would create a hell and destroy them. You may think this is a stretcher but fourteen years later the Great War erupted that gutted the manhood of the Aryans.

I think the actual translation is closer to if the gods wouldn’t help him he would resort to Satan. And he did. Satan triumphed in nineteen sixty-six when Time Magazine asked on its cover: Is God Dead?

You might think that’s a stretcher too, but as Gustavus Myers said of his History Of the Great American Fortunes, it’s all facts, all facts.

Freud’s Dream book was not an immediate success but its sales volume grew year by year. As Freud recognized Dreams slipped the subconscious and had to be interpreted in that light. He also realized that life revolved around sex although he misinterpreted the meaning of sex, and he knew how disturbing the sexual act is. Emphasizing sex was a perfect way to unsettle society.

Europe’s efforts for two thousand years had been to get the sex impulse under control. They had succeeded to some extent, probably as much as could be done but Freud wanted to and did release the sex impulse to full indulgence. His Three Essays On The Theory Of Sexuality in which he defended homosexuality and proposed childhood sexuality threw the gois into a tizzy knocking them off center. These are legitimate topics of research but Freud always approached these things from the smutty side. As D.H. Lawrence noted Freud wasn’t trying to reform morality his goal was to destroy it. Sex being the potent disturber, he made his assault on the European vision of Woman that put her on a pedestal. The attack was fierce; he wanted to make a wanton of Woman, sluts and in the Sixties that was achieved. It was laughingly referred to by the knowing as ‘women’s liberation.’ Ask yourself, and Ange I wasn’t thinking, who benefited?

It was also necessary to disarm the goi so that there would be little or no resistance. This was a two pronged attack. The first was to induce guilt for thinking ill, or realistically, about Jews. For this the notion of anti-Semitism was exploited. In control of the media the Jews were always eulogized while it was forbidden to call attention to, for instance, Jewish criminality which by the way they now celebrate, while on the other hand goish faults were dwelt upon.

The Jewish Order of B’nai B’rith organized its terrorist arm to seek out any offenders and if they didn’t heed the warning they would hurt. For small fry this worked well but when the virtually immune Henry Ford appeared on the scene the Jews really had to exercise their powers. It took twenty years but by nineteen forty Ford was on the edge of bankruptcy. The government and most of society had been organized against him. Rust never sleeps and the Jews never desist.

Freud discovered cocaine in the eighteen eighties becoming something of an addict at the time while destroying a few lives by pushing it. He learned firsthand of the power of such a morality dissolvent and what it did to the mind.

His drug years are usually glossed over while it is said that he kicked the habit. Maybe. But how many do? I’m convinced that he remained a user all his life although he obviously brought his use under control.

Nevertheless, in the twenties, having discovered the effects of heroin the Jewish New York gangster Arnold Rothstein organized the heroin trade on a commercial basis. Of course most if not all drugs were legal until nineteen ten and hop heads, as they were known at the time, had always been around but now began a concerted effort to promote heroin use.

There were also synthetic drugs such as amphetamines. Amphetamines were synthesized in the 1890s. Strangely enough in the first thirty years of the century vitamins, previously unknown, were discovered. This led for some strange reason to the combination of amphetamines and vitamins into a feel good cocktail. It was believed that the vitamins neutralized the harmful effects of the drug.

Somewhen about nineteen thirty a Jew by the name of Max Jacobson claimed to have invented the potent mix. Max isn’t particularly reliable so he may have or he may have picked up the idea from someone else. In any event flushed out of Germany he showed up on America’s hospitable shores with his vial in his hand. By nineteen sixty he was medicating a large portion of New York City.

Numerous other drugs and psychedelics were synthesized over the forties and Fifties so that by the Sixties the cornucopia of mood elevators and depressants were legion. Many of these new stimulants were legal through most of the Sixties.

Lurking behind this was the development of the understanding of hypnosis, suggestion and post-hypnotic suggestion which is what you experienced if I’m correct Ange. The mothers of mind control. The Holy Grail of what many people sought for many various reasons.

You remember, Ange, that the Jews speaking through Eddie Bernays thought that an elite, that is a code for themselves, had to control the mass psyche to prevent them from aberrant behavior, code for anti-Semitism. The method would have to be through suggestion, indoctrination and conditioning.

If you examine the media through that lens it is easy to see how they manipulate the mass psyche. TV, movies and records are the key media and those have always been Jewish owned and controlled. If you watch the internet for your news you will quickly become aware of what the programmers want you to think. Deviate and society itself will correct you as the conditioning also teaches one to reject any unauthorized opinions.

However, specialists want more complete control. Thus the operators emphasizing indoctrination and conditioning go directly into the mind compelling the subject to delete old memories and opinions and replacing them with induced memories and opinions. This is facilitated by suggestion under hypnosis and post-hypnotic suggestion. Once the suggestion is accepted by the mind at any time in the future the suggestion will be performed. If you’ve seen the Manchurian Candidate you know how it’s done. A trigger word or gesture over the phone or anywhere will activate the suggestion.

The North Koreans used what was then called brainwashing during the Korean War on POWs to get them to renounce their allegiance to the US. The CIA under that strange one, Allen Dulles, experimented extensively. By the Sixties using sex, drugs and the media all highly hypnotically suggestive repeated over and over means the Jews were well on the way to conquering the mind of America; a truly remarkable conquest.

The Pill removed the fear of pregnancy, hence sex ‘liberated’ woman but also turned her into a piece of meat. Then in sixty-two Betty Friedan, a Jew, delivered the coup de grace to the Chivalric conception of Woman with her book The Feminine Mystique. By rejecting the Mystique or Chivalric approach, that women did, they were delivered to the meat market. As the Negroes said they were holes or ho’s to be used and discarded. This was especially clear in the world’s meat market, New York City. The Vampyres of New York had arrived fangs bared.

As I mentioned, in nineteen sixty-six Time Magazine signaled the changing of the guard when its cover blared Is God Dead? That created quite an uproar at the time, quickly obscured as time rushed on. It might be coincidence or it might be the Freudian plan unfolding but Time Magazine being published in New York City, the largest colony of Jews in the world was always if not controlled, majorally influenced by Jews as was the publishing industry in general.

No surprise then that in sixty-six Ira Levin, a Jew, published his novel Rosemary’s Baby. Rosemary was of course impregnated by Satan giving birth to his baby Andy in imitation of Mary and Jesus. Thus Satanism replaced Christianity. Roman Polansky the movie director, a Jew, immediately set about turning the book into a movie that was a smash hit in sixty-eight. Polansky made very few, possibly no changes, to the story. After Rosemary’s Baby the whole movie industry became Satanic. That would have been when you were sixteen and eighteen Ange. You are probably familiar with The Exorcist and the flood of movies of the kind.

Ange: Yes I am. That movie horrified me. I have even seen Rosemary’s Baby but I just thought it was a movie. But, I think I can see how society did change from God centered to Satan centered now that you’ve explained it. But except in a general way how does that apply to me?

Me: It sets the stage for what I am going to suggest happened to you Ange. Once you changed employers from GOOD to BAAD I think you must have some memory black outs, blank spots once you get to BAAD. Would that be correct?

Ange: Well…there are things I can’t explain, like waking up sore all over without being able to explain it as I couldn’t remember how it might have happened. At times even though awake I thought I was sleepwalking.

