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Category Archives: Hitler

A Novel

Our Lady Of The Blues

Book VII

by

R.E. Prindle

 Clip 4

     ‘Nothing, unless you’re buying.  No money.’

     ‘I’m not buying.’

     ‘I’m not eating.’

     ‘You’re going to have a cup of coffee at least.’

     ‘Don’t have a dime.’

     Stan looked at Dewey.  He admired his strength of will but he was sure Dewey was lying which of course Dewey was.  He had that twenty but he wasn’t about to show it.

     They got back into the yellow VW to continue on in the brilliant yellow sunshine bursting almost into song over the Great Valley of California.  Zippity do dah.

     Stan probed insistently as they drove past the outskirts of Bakersfield.  He was going to get that twenty.  Had it been a pre-beating Stan he might very well have but with his stuffing missing Stan lacked real nerve.  He could be hit in a couple places where it still hurt.  It would have to be a sucker punch on Dewey.  He tried another ploy.

     There is no natural water in the San Joaquin but clever Californians had built and were building massive dams that provided irrigation water.  Large amounts of that water were used to irrigate cotton fields in the Kern County desert.  Bakersfield is actual desert.  As they were driving past the budding cotton a plane was flying ground level dusting the cotton for boll weevils or whatever.

     Stan brought the VW to a halt by the side of ninety-nine.

     ‘Look they’re crop dusting.  Let’s watch for a while.’

     ‘Uh, I’m in a hurry man.  Why don’t I get out?

page 1431.

     ‘Relax.  Just watch.’

     Dewey doubled his fist keeping his eyes on Leland, ready to defend himself because he realized his danger.  He would have to be knocked out or killed for Stan to get his twenty.

     Stan’s right arm draped over the seat to feel for a wrench on the floor but he needed surprise also.  He needed Dewey to look the other way but Dewey’s tenseness indicated he wasn’t about to.

     With a sigh Stan put the VW in gear but now he was sore.

     ‘You aren’t a nice guy.’  He said with a pout.  ‘You don’t deserve to ride in this People’s Car.  You’re not real people.  Get out.’

     ‘Thanks for the ride anyway, man.’  Dewey said opening the door before the car came to a complete stop.  ‘Sorry about the twenty.’

     Dewey had to turn away to keep from laughing in Stan Leland’s face.  Leland had maybe carried him sixty miles which represented twenty cents in gas.  Did Leland really think Dewey was going to fork over twenty dollars for a quarters worth of fuel when Leland had to use the same amount of gas anyway?

     Leland drove off in a huff cursing Trueman’s back.

     Dewey focused his eyes before him.  He was standing in front of a strip mall.  One of those glitzy but commonplace California restaurants was in front of him.  Inside he could see the owner or manager hopping around anguished at the sight of him.

     Dewey turned around to survey the Great Central Valley of California.  It was bright and it was hot.  The highway structure was an immense pre-asphalt love affair.  A divided highway of concrete led in two lanes each way, the center strip itself was two lanes wide.  A two hundred mile long row of oleander bushes obstructed the glare of oncoming headlights at night.  The oleander, which is a very beautiful flowering bush, is drought resistant which is an essential quality for the Valley.  They are poisonous to cattle but that seemed to be of little consequence in the middle of the highway, although everyone always mentioned it.  They grow maybe ten feet high.

page 1432.

     Highway 99 had a paved shoulder which increased its width as well as an unpaved shoulder.  Another ten feet was kept bare before a chain link fence seprarated 99 from what was called a frontage road which allowed locals to get from place to place without entering the highway.  So all in all there were six lanes and spare.  The whole complex was two hundred fifty feet wide.  The road was the old fashioned kind that was just laid on top of the ground rather than dug in.

     When they built the concrete rollerball chute called Interstate 5 a couple decades later they set it over by the concrete canals carrying water from Shasta.  They built 5 on the same principle as the canals except the channel carried cars and trucks instead of water.  The highway games played on 5 were real live rollerball.

     But 99 was a more humane road.  It bypassed all the towns from the Grapevine to Modesto.  For whatever reasons 99 was the main street of Modesto.  The wide apron made it a very good hitchhiking road; cars could stop easily and safely.

page 1433

    The temperature was building up as Dewey looked back in the restaurant to find the manager with his nose pressed to the glass violently gesticulating at him.  Finally he ran to the door opening it a crack to shout at Dewey:  ‘Move along.  Move along.  Hitchhiking’s against the law.  We don’t want you around here.’

     Dewey looked at him in some wonder then thought that maybe buying a cup of coffee might placate him.  Dewey had no sooner opened the door than the little man shouted at him:  ‘Get out. Get out.  No service for you.’