Me: Yes. I am probably right then. Now you must understand Angeline that on sexual matters I don’t follow the Liberal agenda. I find feminism puerile, self-serving and unrealistic. Sex matters are totally dependent on biology. Nature has created what nature has created no tinkering can change that and certain consequences have fallen out of that creation that cannot be denied. Because men have an Xy chromosome they are more or less self-sufficient; because women have the other two X chromosomes they are more dependent. Men are stronger, women are less strong. In point of fact men have no other use for women other than sexual and perhaps as beasts of burden. That may sound rude but if women had no sexual use but remained women they would be superfluous to men. However as women are conscious and intelligent beings men have to make certain concessions to them to maintain harmony. We call that Love.

There have been ways attempted around those concessions however, for instance, the harem in which a rich or important man gathers a group of women about him distributing his favors by his own peculiar method. As with all solutions there are unintended consequences, expense being a major one and the envy of other males another although to be surrounded by women is enervating.

Another solution most famously tried on slave plantations of the West Indies was to select favored females and then bringing them up with their every wish or whim fulfilled while being trained to be compliant in sex. Perhaps not too distant in concept from the Japanese Geisha girls.

The Negro slave women were difficult in numerous ways being unsatisfactory. Then fortune shown on the planters. Along about sixteen sixty or so Oliver Cromwell chose to subdue the Irish. Being the good self-righteous Protestant that he was he was especially brutal. He rounded up tens of thousands of Irish men and women selling them into slavery, chattel slavery, in the West Indies where they were put to work in the fields with the Negro chattel slaves. The beauteous Irish girls were more spirited and lively than the African women, however when half breeds were created the combination was just right to create near ideal sex, or Monarch, slaves. The women were near ideal however they did have to be coddled from birth and that can be downright irritating to more brutal male desires. The women’s attitude was easily ruined. So that solution was somewhat less than satisfactory.

Interestingly as New Orleans was part of the French West Indies when Haiti revolted and thousands of White planters fled to the Gulf Coast and New Orleans they brought that tradition with them so that the system continued to exist in Louisiana and as I understand it a few such women still exist there although only those men of a certain standard of wealth and temperament can possess one as the women must be maintained in their complete innocence.

The hope then was how to have women trained to gratify men’s desires without the unpleasantness of having to be directly concerned with them. This is where the advances in Freudian psychoanalysis, Pavlovian conditioning and hypnotism come in. I believe that you were part of that grand experiment along with the women on your list. You were all Monarch slaves.

Ange: Partly, what you are getting at is just too incredible. I’ve never heard of Irish slaves in the West Indies. What you said just doesn’t seem possible.

Me: I can assure you it was, not only that but those indentured servants in the American colonies you read about were actually slaves although technically not chattel. Still, men and women both worked in the field cheek by jowl with the Negroes. Hence the strong mixing of Negro and White blood. If you don’t have the historical background, and there is no reason you should have, check it out on the computer after we finish. It is there plus there are many books now dealing with the subject. So, I’m not talking through the back of my neck, Ange. I am a bona fide historian.

Ange: I believe you, dearest Partly, but it is all just so incredible.

Me: Not so incredible as may be revealed in your case Ange. I think we have a fearful tale to tell. Just remember that Hera loves her daughter and I have been sent as her priest to absolve you of all responsibility. All responsibility Ange, you are as innocent as a new born baby.

Ange: Yes, I believe you Partly. You have already saved my life and I’m sure that Hera and you can redeem it.

Me: Redemption is of the mind and can never be complete. So, now, we’re going to have to examine what happened after you went to BAAD.

Let’s start with your physical by Doctor Wormowitz. I think he may be the key. From his name did you think he was Jewish?

Ange: Yes, he was Jewish. He had a big Star of David in yellow facing you on his desk and other Jewish memorabilia scattered through his office including a couple pictures of Auschwitz on the wall.

Me: No secretary, just he and you in the office?

Ange: Yes, that’s right.

Me: What do you remember about the physical Ange:

Ange: Oh…well…I…I can’t recall anything.

Me: I imagine not. What do you recall between entering his office and leaving it?

Ange: I remember sitting down and then hearing him say close the door softly when I left.

Me: Right. So you were hypnotized while in his office and have no memory of what went on.

Ange: Hypnotized? I can’t believe that. He didn’t try to hypnotize me, I would have resisted.

Me: You didn’t know what hit you Ange. When I went to visit my parents and the Little Bastard once in Keokuk where they lived the Bastard took me to a party at his so-called friend’s house. Apparently completely without my knowledge or compliance his friend’s wife hypnotized me in the midst of assembled people. It took me a long time to realize what happened but I have a blank spot from the point where I was standing talking to them to where I moved across the room. I became aware that she was staring into my eyes. I thought then that she was trying to hypnotize me so at that point I pitted my will against hers and shook her off. Came out of it just as I was about to really go under. I have no idea what happened between us whether she planted a post-hypnotic suggestion or not. Wormowitz put you under without your realizing it. He must have begun indoctrinating you into sexual practices; so he must have implanted a signal or sign, a word, that would flip you in and out of trance in a split second. Do you remember any words or signs that these guys at BAAD flashed you or the other women?

Ange: No, no, I don’t remember anything like that. They did have this odd twitch when I saw them talk to some of the other girls.

Me: What twitch was that?

Ange: I guess they got nervous when they walked up so they scratched the lobe of their ear like this.

Me: Of course. Rubbed it three times. That’s it, Ange. With that sign they could flip you in and out at will.

Ange: That’s really hard to believe, Partly.

Me: OK, Ange. Watch this, I am going to put you under on the count of three. One…two…three.

And there it was. Ange flipped into her party girl, hot babe persona.

Me: Ange I command you to remember that I have just hypnotized you. I’m going to flip you out now.

At this point I rubbed my right ear lobe three times. But, instead of flipping out she leaped into my lap and began to French kissing me. I didn’t know what else to do so I responded in kind. While I was thinking she clasped my hand to her breast which upset my thinking momentarily. Christ, what could the counter-sign be? She had my right hand clasped to her breast so in my anxiety I put my left hand up to scratch the back of my head accidentally hitting my left ear lobe.

That was it. She flipped back to reality or, perhaps better, to her alternate or first personality.

Ange: Well, aren’t you the flirt Partly? How did you get me in your lap without my knowing it, Fresh One?

Me: I hypnotized you using Wormowitz’s signal Ange. That’s was the physical you were taking. You were being put under the control of the men of BAAD. You were then a sex slave. You were an improvement on the West Indies or Geisha model. You couldn’t remember what happened when you under when you were out. They had no responsibility for you. Being well paid kept you on the job. Don’t you remember saying you would remember if you were hypnotized?

Ange: Yes, of course I remember saying that, you told me too but how did I get on your lap and when did you begin to feel me up?

Me: You followed your conditioning well Ange. We’re going to have to experiment with your trance state to learn what they had you do and figure out how to back you out of it. By the way, was Merivale Adelstein a young lawyer at BAAD then?

Ange: Yes. I’ve known that bastard for a long time. How I hate to see him coming.

Me: I’m sure you do. How would you like to get your revenge by tearing his eyes out?

Ange: Nothing would give me greater satisfaction.

Me: OK. That was an easy one. That is what you are going to do. First let’s clear up your career at BAAD. In its own way this is a horror story, Ange, that you might find unsettling or maddening. I’m going to have to do another cleansing of you by Hera before we continue. Your mind has to be prepared. It’s almost five o’ clock. Let’s have a bite to eat and then a cleansing. You’re going to be conscious this time but I want you to open yourself, be receptive to my suggestions. Believe. Accept without resistance.

Now, here Ange, undress and put on this green silk wrap. Green is the color of rebirth. When Hera or the Earth blossoms in Spring she is a fresh virgin green. You were released from your former self at the first ceremony, with this rite you will be born again shedding your old self much as the first stage of a rocket falling away, a future without that burdensome baggage. Once free of that I will put you to bed and you will enjoy a healing and refreshing sleep until sunrise. You will awake to a new world without fear of a past that will appear as a novel written by someone else.

Ready? Now throw your raiment from you and slip into the cleansing waters. Hera will reveal a past concealed from you by the machinations of evil men. As they captured your soul by devious means you had no responsibility for their actions as they affected you. You are innocent. Your will had been taken from you supplanted by their wicked desires by criminal means. You will now reaquire your will.

Their means was suggestion that I am now removing and replacing that suggestion with the love of Hera for her daughter. You will respond to the sign of the ear only from me. No other is to be observed by you. You will respond only to my voice, no other.

You are to avenge yourself on Merivale Adelstein. At the opportune moment when confronted by Adelstein I will sign you to attack him. Your strength will be tripled, your fury will be irresistible. Tear at his face with your nails. Ignore all consequences until I say cease.

You are once again purified. Hera bless you.

 

With that I patted Angeline dry, placed her in bed, tucked her in, planted a sweet kiss on her lips and said: Sleep, my beloved.

She closed her eyes and was lost to the world till the sun rose over the horizon.

As I went out into the living room the phone lights began to blink so I said hello.

Lessing: Hello, Perry. Haven’t seen you for a few days. You OK?

Me: Hi, Lessing. I’ve been busy with another problem. Demanding. Didn’t mean to ignore you. How have things been?

Lessing: More and more interesting. You have heard the news about the Rabbis?

Me: No, Lessing. I haven’t had any news for a few days now. What about the Rabbis?

Lessing: Our lifetime president ordered them all rounded up.

Me: Rounded up? As in collected for further disposition?

Lessing: Yes. They have apparently been put in a camp put in operation to receive them. It’s unbelievable. I don’t know what to think.

Me: I can’t say I’m surprised. I won’t say I saw it coming but he’s had it in for the Jews from the beginning. I don’t know why they couldn’t see it. He didn’t happen to nab old Soros did he? Along with the Rabbis that would more or less wipe out the leadership cadre leaving the people rudderless.

Lessing: Soros is out of the country, may have had advance word. What do you think is next?

Me: Probably a general roundup when they get more space. Has he done anything to empower the Moslems? Anything in Sharia law, something like that?

Lessing: There is talk of Sharia law being permitted in the Moslem colonies but nothing firm yet. But, what is the other problem you spoke of?

Me: It’s sorta difficult to explain over the phone but I have found the means to virtually take control of the courts so we’ll be more secure than we are.

Lessing: How did you do that?

Me: I’ll have to explain face to face. Just let me ask: Do you know Merivale Adelstein?

Lessing: Adelstein? Sure.

Me: He’s in the bag and the knot is tied.

Lessing: Hard to believe. When can we meet?

Me: Give me a couple days to complete my matters here. How about Friday for lunch?

Lessing: Sounds good.

Me: OK. Oh, and I’m bringing my wife Angeline Gower so there will be three of us. Pick out a place that is always empty or close to it so we can talk low.

Lessing: Your wife! Angeline Gower! The woman who worked at BAAD?

Me: Yes. Do you know her?

Lessing: I know of her but I’m so flabbergasted I don’t what to say.

Me: It’ll keep till Friday. We’ll need a planning session on Saturday too.

Lessing: You’re sure about that?

Me: Yes. Be prepared for some excitement on Saturday. Should be fun. If anything happens give me a call; otherwise Friday for lunch.

 

Of course I knew the conversation was recorded so I sent Ragnar with a different set of instructions. We probably couldn’t elude the authorities but we could make it a little difficult for them.

Continued on Clip 9.

A Short Story

In Darkest America

by

R.E. Prindle

 

‘O father! I hear the sound of guns,

O say, what may it be?’

‘Some ship in distress, that cannot live

In such an angry sea!’

– Longfellow

 Yo’ doan miss yo’ watta’ till the well runs dry.

-Trad.

 

     As the bus sped down the spine of Illinois toward Memphis Dewey’s mind was dark with swarming visions.  All the indignities and injustices he had endured, and the frustrations and thwartings formed the matrix of the cogitations.  His own failures in meeting the Challenges he had faced worried his conscious mind.  The hurts and evils were transfigured away from the personal and projected into the great swirl of events going on around him that determined the decisions he had to make to go on living.

     This was the period of life of the great inflow when impressions entered his mind faster than he could organize and interpret them.  All around the boy forces, movements and people that would influence his life were dropping into place or preparing to affect him.

     As the bus whizzed down the highway past St. Louis off to the West there was a young fellow by the name of San Martin Sobibor about to obtain his MD in Psychiatry from Washington University.  In the Spring of ’59 Sobibor would depart for the mecca of sexual perversion, San Francisco, where , as he put it, he could be at home.  From there he would migrate to Portland Oregon because, while he was ready for San Francisco, Baghdad By The Bay wasn’t ready for him.  Hard to believe but true.  In Portland the paths of Dewey Trueman and Marty Sobibor would intersect with results to be shown.

     For now, concerned solely with the moment, Dewey’s mind darkened with the deepening shades of evening.  He would be dozing when the bus, after an hours delay in Memphis, turned West across the Mississippi into Arkansas.  In the gloom of the night Dewey lost the opportunity of sighting the Congo of America from the deck of the Mississippi Bridge made famous by Chuck Berry’s seminal song, ‘Memphis, Tennessee.’

     Arkansas.  Dewey would wake to see some of the swamps and bottomlands before the bus passed  through Little Rock.  Little Rock.  It had been only two years before that Eisenhower had called the Army out to excort a cute little Negro girl in a pink pinafore into desegregated Central High.

     A hundred years before the Sons of Dixie would have gone to battle over less but now the fight was gone out of them.  These were different times; the Great Cause had been lost way back when.  Little could be done now to win back the South’s pride.  Just as their defeat a hundred years before had driven Dixie down, this defeat a hundred years after would have as profound an affect on the whole of America. 

      The Army  in Little Rock, tanks in Prague and Waco.

     Little Rock.  Central High.  Memories of the scene in the hallway before Mrs. Hicks’ class at Melville the week before came flooding back through Dewey’s half glazed mind.  How right was desegregation? was his thought.  What could be gained by destroying one people for the benefit of another people, the former much more highly evolved, developed and advanced than the latter.

     Actually nothing good came of desegregating schools in the South.  The truth about integrated schools could be seen right then in the North where desegregation had been a fact for over a hundred years.  Truth was less important than fantasy in Disney America.

     Over the next several decades the hopelessness of forcing Black Folks on White Folks was such that even responsible Black Folk rebelled at the chaos integration had produced.  By the twenty-first century in an effort to get away from desegregated schools society, unable to face the situation squarely, enacted voucher systems in which the government paid the tuition of students so parents could avoid sending their kids to the same hell holes to which they had been bused.

     Who wished to escape the hell holes they had carved out of order and organization the most.  Whites?  No.  They were too embarrassed to keep their kids from attending Black gang dominated classes.  Blacks leapt at the chance to get their Black kids away from the Black dominated high schools so their tots could get a ‘good’ education.  It remains to be seen whether academic standards will be demolished in their new schools.  Probably.

     Well, it’s not like the Conservatives didn’t see it coming.

     Liberal fanatics saw the uplifting of Blacks when they received the same education as Priviliged White Skins.  What Liberals didn’t foresee was that the racial tension and strife would be so intense that rather than Blacks getting the education of White kids the education of White kids would be brought down to the level of Blacks.  Standards would be lowered by Blacks rather than Blacks raised to the higher White standards that they could not meet.  Liberals couldn’t or wouldn’t foresee the results nor do they care today if the result was the brutilization of White kids.  So they give the Blacks a fifteen point handicap and say both are equal.