     Dewey was mystified giving an uncomprehending shrug.  What the heck, he was in uniform, Uncle Sam’s own Blues.  Even a couple customers intervened for him.  ‘Take it easy, Mel.  What’s the problem?  He’s only a sailor, for Chrissakes, he’s serving the country.  Because of him you can sleep more securely at nights.’

     ‘If he’s an example of what is serving the country I won’t be able to sleep at all.’

     Dewey gave him the look anyone would give a looney as he stood half in and half out.

     ‘I want you out of here or I’ll call the police.’  The man named Mel raved hysterically.

     Dewey left stepping back to the highway.  Mel called the police anyway.

     Ten minutes later a Bakersfield Police car, not the California Highway Patrol, pulled up in front of him.  He was accompanied by a young civilian of nineteen years who stared at Dewey silently.  The CWB got out of the car approaching Dewey:  ‘Are you hitchhiking?’  He half said, half challenged in the CWB manner.

page 1434.

     Dewey had stepped back on the grass so as to give credence to the notion that he was not hitchhiking but just taking the air but then thought better of it.

     ‘Yeah.  I am.’

     ‘You know it’s against the law.’

     ‘No, I didn’t know that.  You see so many guys hitchhiking.’

     ‘Yeah.  Well, it is.’

     Mel stuck his head out of the door:  ‘That’s him officer, that’s him.  Arrest him.’

     In point of law, which is irrelevant to the CWBs, Dewey was outside the Bakersfield city limits and hence beyond the jurisdiction of the CWB.   The cop looked at the civilian  who hadn’t taken his eyes off Dewey:  ‘Is that him?’

     The boy solemnly shook his head no.

     ‘I’m not going to take you in this time, Sailor, but you better be gone if I come back.’

     ‘I certainly hope to be.’  Dewey smiled.

     ‘Arrest him.  Arrest him.’  Mel screamed.  ‘That’s him.’

     The CWB waved Mel off.  Mel in his hysterical fear locked his door causing problems with people who wanted out and preventing people from entering.

     Dewey was looking at him shaking his head whan a car stopped in front of him.

     ‘Get in man.’  Came a voice with an unmistakable Mexican accent.

page 1345.

     Dewey turned to find a ’56 Chevy with five Mexicans in it looking aggressive.  Dewey may have had to get away from that spot in a hurry but not that big a hurry.  He’d rather take his chances with the CWBs.

     ‘I’m going all the way to Oakland.  You’re just going up ahead a ways, right?’

     ‘Yeah.  That’s right man.  Get in, man, we give you a ride anyway.’

     ‘That’s alright.  I’ll wait for a longer hop.’

     ‘Get in the middle.’  The guy on the right back said holding the door open for him.

     A very dangerous situation it was.  Shotgun in front was cleaning his nails with a stileto.  The other guy in back had his hand on the door ready to leap out.  The restaurant was locked.  It would take five guys with knives about thirty seconds to finish him.  Dewey decided to trust to his charm as limited as that was, he got in the middle in the back.

     Martin Luther King the apostle of non-violent resistance was heading for his mountain top from whence he proclaimed that White Americans were bred in the bone racists.  Black Folk claim that King was the greatest man America ever produced but he was nothing but a back country screeching pastor of a patriarchal consciousness thing.  True, the cause was just; true, there were egregious wrongs that had to be corrected but King himself was a weak reed who left his wife at home while he panted after White women in the pursuit of his notion of justice.  That he was any kind of spokesman for the cause at all was an accident of fate.  Even his own people were beginning to repudiate him before he died.

1436.

     The overblown rhetoric of his speeches would have been laughed at in the mouth of the most respectable White preacher.  ‘I have been to the mountaintop’ spoken seriously is such pompous nonsense that Whites should be ashamed of themselves for even pretending to revere such bull roar.

     However King was the harbinger of the emerging Black Revolution.  A Revolution which would do the inevitable of dividing Americans into a group of more or less autonomous peoples held loosely together by economics.  Just as the Black gangs which coalesced from the riots of ’67 into an incipient form of Black government by the end of the century so these Mexicans flooding across the border could have a complete disregard for the United States that meant nothing more to them than hot Chevy cars, money and a more affluent style of living than was possible for them to create for themselves South of the Border down Mexico way.  Heck, it was even bad form to call  them Mexicans in the United States, their nationality being a form of insult to them on this side of the border; one had to call them ‘Hispanics.’  They might ridicule Americans and Gringos but they were nothing but a joke closely resembling the caricatures of themselves that appeared in US magazines and newspapers.