     Well, no matter.  Civilization can take any amount of punishment without lapsing into a dark age, can’t it?  There’s still water in the well, isn’t there?  The level is way down there now but, you know, you don’t miss your water till the well runs dry.

     Then judged by thoughts of Little Rock’s Central High Dewey’s thoughts reverted back a hundred years to the Civil War when hundred of thousands of the flower of the White species were destroyed for the benefit of Black savages most of whom were fresh from the jungles.

     Black savages? you say.  Yes.  Black savages, if you only look at the facts.  To say that Dewey had all this worked out would not be true.  His mind contained the thoughts only in embryo like the oak is prefigured by the acorn.  Thus, while his thoughts were not as detailed as the following, just as when the acorn bursts it bonds and begins to grow into the oak so all of Dewey’s later development was contained in the nebulous forms of his understanding at this time.  It is axiomatic that you can’t learn what you don’t already know.

     As Dewey might have said then had he known the details that he would later learn he might have acted more strenuously.  Let us consider the set and setting.

     The Civil War was fought from 1860 to 1865.  Western technology and science was already far ahead of any other people or area of the world.  Western science, even at the time, made White people a distinct evolutionary stage of development.  If you are going to claim to be scientific you have to face these facts.  The fantastic advances in scientific knowledge that occurred after the Civil War were so far ahead of Asia and Africa as to strain credulity.  It was as though the super bowl champion football team was playing a bunch of high schoolers.  Gods walked the earth.

       Electricity alone was a quantum leap ahead of the past and all other civilizations.  Except for Euroamerica electricity was unknown anywhere else in the world.  When Coney Island was illuminated during the gay nineties incoming Eastern and Southern Europeans out at sea were overawed by the sight of the amusement park glowing in the night.   Nowhere else on earth was such a sight possible.

     If nether Europeans were astonished imagine the effect on traditional Chinese or the Stone Age peoples of America and Africa.  Imagine how they must have responded a few years into the twentieth century when they saw White men flying airplanes above them in their skies.

     In 1865 the conquest of the American West was yet to begin in earnest.  The centenaries for the states of New Mexico and Arizona haven’t even taken place yet.  China was still a medieval society.  Africa was still an unknown continent.  No area with the exception of South Africa had been brought under European dominion as yet.  Large areas were still shown as a blank spot on the map indicating territory unknown to Whites.  In reality most of Africa had not been trod by a booted foot.

      The Africans lived in a state of stone age nature that had been virtually undisturbed for a hundred fifty thousand years since the first Homo Sapiens sneered at his predecessor hominid.  Mental traits and habits still existed untouched by abstract thought.

     Even as the Civil War was being fought African tribesmen were ritually sacrificing tens of thousands of their own annually and eating them.  Slavery?  What a tragedy.  Cannibal feasts were part of the fabric of native life as they remained into the twentieth century and down to the present time.  At the time of this story cannibalism was a fact of of life in Africa.  Sekou Toure, the Big Daddy of Guinea, kept his refrigerator stocked with human flesh.  Thus modern technology improved the life of the African greatly.  When questioned about it Toure adopted the condescending tone and said:  There are some things Westerners will never understand.

     Thus this state of mind indigenous to the African continues to this day.

     In 1893 at the great Chicago Exposition the natives of Dahomey on the South Coast of the African bulge were displayed as the most primitive and savage people on earth.  This was no exaggeration.  As late as 1893 and well beyond human sacrifice and cannibalism was a characteristic trait of Dahomians.

     In the early 1870s some few years into Reconstruction in the American South after slavery had been abolished the British hacked a campaign into the bush of the Gold Coast, or what is now called Ghana, to  correct habits similar to the Dahomians practiced by the Ashanti people at the capital of Coomassie.  When the British succeeded in fighting their way through the bush to Coomassie they were horrified at what they discovered.

     Great mounds of human skulls, the result of incessant human sacrifice were piled in huge pyramids and rows along the streets of the Ashanti capitol.  Pots of cannibal stew still simmered.  H.M. Stanley who recorded the entry into Coomassie would later be criticized for his portrayal of ‘Darkest Africa’ but how much darker could Africa be than this?

     Depends on what you call darker.  Even as White Men were falling in their myriads in America for the liberation of a people who could never appreciate  it, East Africa was actually being depopulated by Arab slavers who delivered their product to the Middle East and India.

     British policy and the American Civil War only succeeded in ending slave trading from the West of Africa.  Arab slavers had been raiding East Africa for slaves for at least two millennia.

     Even as White Men murdered each other in America for the benefit of West African slave trading cannibals, thousand person lines of slaves yoked together moved down out of the highlands of East Africa for Arab ports.  Accounts differ but perhaps only three of ten made it from point of origin to the final destination.  This Arab Slave trade was to continue unabated still for decades until it was driven underground by the British where it continues functioning to this day.

     When the US allowed Arabs into this country after 1965 they brought their slaves with them.  Thus one hundred fifty years after brave White Men died for the sins of Black Africa slavery was reintroduced into America.

     What area of Africa did the American Negro slaves come from?  Ashanti chiefs supplied large numbers of them.  Others came from the Slave Coast further East on the coasts of Dahomey and Nigeria.

     Today American Blacks benefit from the notion that they are as early in America as the earliest British.  True, some Blacks date back to the seventeenth century when the first cargoes were landed but by far the largest number date from after 1776.

     Even after the British, having learned their error rather quickly, tried to destroy the Afro-American slave trade late in the eighteenth century and American law illegalized the trade in 1807 still the now illegal trade continued uninterrupted until the Civil War.  Thus a very large proportion of Blacks were transported between 1830 and 1860.

     The level of civilization of these Black Folk may be gauged by that of the Ashantis and Dahomians.  In other words they had been death worshipping cannibals until their Daddys or Chiefs sold them West.  As of 1959 this was only a hundred years previously.  These savages had been forcefully taught to change their diet from human flesh to beef only three or four generations earlier.

     Cannibalism was a sore point with the Afro-Americans of 1959.  The pop group Cannibal And The Headhunters was meant to disparage this obvious truth.  The intent was to make the notion appear as a White Man’s fabrication.  It worked pretty well too.

     Now, as I stated before just because you step on the soil of the New World does not mean that your inbred mental arrangement is modified in any way;  only your subsequent mental condition can be altered.   The mind is not so elastic that the past loses its influence.  It only manifests itself in different ways.  It adapts its manners and customs to the new conditions; this is to say that no one forgets his antecedents and grudges.

     Let us now direct our attention from the Africans to the English immigrants.  Let us put them into perspective so we can understand the development of democracy in the United States.

      The English discovery of America happened at a most propitious time in English history.  In conventional terms the English Commons was about to supplant the English Crown.

     Political events are always based on personal animosities.  In the fifteenth century Henry the VIII had discarded the hated Catholic Church.  Henry’s daughter Elizabeth I continued Henry’s religious policies.

     At the beginning of the seventeenth century, Elizabeth having died without progeny the crown was offered to the Scottish Catholic James who was already James the VI of Scotland and now became James I of England.

      The Scots were not particularly well thought of by the English while the fear of Catholicism being reestablished created a panic.  The seeds of discontent had been sown.

     At the end of the fifteenth century Gutenburg had invented movable type inaugurating the age of print.  Printing was much cheaper than hand copied manuscripts.  The first book was printed.  Naturally  it was the Bible.  Bibles were now available at a reasonable cost.  The Bible was widely disseminated in the area of England known as East Anglia after its conquerors the Angles.  East Anglia is formed by the three shires of the bulge East of London plus Cambridgeshire and Lincolnshire.  Animosity existed between east Anglians and the Southern shires that formed the heart of the Norman conquest of 1066.

      When the Normans conquered England they enslaved the Anglo-Saxons.  Thus Gurth in Walter Scott’s ‘Ivanhoe’ is an Anglo-Saxon slave.  Slavery is said to have existed in the Norman shires to a period c. 1500.

     The Anglians resented this fact of their having been enslaved very much, as they had previously been conquerors and exterminators.  Their grudge against the Normans simmered along without focus until Gutenburg delivered the Bible into their hands.  Perusing the Old Testament very carefully they formed an identity with the Hebrews who had been enslaved in Egyptland.  Where the Anglians had lacked direction formerly their identification with the Hebrews pointed the way for them.

     Disturbing under Elizabeth, the Anglians now alternatively known as Puritans from their identification with the Hebrews 0f the Bible became troublesome under the Scottish Catholic James but progressed to rebellion under James’ son, Charles I.

     Charles was called upon to exert repressive measures to protect his throne.  During this period the East Anglians boarded ships to flee to the newly discovered coast of North America.  Landing in the North the Anglian cum Puritan State of New England or New Anglia came into existence.

     They did not forget their past but continued to nurse their grudges against crown, Catholics, Scots and Normans.  They didn’t like the Irish too much either.

     In England the Anglians revolted, captured the crown and installing Oliver Cromwell as the Protector attempted to root out and destroy Norman influences.

     The Anglian Puritans were called Roundheads while the Norman troups of Charles were called Cavaliers.  When Cromwell and the Anglian Puritans ruled it was the turn of the Norman Cavaliers to flee to America.  New England having been pre-empted by the Anglians the Cavaliers set up their characteristic social institutions in what was to become the State of Virginia.  The two arch enemies were separated by a few hundred miles which was a sufficient buffer to prevent hostilities at that time.

     In England the manners of the Anglians were so unpalatable that to continue their hegemony would have meant establishing a totalitarian state, not unlike that in the United States today,  which they didn’t have the power to do.

     Thus the Stuarts in the person of Charles II were invited back.  They proved unpopular so in 1688 in the revolution known as Glorious in contrast to the earlier Anglian Puritan revolution William and Mary began the Protestant Succession which was firmly established in 1717 with the introduction of the Hanoverian line from German that continues to this day under the assumed name of Windsor.

     The Anglians retired into their Eastern shires where they have remained fiercely isolationist.  The Author toured East Anglia a couple times in the 1970s where he was amazed at the continuing hostility of East Anglians to outsiders and their unwarranted sense of superiority.  The spirit of the Puritans is alive today in the East Anglian heartland.

     Thus, whereas by 1776 the conflict between the English factions was more or less resolved in England the conflict had not yet been formulated on American shores.

     The Norman Cavaliers had enslved Anglians and Saxons in England until fairly recent times; now the Anglians thought their descendants in America were up to their old tricks.  The notion of indentured White laborers that were in effect slaves for a limited period had been part and parcel of Norman Virginia.  As the Anglians might have noted wryly:  Old habits die hard.  The notion of innate superiority was part of the Norman as well as the Virginian character.  It should be no suprise that Virginians would keep Black slaves while condemning them to racial inferiority.

     Any excuse will do if you really want to pick a fight.  The Anglians of New Anglia or England hating the slave owning Cavaliers of Virginia chose slavery as the issue over which to renew the war of the Anglian revolution in England.  This time the war would be a fight to the finish that would involve the total destruction and extermination of their old enemies.

     There is no question that slavery was an evil that had to be discontinued and was being discouraged in a diplomatic manner in Africa and those same diplomatic heads that were interested in right and less interested in revenge should have prevailed in America.

     Now, the Anglian vision of history which we are taught in school is that freedom of religion was the issue that caused Purtian immigration.  This is nonsense.  The issue was one between Anglians and Normans that was brought into focus under a religious disguise.

     Religion is little more than a psychic projection of the hopes and fears of a people.  The model on which the Anglians formulated their angst was that of the Hebrew Bible.  The Hebrews or Jews formulated their religious response because of their own defeat and humiliation at the hands of the Assyrians and Babylonians.  In an access of pride, rather than admit to being defeated, they formulated the notion that they were a Chosen People of their God destined to rule the world.  Their present state then was not one of defeat but of being chastised for not having followed the precepts of their God to the tittle.  The Puritans or Anglians found the  Hebrew model an answer to their psychic needs.

     The Nazis of German in the same way and using once again the Jewish model elected themselves a chosen people in response to their betrayal and defeat in the First World War.

     The Communists who are also based on the Jewish model are merely the unproductive members of society who either will not or cannot so they merely say they will expropriate the producers but the idea of an elect or chosen people of ‘laborers’ is the same.

     Once the notion has become part of the psychology of a people the notion is refined and grows and grows.  The end result is that reason is discarded and Anglians, Jews, Nazis, Liberals and Communists become intense bigots because as their dogma is based on a falsehood it will fall to the ground upon examination.  Therefore they must censor all speech and writing and even function as thought police.  In other words, the Emperor has no clothes.

     The Civil War having been fought and ended the antagonism between the Anglian Puritans and Norman Cavaliers remained.  The financier J.P. Morgan once said that every man has two reasons for whatever he does:  A good reason and the real reason.  The good reason the Anglians had for provoking the Civil War was their ostensible opposition to the bonafide evil of slavery.  The real reason was the age old British quarrel between the Roundheads and the Cavaliers.

     The great tragedy of the European conquest of the world was the dependence on African slaves for manual labor.  What a fine country the US would have been if the African savages had been left in Africa to pile their heaps of skulls in the jungle.  For, you see, contrary to popular opinion the White man has a conscience that is lacking in all other peoples.  The Blacks had been amassing mountains of skulls for centuries without one thought of conscience.  There wasn’t even a word for conscience in their vocabulary.

     The American Civil War ended the practice of slavery amongst the White race.  Slavery of African Blacks in Africa continues to this day.

     The Arabs must have had word about the American War and its purpose yet they too continued their slave practice unabated until the Europeans made it too difficult for them to indulge in slave raids on a massive scale.  Slavery also has continued with them until the present day.  In fact Arabs have reintroduced the practice into Europe and America.  Arabs own slaves in all the White countries.  It wouldn’t be ‘democratic’ if you denied them this right, now, would it?

     Unlike Blacks and Arabs Whites knew from the beginning that slavery was wrong.  They could never be at ease with it.  Oh, maybe there were the bestial types who didn’t worry about it, but witness the American writer Mark Twain, or to use his legal name, Samuel L. Clemens, who epitomized the split in the psyche of the White people of North America.

     Even today Clemens causes discussion among his own for the benefit of the Blacks.  Remember slaves and Blacks are two different things.   One can oppose slavery while being wary of Blacks.

     Clemens although he writes from an Anglian point of view had a Virginian for a father.  Clemens actually enlisted in the Confederate Army.  That he presented himself as a Connecticut Yankee about the time he wrote Huckleberry Finn is an interesting fact because he was far from a Yankee.

     He grew up as far North as the border of the free state of Iowa and across the river from free state of Illinois.  Hannibal, Missouri was a slave holding community.  The Widow Douglas, a Scot, who adopts Huck Finn had the owner of Nigger Jim living in her house while she herself owned slaves.