     Now Dewey sat between two giggling Mexicans while the Shotgun sneered at him over the seat:  ‘Hey may, we give you a ride you never forget.’

page 1437.

     ‘Oh yeah?  I remember every kindness never done to me.’  Dewey replied sarcastically to show he was in control with a forced smile that he hoped looked fearless.

     The car went down 99 about ten miles then the driver turned left towards the coast range onto a dirt road.  The car began to lurch through the dusty fields.

     ‘Better let me out here.  I’m going North.’

     ‘Hey, Gringo, you going where we want you to go.  We let you out when we want to let you out, man.  Only then and not before.  Sabe?  We goin’ to have some fun withchu.  Whatchu think of this stinking America, man.  I think it smells very bad, whatchu think?’

     ‘Seems to be good to you.’  Dewey returned feebly slowly putting both his hands in his pockets to disguise that he was reaching for his long thin Japanese pocket knife.

     ‘Good for us, man, you fool.  What we doin’, we workin’ for the man plantin’ and harvestin’ his potatoes while he  driving around in his El Dorado Cadillac.  You call that good.’

     ‘I see what you mean.  America does suck.’  Dewey agreed adding sotto voce:  ‘…to allow dicks like you in this country.’

     ‘That uniform you wearing, man, it only makes you look stupid.  Your Navy sucks, too, man.’

     ‘I agree with you wholeheartedly there ,man.’  Dewey said with true sincerity.  ‘But I want out now.’

      So saying he pulled his knife out flipping the loosely hinged blade out and clapping it to the throat of the driver.

page 1438.

     ‘Stop the car.’

      The Mexicans had been taken by surprise as Dewey’s apparent resignation had implied no resistance.  The driver didn’t think about it, he just brought the car to a smooth stop trying to avoid the potholes.

     ‘Open the door and let me out.’  Dewey told the Mex on his left.

     Dewey reversed the blade drawing the blunt edge across the driver’s neck as a warning as he brought the point to bear on the Mex standing in the door.  He backing up as Dewey pushed the knife forward as he got out.

     ‘Fuck Pancho Villa.’  Dewey snarled as he moved back toward the highway.

     ‘Puto.’  The Mex spat out.

     ‘Dildo.’  Dewey called over his shoulder.

     Dewey didn’t know what puto meant and the Mexican didn’t know what dildo meant so they were even on that score.

     Dewey thought they might try to run him down but they drove off through a cloud of dust.

     The highway was a good mile and a half distant which was a long walk through what was now blazing heat in his heavy woolen blues.  Dewey slowed his brisk walk into a leisurely stroll so as not to soak his uniform through giving him a heck of a stench.

     White guilt prejudice prevented Dewey from correctly analyzing his encounter with the Mexicans.  It was considered bad for Whites to see racial matters in their true light.  Thus even though these Mexicans did not consider themselves Americans or have any respect for the country they sucked off, White prejudice required Dewey to dismiss the true situation from his mind replacing it with the fiction that these were oppressed people who had fled despotic conditions for a better life in an America Whites had created.

     What bullroar.

     They were just grubbers who realized that Mexico would never amount to anything in the hands of Mexicans while the good life worth sponging off lay across the border with the despised Gringos.

     Twenty minutes later Dewey was back by the side of the road warm but not sweating;  He’d managed to walk in some style.  The thermometer was edging over a hundred.  The sun rays crashed down on him in unrelenting bombardment.  Dewey’s mind began to drift.

     There were many stories of aliens abducting people in their flying saucers at the time.  While Dewey refused to believe them his disbelief was not so strong that he ruled out the possibility.  He did watch the night sky for unidentified flying objects.

     As he looked up into the dazzling blue glare he thought this might be a good time to be abducted.  He was ready to volunteer.  He could imagine a saucer hovering above him shooting down a ray of light separating his molecules into a vapor to beam him aboard.

     ‘They might even serve me some cosmic cookies and a glass of intergalactic mile.’  He was musing as a car slowed to a stop just ahead of him.

page 1440.

      ‘Ah, air conditioning.’  He smiled as he slid into the shotgun of a ’58 Buick Roadmaster.  ‘Better than a flying saucer.’

     ‘Have you had an experience?’  Wally Reid, the driver, asked as he slipped back into traffic. 

     ‘I’m heading for Oakland.’  Dewey said.

     ‘Uh huh.  I’m going to Sacramento.  Drop you off at the Manteca cutoff.  How’s that?’

     ‘Couldn’t be better.’

     ‘What’s this about a flying saucer?’