     Clemens’ attitudes toward the national components of the American nation deserve a closer study.  The person on whom the character of Huck Finn was based was an Anglo named Tom Blankenship.  Clemens changed his nationality to Irish as Finn is an Irish name.  A huckleberry was a worthless fellow so you don’t have just a White guy and a Negro floating down the river but a worthless Irishman and a Negro.

     Sawyer is an English name probably meant to be of Anglian origin.  It denotes a manual occupation.  In point of fact, sawyers cut logs to build houses while thatchers put on the rooves.  So Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher form an interesting psychological combination.  In the racial politics of the time when the Irish had a reputation for being troublesome hard drinkers, Clemens has already set up a national hierarchy with the Anglians on top, the Irish below and the Negro at the bottom.

     Huck Finn is not socially acceptable nor is he capable of being educated to it.  Although the Widow Douglas, a Scot, tries, Huck slips the bonds escaping to float down the Mississippi river on a raft with Nigger Jim.

     Now, Negro Jim as my college English teacher used to call him, is solely a comic figure.  He is the epitome of the ignorant, superstitious, eyeball rolling Darky.  He is really undifferentiated from the other Blacks who came from miles around to hear his witchcraft story.  He has no real identity beyond that of a stereotype and symbol.

Twain, in fact, has never formulated an identity for him.  He doesn’t know who Nigger Jim is.  In Twain’s mind he is just a faceless Negro who neither needs nor has a past.

     I now propose to tell the early history of Jambalaya Karate otherwise known as Nigger Jim.

The African Roots Of Nigger Jim

      Jim hadn’t always been a slave.  Back home in Ghana or the Gold Coast as it was known in those days, Jim had been born the son of a Fanti Daddy, Chief or King where he had been given the name Jambalaya Karate, which loosely translated means The Devourer of the Enemy.

     Jambalaya Karate was born in 1810 a few years after the slave trade had been abolished by the United States.  He grew up a very privileged young man who had slaves of his own.  In his youthful arrogance he was frequently unkind to them.  Cruel even.  On one cannibal occasion he bit off a slaves’s little toe to see what his reaction would be.

     In 1828 when Jambalaya Karate was eighteen his Fanti tribe was attacked by the Ashantis.  Although Jambalaya performed prodigious feats of valor, leaping at times a full five feet straight up in the air like an early model Mr. Bojangles or Michael Jordan the Fantis were defeated while Jambalaya himself was taken captive becoming the personal slave of the Ashanti king Basso Profondo, which translates voice of Thunder i.e. God.

     Jambalaya did not take well to being a slave especially as Basso took great delight in humiliating the son of his enemy Daddy.  Jambalaya remembered his royal origins but too well.  In an effort to teach him manners Basso Profondo bit off one of Jambalaya’s little toes.  While this indignity had a profound effect on the Fanti’s psyche the act nevertheless saved Jambalaya’s life.

     Some fellows were needed for sacrifice as well as to fill the stew pot.  Jambalaya himself had taken part in several cannibal feasts as, indeed, his name meant Devourer Of The Enemy, only a few months earlier.  He did not now relish becoming Fanti stew.

     Uhha!

     Only slaves without blemish were suitable for sacrifice.  Jambalaya was now missing a little toe thus removing him from eligibility.  He was still a troublesome slave  for whom Basso Profondo had no use so he was marched off to the coast in 1830 where he was sold American, placed on board a ship, ran the blockade and was transported to New Orleans where he was landed illegally.

     While Jim as he was now named, having avoided the ignominy of being named Jack or Speedoo, had dreamed of escaping back to his people while in Africa  he now realized there was no such thing as escape.  A little something died inside.  And yet, his life would be better than in Africa.

     Remember jim had already been a slave in Africa.  If one reads enough about American  slaveholders one will learn that slave holding is a most humane affair.  Arab Slavers say that slave holding by Arabs is not the cruel thing it was in Africa or America.  Africans say their slave owners get no complaints from their slaves.  Their slaves would rather be slaves than face the hazards of being free.  Americans, of course, said Blacks were treated like members of the family.  The only people who ever complained about the inhumanity of slavery were the slaves themselves and one knows how unreliable their testimony is.

     There were some salient differences between African slavery and American slavery that made Jim’s lot better in America not least of which climate and food were better.  There were fewer diseases in America.  Jim’s life span in Africa would have been no more than thirty to thirty-five years.  In fact, as he was due to become stew, much less.

     In Africa the owner had the  right of life and limb.  As we saw, Jim bit off his slave’s little toe later having his own amputated.  Had his owner killed him in a fit of pique it was his right.  According to American law owners did not have the right of life and limb.

     In Africa once you were a slave manumission was not a possibility.  Once a slave always a slave.  Thus technically all American Blacks or their descendants would still be slaves in Africa.  In America a slave could buy his freedom or be manumitted.

     Not least of the advantages to being a slave in America is that one was freed from the constant threat of tribal war.  The American Black was automatically detribalized.

     Thus when Jim was landed in New Orleans he lived a more secure and better life in America although he was still a slave.  The major disadvantage was that he was taken from a state of nature and placed among the most advanced scientific people on earth.  The passage from tribal savagery to scientific civilization must have placed an immense strain on his psyche.  No matter how he may have rebelled at the idea he must have thought he was much inferior to White people.

     One can see the effect of the passage from a tribal life to a higher civilization in the passage of the Jews from Palestine to Babylon.  Read Isaiah and Ezekial in that light and you will note some remarkable things.

     While still proud as a slave in Africa, Jim was thoroughly cowed and broken by his circumstances in America.  He became listless and useless until his owner sold him up river as a domestic where he recovered a little of the will to exist although he became the comic buffoon portrayed by Clemens.  Thus Huck, unknown to himself, floated down the Mississippi with a cannibal African prince by the name of Jambalaya Karate:  The Devourer of the Enemy.

     Even though the effectiveness of Jim’s character deepened on his being called Nigger Jim modern Liberals who apparently have no idea of Clemens’ point insist on Bowlderizing Nigger Jim to just plain Jim as though two clowns named Huck and just plain Jim floating down the river is a story.

     Even if one examines the negricity of Nigger Jim one finds the fallacy of Liberal thinking.  As a novelist Clemens seems to have had a clear idea of the pasts of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn but he had no idea of the history of Nigger Jim.  To Clemens he was just a faceless Negro who was only a symbol.

     Even then the racial distinctions of Clemens are fairly remarkable.  Published in 1885 when Clemens was fifty after slavery had been abolished and both the Civil War and Reconstruction were over while the Jim Crow era was beginning Clemens seems to have been in an analytical mood.  He seems to be standing back describing the scene as though he were a Mysterious Stranger; one who had turned coat from being a Southern Rebel to a Connecticut Yankee.

     He portrays a number of nationalities that are clearly distinguished.  Missouri was a slave State.  Slave holding was common in Huck’s town.  Yet the Sawyers and Thatchers do not own slaves.  The names Sawyer and Thatcher are obviously significant.  Sawyers cut boards to make houses while Thatchers make rooves for houses.  Having occupational names they are clearly of Anglian stock.

     If they had been Norman Virginians their names might have been Anglicized for instance from the French Beauchamps to Beecham.  Clemens may at one time have been Clements.

     Huck Finn is obviously Irish.  By 1850 the Irish were only recently a considerable part of the population.  They may not have yet made their way West in any numbers.  In 1885 they would have been conspicuous.  Pap Finn himself seems to be a caricature of the hard drinking, raggedy Irish cottager from the Old Sod.

     Clemens doesn’t seem to be an abolitionist nor does he put much that is sympathetic in Jim’s character.  He is really only the eyeball rolling Darky butt for comic relief.  Clemens himself was to enlist in the Confederate rather than the Union Army so there has to be some question as to whether this ‘Connecticut Yankee’ considered slavery immoral or wrong.

     Nor were the Anglians much disposed to fraternize with Negroes even though they abolished slavery.  It is inconceivable that an Anglian like Tom Sawyer would float downstream on a raft as a near equal of a Negro.  As Anglians equated the Irish and Negroes there is probably a subtle ironic note in the pairing.  Clemens is probably playing up to his Yankee audience.

     When Huck and Jim got to Arkansas the denizens of the swamps and bottomlands are portrayed as a rowdy, dissolute crew.  These men are the Southern descendants of the Norman Virginians and Scotch-Irish.  These are the people that the Africans in Africa and Anglians in America denoted as White Trash.  Throughout American history they have been held as beneath the Negro in status.

     Clemens holds the former cannibal and slave owner Jim up for comparison with the White Trash.  Not knowing anything of Jim’s antecedents he compares Jim favorably to these wild, boisterous Whites.

     Once again, Clemens was writing in 1885 long after the events so he may have been reflecting attitudes of the day rather than of the time.  He had to ingratiate himself with the Anglian Puritans as they controlled American society and the key to his own success as a writer.  In any event he encapsulates the modern hierarchical prejudices of Political Correctness as imposed by the Anglians after the Civil War.  That is:  Anglians, Irish, Negroes and at the bottom White Trash and anyone who disagrees with them.

     In my academic career I knew neither teacher nor student who considered Huckleberry Finn as anything but a true fable.

  Nobody considered Jim from the point of view of any African antecedents.  No one realized he might have any.  Nobody questioned Clemens’ grotesque portrayal of the Arkansans.  You know, folks, they aren’t too far from a lot of the people one sees walking around today.

     As luck would have it we do have a contrasting account of life in the Arkansas swamps and bottoms of the same period.  That account is provided by Henry M. Stanley of ‘Dr. Livingstone, I presume’ fame.

     Stanley who was one of the models for Edgar Rice Burrough’s character Tarzan, was born in Wales.  While still in his mid-teens he emigrated to America arriving in New Orleans.  After an adventurous year or so he was adopted by a man named Henry Stanley, who, incredibly, was looking for a son, then gave him his name Stanley in place of  his natal John Rowlands.  In the course of events Stanley apprenticed his namesake to a merchant on the Sabine River bottomlands of Arkansas.  He lived there for a few years until the Civil War began when he was impressed into the Rebel army.

     After the war he became the famous reporter and African explorer but he had always had an eye for details.  He too portrays the Arkansans as a fairly crude bunch while not being unsympathetic to the Negroes.  As a newcomer to America with no axe to grind he takes a more broad point of view portraying a spectrum of Whites and Blacks as people not as types.  And remember that Stanley wrote his autobiography before 1905 and long after his Southern exposure and his several expeditions into Darkest Africa including the expedition into Ashantiland at Coomassie.  No one in the world had more experience with both Blacks and Whites than H.M. Stanley.

     Stanley didn’t understand the English origins of the American Civil War but he gave voice to the central problem of the war which was:  Why should White men kill each other for the benefit of a primitive African people who could never appreciate the sacrifice or could ever leap the chasm between savagery and science.

     Stanley was right but he couldn’t see that the good reason of slavery was not the real reason for the Civil War but instead national antagonism.  Nobody was really fighting for the slaves, the real reason was the fanatical hatred of the Anglian Puritans for the Norman Virginian Cavaliers and the Scotch-Irish.

     The vindictive hatred of the Anglian Puritans was clothed with the righteous religious reason of abolitionism.  No one penetrated the disguise but the disguise was necessary and successful.

     Just as the Jews having once assumed the role of the Chosen People were bound to expand and intensify the notion over the centuries so the Anglians once they had assumed their self-righteous disguise were bound to continue it after the defeat and abasement of their Norman Virginian enemies.

     Having defeated the South the Anglians deep seated, shall we say, insane rage caused them to want to punish the Virginians as seriously as they believed they had been punished by the Normans in England.

     There is no doubt that if they  had not been moderated by New York and the Middle Atlantic States who despised them as much as the Anglians despised the Virginians that that they would have enslaved the Southern Whites to the Negroes.  Failing that they still made Reconstruction one of the most punitive regimes in the history of the world.

     Reconstruction!  There’s a sigfinicant word.  What did it mean?  Reconstruction from what to what?  Civil rights were virtually denied the Whites while in some insane version of Affirmative Action men who had been slaves both in Africa and America, men who had neven known freedom or the arts of government, men who did not understand democracy were placed as governors over the Whites.

     In England Cambridge University was a creation of East Anglians while Oxford was a more national creation.  For anyone who has been there there is quite a contrast between Oxford and Cambridge.  Oxford is by far the most open or least uptight institution.

     The Anglians of New Anglia or England had created the premier educational institution in the US, Harvard University.  They even placed it in a town called Cambridge.  Now, really, you have to think about this stuff, really worry over it.  The Anglians now placed a bare foot, illiterate Negro as head of the Classics department of  a major Southern University.  As the question, why as a matter of Reconstruction would one place an illiterate in charge of the intense mental disciplines of Greek and Latin?  Only as the gravest of insults.  Only as an act of insane rage.

     The Whites of the South were not supine; they fought back.  Just as the measures used against them were extreme, they in their turn resorted to extreme measures.  What did you think would happen?

     In Scotland the calling the Clans was done by igniting fires on the mountain tops.  The Southerners, composed largely of Scotch-Irish, imitating their Scotch ancestors now formed the Ku Klux Klan.  Now when there was a fire on the mountain it meant that the Klan was riding out that night.

     Thus the Anglians created a sort of Second Civil War in the South where the Whites were pitted against the Negroes in self-defense.  The Anglians had created the era of Jim Crow.

     We’ll never know if Jim Crow could have been avoided if once slavery had been abolished a more enlightened conciliatory policy had been followed rather than the indulgence of Anglian rage.

     Nevertheless the Liberal policy of alliance with the Negroes against the ‘White Trash’ was established.  Until European immigration rose to flood tide there was a three tier ‘democratic’ classification system in America:  Liberals on top, the Negroes, then ‘White Trash.’

     The White Trash formed exlusive nativist groups like the Ku Klux Klan and the American Protective Association which reacted negatively toward the new immigrants rather than embracing at least some of them as reinforcements against the Liberals.

     The Liberals formed a coalition of the various immigrant peoples including the Jews and Italians against the various factions of Nativist ‘White Trash’ including the neo-KKK which wa reformed in response to the formation of the Anti-Defamation League and the NAACP.

     The early Liberal Coalition was formed around the policies of Woodrow Wilson and culminated in the Presidency of Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

     The Civil War was the turning point in early American history.  Anglian Liberalism as a projection of Anglian angst became evil in intent.  Their rage and hatred against the Normans was institutionalized into an unreasoning ferment against any who disagreed with them.  The dichotomy of Anglian Liberalism and American Nativism became set in the Liberal/Conservative confrontation that exists today.  Time for fires on the mountain once again.

     As in Reconstruction days Liberals are still trying to raise the Negro above their Conservative antagonists in the exact manner of that bare foot Negro in charge of the Classics Department although they no longer call it Reconstruction but Affirmative Action.

     Negroes are promoted into responsible positions over more qualified Whites.  This in turn makes the Negro dependent on White people to do the job for them.  This means that the Negro has his White Man to slave for him.  Dewey would decline the role in 1961.