     ‘Oh nothing.  I was just fantasizing about being beamed up and given cookies and milk.’

     ‘Strange you should say that.  That’s happened.’  Reid began taking the comment at face value.  ‘My sister-in-law had a terrible experience with a flying saucer.’

     ‘Your sister-in-law was abducted?’  Dewey said in astonishment.

     ‘Word of honor.  She wouldn’t lie to me or Chuck, my brother.’

     ‘No.  What happened?’

     ‘This happened just a couple weeks ago.  They kept her for two whole days.  She was driving home from work, worked late, when a saucer zoomed over her and beamed her up like inside a giant flashlight beam, car and all.’

     ‘No!’

     ‘Oh yea.  There were about fifteen of them.  Zoomed back out into space.  You should hear her description of what Earth looks like from out there.  A big blue marble.  They wanted to know how Earthlings have sex.  So she says that for two days they worked her over.  They poked and fondled and did her up.  Felt her tits all over.  She says they were really mystified by the nipples.  She had to explain everything to them.  They had this device they put in her mouth that translated everything she said into their language.

page 1441.

     Once they understood how to put it in after she explained it to them she says each guy took a turn or two on her.  They weren’t gentle either, probably because they didn’t have any experience with screwing Earth style.’

     ‘Jeez.  What did they look like?’

      ‘Just like you’d expect.  Green with these giant heads and bulging eyes.  You know, like they don’t do any physical work, just cerebral stuff, so they’re all brain and no brawn, muscles just withered away, opposite of us.’   Wally said with unintended humor which was nevertheless caught by Trueman who suppressed a smile.  ‘Skinny thin bodies and arms with long thin peckers, twice as long as ours but she says they felt like worms, you know,  they could bend and twist like corkscrews.  Kept at her for two whole days.’

     ‘Wow.  Did they give her any cosmic cookies or intergalactic milk?’

     ‘No.  They fed her with tubes.  She’s still got some needle marks on the inside of her arms.  Then after they finished with her they beamed her back down but they weren’t too careful about it either.  They bashed the car up pretty bad.  Bonnie didn’t look too good either.’

page 1442.

     ‘How’s that?’

     ‘Well, they were aliens so I guess they did weird things.  They chopped her hair up something terrible.  They could have at least cut it off even but they cut it short in uneven lengths and cut clumps out here and there.  Not only was her hair a mess but she was black and blue all over from the rough treatment plus those puncture marks on her arms.

     Wasn’t all bad though.’

     ‘No?  What was good?’

     ‘Heck, can you imagine what it will look like?  This kid’s going to be a real freak, half human, half alien.  Chuck and me figure our fortune is made.  We’ll be able to exhibit it for millions.  Everybody will want to see it, don’t you think?  Wouldn’t you?’

     ‘I sure do.  I’d like to see it I’m sure of that.’

     Trueman and Reid chatted away merrily in this vein through Modesto to the Manteca cutoff.

     ‘So long, Dewey.’

     ‘So long, Wally.  Thanks for the ride.  Good luck with the alien baby.’

     Dewey crossed the highway to take up a position on the cutoff.  He got his thumb out and then broke down in laughter.    It was good rich deep throated laughter, straight from the belly.

 page 1443.

     ‘Those guys actually believe Bonnie’s going to have an alien baby.  Ha ha.  Cracked the car up when they carelessly beamed the car down.  Ha ha ha.  Boy, that Bonnie must have the gift of gab.  Wonder what they’ll do when the alien baby looks just like some guy Bonnie knows.’

     Dewey struggled to control his laughter as he got funny looks from a couple of drivers.  He still had a big smile on his face when a ’56 Ford Fairlane with two men and two women motioned for him to hop in.

     The back door opened so Dewey got in the back; safer when there was someone in the back seat anyway.  If the Mexicans had made him get in the front Dewey might not have been able to control the situation.

     ‘You look as happy as though you’ve embraced the spirit of Jesus.’  John Ahrens, the driver, said in the sepulchral tones of the lay preacher.

      That took the smile off Dewey’s face.  The next largest group after the homos in the habit of picking up hitchhikers were the religious nuts.  In a lot of ways they were worse and actually more dangerous than the homos.

     Dewey forced a laugh out of his throat:  ‘That too; but my last ride was telling me about how his sister-in-law was abducted by flying saucer aliens…’

     ‘That happened to her too.’  Susan Strable exclaimed from the front seat.

     A smile flickered out on Dewey’s face.  ‘Happened to you too, hey?’

page 1444

     ‘No.  But it happened to Jack.’  She said indicating Ahrens.  ‘They flew away at tremendous speeds and took him to seventh heaven and he had a long talk with Jesus and Jesus sent him back to establish the true church of God.’

     Four very serious, very critical sets of eyes fixed themselves on Dewey watching his reaction.  Dewey sobered up immediately.  This was no laughing matter; he was in with religious nuts.

     ‘I heard somebody else did that too.  Let me think.  Oh yeah, a while back a guy name Mohammed flew up to Seventh Heaven on a horse.  I forget the horse’s name.’

     ‘In Greek it was Arion.’  Ahrens extolled who didn’t know the name of Mohammed’s horse either but rather than admit it resorted to a circumlocution that nobody could check or deny.

     That had Dewey stumped since he couldn’t remember the Arab name he was in no position to question Ahren’s assertion.  Ahrens was quick and plausible.  He hadn’t flunked out of the seminary for nothing.  He hadn’t so much as flunked out as been thrown out.  His answers may have sounded plausible but they were invariably wrong.  Nevertheless Ahrens would defend them with violence if necessary.

     Rather than tolerate his madness he had been thrown out.  He hadn’t taken that well either.  He had been on his way back to the President’s office with a 12 gauge under his arm when he had been intercepted by the police.  With the certitude of the righteous Ahrens had been marching down the middle of the street like Gary Cooper at high noon.

page 1445.

     The Christian gentlemen of Mt. Larynx Theological Seminary declined to press charges on condition that Ahrens to far away and stay there.  Oakland was some distance from St. Larynx.

     ‘But the Moslems are full of baloney.’  Susan Strable continued.  ‘No horse can fly as fast as a flying saucer.’  Dewey nodded in agreement.  ‘Besides Jesus told Jack that Mohammed was just a big fibber and wasn’t even there.  At least he didn’t talk to Jesus.’

      ‘Oh well, Mohammed went to talk to a different god, Allah.  Maybe Jesus was out to lunch at the time.’

      ‘There is only one god, the Moslems got that right, but his name isn’t Allah.  The real name of God is too sacred to repeat to the profane so you’re not going to hear it from me.  Suffice it to say, the truth resides in me.’  John Ahrens intoned majestically.

     ‘Boy, that’s for sure.’  Susan affirmed.  ‘But Jack found out for sure that those athiests are all nasty liars.  God isn’t dead.  And the reason people can’t see heaven anymore now that we’ve had our own space things, sputniks or whatever, heaven is retreating from earth at one second less than the speed of light each year.  So while it’s sure going to be hard to get there you can make it if you try.’

     ‘Amen, Susan.’  Ahrens said approvingly.

     ‘So now Jack’s the head and founder of the Intergalactic Church of Christ Immersed In The Extraterrestrial Blood.  We’re going to be bigger than the Catholics and Billy Graham put together.  What do you think of that?’

page 1446.

     ‘Where are you based?’

     ‘Oakland, California.’

     The car had exited the Manteca cutoff entering Highway 80 for the run across the Altamont.  Dewey was beginning to get uncomfortable.  the thought of any church being Immersed In Extraterrestrial Blood, whatever that was, threw the fear of God into him.  Space traveler or not Dewey knew that the Intergalactic Church was rooted in the viciousness of Genesis as they all were.  Judaism was the religion of blood.

     ‘Well, I certainly wish you luck in overtaking the Pope and Billy.  I think you’ve got a long haul in front of you though.’

     ‘We were hoping you’d join us.’  Ahrens sort of commanded.

     ‘No-o-o.  I’m in the Navy.  Can’t do that.’

     ‘Why not?  You must be based in the Bay Area.  You’re returning now.’

     It was getting to close to 5:00 PM on Saturday night so Ahrens wasn’t completely out of line in his surmise.

    ‘No. I’m from San Diego.  Have to be back tomorrow.’

     ‘Humph.’  Ahrens ejaculated, thinking to himself that Dewey was a liar.  ‘That’s not very probable.  You may not even be in the Navy.  I’ll bet you’re just using that uniform to make it easy to get rides.

     ‘You better come along.’  Susan said.  ‘You don’t want to get Jack mad.’

     ‘I suppose not.’  Dewey sighed.  ‘But, I’m not going along anyway.  Let me out at the MacArthur overpass.’

page 1447.

     ‘I think he’s OK.’  The other man spoke confidentially to the back of Ahren’s head.

     ‘We’re not letting you out.’  Ahrens said with a nod.  ‘You’re coming with us.’

     ‘Ooh.’  Susan cooed, seizing Dewey’s hand.  ‘What an honor.  They’re going to sacrifice you.’