     It will easily be seen why American politics are so irrational.  American politics are being directed by a national group living out a character assumed at the latest in sixteenth century England but probably inherent in the psyche of the Angles before they migrated from Denmark to Britain. 

     The Anglian character didn’t change when they stepped ashore on Plymouth Rock and neither did that of the Negro when they were desembarked at their American port.

     Many of the characteristics of the Negro that are attributed to his treatment in America have nothing to do with America.  If one compares his African environment then and now with the American manifestation of the Negro one will find a continuation in an American enviroment rather than a discontinuation or new creation.  Further when one compares Africa, the Caribbean and the United States one finds the exact same traditions being carried on in three related manifestations.

     The modern American Negro does not look to White civilization for a pattern for future conduct but back to his African roots.  This is to look back to a pattern of primitive savagery, human flesh in a refrigerator, than forward to civilization.  As Jesse Jackson expressed it:  Hey, Hey, Ho , Ho, Western Civilization has got to go.  To be replaced by Africa?

     In the Big Daddy tradition of primitive Africa everyone was a slave to someone else with the exception of the Chief Big Daddy.   There is absolutely no tradition of dem0cracy.  There is no tradition of personal independence; one is a member of the tribe, one has a collective consciousness.  Thus the modern African role models combined with the residual memories of African traditions that survived in the Black community through the slave and Jim Crow periods will and are asserting themselves today.

     One may say that the role model of the pimp in American Negro society is a result of economic discrimination but upon closer examination you will find that it is an adaptation of African tradition to American possibilities.

     In Africa the man had several wives to tend to his needs.  All of these strings of prostitutes, that equate to African polygamy, shake that money maker to keep the male in style.  The prostitutes are kept in line by the use of extreme brutality and enslavement through drugs.  Slavery and polygamy are basic African traits.  Even the use of drugs can be traced back to African roots.  Africans took early to the use of marijuana and quickly adapted to opium when that drug became available in Africa.

     Thus pimping, the basic institution of the American Negro, as well as the fondness for drugs are merely adaptations of African customs.

     Now, as to the notion of democracy.  The basic political approach in Africa was that the Chief could dispose of the lives of his tribemen as he saw fit.  He could kill them all or sell them into slavery at his whim.  Thus when in East Africa the Arab slavers offered the Chief goods he wanted for his own pleasure that he couldn’t pay for in any other way he designated the persons the slavers could abduct.  This is the Big Daddy.

     This role model emerged into the light of American society as the era of Jim Crow ended and the decade of the sixties unfolded.  To use the example of the Black Panthers of Oakland.  The Panthers were by no means an educated bunch.  Huey Newton, their leader, despite his pretentions was an ingoramus.  To enforce his will on his people he resorted to the same means as his African brothers.  He bludgeonded them into submission or killed them.  The process was known as ‘correction.’

     Killing fields were established in the Santa Cruz mountains where victims were taken to be tortured and executed.  People who have been there report bones sticking up out of the ground in a scene quite reminscent of the Ashanti capitol of Coomassie.  There can be little doubt that the Oakland Negroes reverted to primitive cannibalism.  It must be.  It’s a miracle they didn’t set up piles of skulls on Oakland street corners.

     The primitive African mind has never been reconstructed in America to a higher consciousness.  This truth may be stunning but is nevertheless so.

     Listen.  The Black man will never be able to forgive the White man for having enslaved him and degraded him to the level of the apes anymore than the Anglians could forgive the Normans.  Let me repeat that:  It is psychologically impossible for the Black to accept White civilization without avenging himself.  If you need further proof the anwer is written on every wall in every bus station and subway in America.

     In society, where racial proprieties are enforced, all evidence of hatred is suppressed but in situations where normal proprieties break down racial divisions and hatreds become immediately paramount.

     In prisons there is no amicable fraternization between Whites and Blacks.  Self-segregation is rigidly enforced.  Even White pretensions become paramount in that a prison environment is the only place Aryans can openly exist.

     The closely kept secret of Viet Nam is that Blacks self segregated themselves and kept a running battle going with the Whites.  In every Army base domestic or abroad Blacks and Whites separate and are at war with each other.

     What would happen if the police power were removed in society?

     Let us take an African case in point.  Let us look at Rwanda.  When the Watutsi conquered the area several hundreds of years ago they made the indigenous Wahutu their slaves, the entire nation of Hutu.  the Watutsi waxed lordly.  They did not walk anywhere but had Hutu slaves carry them in hammocks.

     The British in the first half of the twentieth century disturbed this polity.  When the British police power was removed the Watutsi attempted to reestablish their supremacy over the Wahutu.  Over a period of time the Wahutu organized with guns and rebelled.  Their anger and rage was such, and justifiably so, that they began a policy of genocide, either killing the Watutsi or driving them out of the country.

     The Blacks in America vis-a-vis the Whites see themselves as the Wahutu of Rwanda see the Watutsi.  Only a fool believes that American Blacks do not carry the same resentment against Whites.  It therefore follows that the only thing preventing an attempted massacre of Whites by Blacks is the police power of  the State.  We have a very dangerous situation that ought to be addressed in a realistic manner rather than that of the pandering Liberals.

     The problem is that the Liberals with their roots in the Anglian angst think it would be right if the Negroes killed all Whites but themselves.  They are fatuous enough to believe the Blacks would exclude them if it came to that.  Thus there is this long standing alliance between Liberals and Blacks against what they both consider ‘White Trash.’

     No one can say what the exact course of events will be but the corruption of Western civilization by the Liberals and Blacks is reaching a dangerous point.  Western civilization as Jesse Jackson demands may go.  The social mores of the Whites have sunk very nearly to the levels of tribal Africa.

      Educational levels of Whites have declined steadily since 1956.  The maintenance of Western Civilization requires a high degree of intelligence and education.  Reflect on waste management for a few moments.

     Men like Willie Brown, the erstwhile Mayor of San Francisco, have gone far to  establish the Big Daddy principle against the democratic principle in the Bay Area.  Everywhere the trend is away from personal independence and toward the submission of the will to a Big Daddy.  Africa comes.

     Moral principles are shouldered aside by Big Daddys like Jesse Jackson who openly extort money from major corporations in a way little different than the African traditions reported by early explorers.  Liberals are not outraged by such practices but actively endorse them.  Thus White modes of democracy and honesty are corrupted as Whites change from apparently ineffective democracy to totalitarian ways.  Society inevitably drops to primitive African models.

     Racial characters do not die out, probably, ever.  The Anglians who profess to be pure and superior refuse to criticize or condemn these really heinous crimes against humanity being committed on a regular basis by their Negro pets.  They just make one incredible excuse after another for them.

      The inevitable result, and we are over halfway there, will be the complete and total corruption of the Democracy established in the heydey of the Freemasonic Enlightenment.

     The much disparaged White Big Daddy is, or was, an established fact.   Few realize that he was not an example of a White tradition but that he was acting out a role learned from Negro slaves.  Now the Big Daddy role is being emulated by Whites throughout the country which Black Big Daddys have spread from the South throughout the land.

     As in Longfellow’s poem Dewey was the child tied to the mast unable to do anything but watch as the guns of the Ship of State announced that it could not survive is such angry seas.  The well was running dry as like some Black slave in Arkansas Dewey moaned in anticipation:  You don’t miss your water till the well runs dry.

     Dewey saw the future unfolding in his dreaming visions although he only understood in embryo as the myriad impressions flitted across his dazed mind as the big wheels rolled round and round carrying him through the little State of Arkansas into the big State of Texas.

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,