     ‘Oh yeah?  Right on.  Just let me out.’

     Susan’s head bobbed up and down affirmatively as she tucked her lower lip into her mouth.  ‘Jesus needs blood to keep the world on its axis, he told Jack.  So far we’ve only used the blood of the neighbor’s cats and dogs.  But now we’re going to move up to people because dog and cat blood isn’t keeping the axis too steady.’

     ‘You let me out.  Now! Or you’ve got big trouble Jack.  Screw you and your Intergalactic Church.’

     Ahrens cast an angry glance back at Dewey but the determined look on Dewey’s face made him think twice.  He slammed on his brakes skidding up over the curb with a jolt:  ‘You’ve got five seconds.’  He commanded.

     Dewey didn’t waste any of them.  If he hadn’t had to bend down to pick up his bag he would have made it.  Ahrens squealed back on the highway throwing Dewey into the ivy.  Dewey got up.  He was half a mile from the MacArthur off ramp.  He decided to walk it.  Hitchhiking in what he now considered his hometown was repugnant to him so he walked down to 86th which was a considerable hike.  By the time he reached Da Costa’s, Roque and McLean had already gone out for the night taking Terry with them.

page 1448.

     Pete Da Costa refused admittance to the house.  Not knowing what else to do Dewey sat down on the porch step to wait.  Luck was with him.  Roque came back to pick up an item Terry had forgotten.

     ‘What took you so long?’

     ‘I’ll tell you when we have the time.’

     ‘OK. Come on along.’

      Da costa was none too happy with Trueman.  He felt, quite reasonably that Trueman had attempted to use him throwing himself over for Torbrick.  Trueman’s story was different and right also but it would have taken a demon judge to find for him.

     Terry’s friends were throwing a party.  Thus Trueman was introduced into a circle of high school seniors.  It was there he met Louise Tricka.  Louise was another who was drawn to the misfits.  She liked Trueman a lot, possibly because she too was a square peg in a round hole.

     But for tonight Dewey returned with Da Costa, McLean and Terry.  McLean whose hatred for Trueman since Guam had grown not abated had moved into his place quietly defaming him to Da Costa.  Terry had now cast her net for McLean but he wasn’t anymore interested than Trueman.

     ‘I don’t know how to tell you this Dewey, but my father doesn’t want you in the house.’

     ‘Yeah, he already told me, Roque, but I don’t have any place to stay.  I could sleep in the car, couldn’t I?’

page 1449.

     ‘Yeah, I suppose you could do that.’

     McLean snickered shrugging his shoulders with a broad smile.

      Dewey who saw more sunrises than he cared to remember pulled himself erect with the rising sun.  Unshaven and feeling grungy he sat glowering into the rear view mirror until McLean and Da Costa showed on the porch at 9:30.

     Da Costa suggested they go down and look at the grocery store he worked at.  Trueman didn’t care to meet anyone in his condition so he was all for it.

     Under the law your employer had to guarantee a reservist his job when he was discharged so Roque was technically still employed by Lucky Stores as a check out clerk.

     He worked for a nice store down in the Lake Grove district.  Trueman and McLean were properly appreciative.

     Considering that it had taken Trueman a full twenty-four hours to get to Oakland it might seem that he was overly optimistic in leaving for San Diego at 4:00 Sunday afternoon.  In fact, if things didn’t go completely wrong there was just enough time to make it back, if not for reveille, at least for muster.  Trueman cut it close but he always cut it as a hitchhiker.

      Da Costa and Mclean had flown up so Trueman got Roque to drive him up to the Altamont from which he always commenced his return journey.

     Yes, it’s the same Altamont Pass where the Rolling Stones had their disastrous concert which brought the psychedelic era to an end in 1969.  The Pass is a low hill a few hundred feet high leading into the San Joaquin past Tracy into Stockton.

page 1450.

     There was a certain amount of apprehension in Trueman’s mind.  He was taking the word of someone he couldn’t remember that this was possible.  At this point he wasn’t sure that he wasn’t crazy.

     Life is full of delights…and subsequent disappointments.  Dewey hadn’t been standing on the Altamont long before a green ’58 Plymouth pulled to a stop.  The Plymouth hadn’t yet been nudged out of the low price race with Chevy and Ford but it was fading fast.
     ‘Goin’ to Anaheim.’  The driver Jake Rawlins said.  ‘How far you goin’?’

     Dewey’s heart leapt to this throat as his face broke out into a big smile; maybe there was a god in heaven after all.

      ‘Alright.’  Dewey chirped.  ‘Luck is a lady tonight.  I gotta get back to San Diego.  Thanks for the ride.’

     Dewey bounced against the back of the seat a couple times in delight.  As Jake Accelerated to seventy per Dewey figured he’d be in Anaheim in at least six hours.

     Jake was a real nice guy.  Like most normal people he was only almost normal, not quite there.  Unless you’re in an environment like the Navy which requires apparent rigid conformity everyone has their ways.  Jake’s eccentricity was that he was an advocate of steam powered cars.  In fact, he was an expert, a foremost world-wide authority on steam, so he said.  He communicated with other experts on steam power in autos all over the world, especially in Australia.

page 1451.

     The rest of society wasn’t too interested in steam as compared to the internal combustion gasoline engine so Jake was used to a lot of ridicule.  But like all compulsives he had to talk about his fetish.

     Dewey would have laughed but as he was getting a plum of a ride for free, you could tell Jake wasn’t going to ask for anything but an audience, he displayed reasonably good manners.

     ‘Well.’  Dewey said amiably.  ‘Alright.  So why does your Plymouth have an internal combustion engine?’

     Jake was coughing around an answer about corresponding with his contact in Australia about a particularly difficult problem when he spotted another hitchhiker.  It was a Second Class Gunner’s Mate with three hashmarks on his sleeve.

     ‘Career man.’  Dewey thought.  ‘All those guys are pricks.’

     ‘You’ll be sorry if you pick him up.’  Dewey objected.  ‘All those career guys are arrogant.’

     But nice guys always trip over their own nicety; it goes with the territory.  Jake pulled over.  Dewey tried to get out to let Lee Nelson, the Gunner’s Mate, into the middle but Nelson really wanted the end, he kept pushing Dewey back in.  Unable to win that way Dewey said:  ‘I’ll get in the back.’

     ‘No.’  Jake said.  ‘Stay in front.’

     Dewey groaned to himself at Nelson’s triumphant smile.  He knew there was trouble ahead but he just didn’t know what.

     Nelson turned out to be just as arrogant as Dewey expected.  As Jake continued to rattle on about steam power Nelson guffawed at the very notion of steam power ever becoming popular.  There was no question that he was right but he was betraying Rawlins’ generosity.  As Rawlins continued on in his dotty way Nelson began to become abusive.  You never knew when one of these guys might explode.

     ‘Hey, man, be a little more polite.  You’re riding for free.’  Trueman exhorted.

     ‘You don’t believe this dipshit and his steam power crap do you, you simp?’

     Dewey was thrown on his most tactful approach:  ‘Steam powered cars are an accomplished fact.  The Stanley Steamer is a very famous car.  Everything he says about steam is a fact.  Who knows but they may be able to replace the internal combustion engine with steam if it’s improved.’

      ‘You don’t really believe steam is going to replace gas?’

     ‘Perhaps not in my lifetime but I say that it’s an open question that Jake knows a lot more about than you or me.’

     ‘Shee, you’re as dotty as he is.’

     Nelson at least shut up saying nothing further.  Jake and Dewey carried on the conversation or, rather, Jake rattled away.

     Jake was no slouch behind an internal combustion engine.  He sped through the turns of the cutoff slowing down to pass through Modesto.  Modesto was the story of the law in America, the triumph of pragmatism.  The posted speed limit was twenty-five.  But in order to facilitate passage through town signs proclaimed that the stop lights were timed for thirty-two miles an hour so you were encouraged to speed through town to catch all the lights.  Good laughs were had over that one.

page 1453.

     Outside Modesto Jake really barreled.  He kept the plunger in for ninety per.  The old Plymouth was barely making contact with the road.

     Ninety-nine was not a freeway but a limited access highway.  That meant that there were periodic crossings.  The wide meridian made it difficult for drivers to dart across; you needed a little space to make it.

     Just North of Fresno there was a dangerous crossing.  There were no lights and as the East side of the highway was about ten feet higher a car’s headlights shone down rather than across the highway.  The crossing was one of the most dangerous spots on the highway.

     About a mile away Dewey, whose night and distance vision was exceptional spotted an old double front ended Studebaker sitting on the meridian sloping down from the Northbound lane.  Call it deja vu, call it paranoia, call it prescience but the driver’s obvious indecision made it clear that trouble lay ahead.

     ‘Watch that guy up there, Jake.  Watch that guy, change lanes, slow down, this guy’s dangerous.’

     Nelson was one of those loud mouthed First Division jerks:  ‘Aw, for Christ’s sake, relax.’  He said outshouting Dewey.  It was one of those times when all the world seemed to conspire against one’s better judgement.

     The Studebaker just sat there like a spider waiting for the fly.  Then about a third of a mile away it seemed that the driver just took his foot off the brake and slowly coasted out into the fast lane.  If Dewey had gotten Jake to change lanes they would have missed him.  A quarter mile away Jake jammed his foot on the brake.  The Plymouth which now would never know steam turned into a rocket sled but it slid straight down the highway.

page 1454.

     ‘Goddamn you, Nelson.’  Dewey shouted as the distance closed.  By that Dewey meant that if it hadn’t been for picking up Nelson they would have been beyond the crossing by then and Dewey wouldn’t be stuck in the middle with nothing to hold on to, nor would he have been crazy enough to needle a very excitable driver.  Dewey laid off the whole blame on Nelson although Nelson was too stupid and self-centered to understand his complicity.

     Dewey saw certain death before him.  He went limp as a ragdoll and hoped for the best but he saw his broken crushed body on the highway.  The Plymouth slid into the Studebaker at seventy per midway between the bumper and the cab.

     The collision drove the Studebaker fifty feet down the highway where it sat in the middle of the fast lane pointing South.  The Plymouth was totaled.  Dewey bounced around the seat, first against Jake, then his head caromed off the windshield which miraculously didn’t break, then he slammed against Nelson finally sprawled over both.

      Incredibly no one was hurt.  Dewey sat quietly panting.  He reached up to touch his head where it banged into the windshield.  He didn’t even have a bruise.

     The driver of the Studebaker, an old man of ninety years paced the highway between the two cars dazed, a trickle of blood oozing down from his left temple.

page 1456.

     ‘Look at that old fart.’  Jake cried.  ‘He probably isn’t anymore dazed now than he was before.  You guys are going to stick around to give a police statement for me, aren’t you?’

     Nelson already had his thumb out.

     ‘Give the police your own statement you dumb son-of-a-bitch.  All you had to do was change lanes to avoid the accident.  That’s what I’ll tell the police.’

     Incredibly enough a car screeched to a halt between the wreckage and the roadside to give Nelson a ride.  Nelson was either generous enough or guilty enough to motion Dewey to get in but Dewey wasn’t about to ride the middle with Nelson again.  He was shaken up enough to feel bad.  He passed.

     The two thirty year old men who had been in the Studebaker with the ninety year old driver rushed up to Jake demanding his insurance agent.  The accident was nothing less than an insurance scam.  It had been planned that way.

     The police were slow in arriving.

     ‘Hey Jake, I really gotta go or I’m going to miss muster.’   If Dewey had been thinking flexibly, as Van Wye would have done, he would have had himself taken to the hospital, phoned in and had himself a couple days off.

     ‘No, wait.  You’ve got to give me a statement.’

     As he was pleading the CHP drove up.

     Dewey wrote a statement which the CWB didn’t seem to care about snickering like something was going on and he knew what it was.  Dewey flipped his statement to him then stuck out his thumb.

      Luck, as it were, was still with him, a Ford truck pulled over.  Dewey leaped in.  After the obligatory explanation of what had had happened the driver introduced himself.

     ‘Hi, podna, I’m Clint Hartung, known as the Hondo Hurricane.  I’m originally from Hondo, Texas.  How far you goin’?’

      Dewey eyed Clint over.  Clint was a big man, maybe six-four or six-five, built like the proverbial brick outhouse.  Gentle looking though.  He was dressed in some sort of quasi-western fashion.  A big hat, buckskin jacket with fringes, even before the mid to late sixties.  Kind of a checkered cowboy shirt with pearl buttons and black Can’t Bust ‘Ems over engineer boots.  Dewey figured he was going to be stranger than Jake which he was but in a good kind of way.

     Just by way of making conversation Clint started talking movies.  He was a big Western fan which came as no surprise.  Matt Dillon ran through Dewey’s mind as he looked at Clint and listened to him speak.  He had that slow deliberate way of talking that is supposed to indicate no-nonsense manhood.  Pretty good job too.

     As might be expected John Wayne was Clint’s hero. 

     ‘Really, John Wayne, hmm?’  Dewey mused.

     ‘Sure, he’s the greatest living American. You don’t think so?’

      ‘Wayne?  Hmm.  Well I thought you resembled say James Arness,Matt Dillon, more or maybe the wagon master, Ward Bond, more along those lines rather than Wayne.’

     Clint was flattered at the comparison, especially the Arness bit as that was a major part of the persona he had adopted.

     ‘Yeah, those guys are good but John Wayne he just captures the essence of what an American is don’t you think?’

      Dewey didn’t like John Wayne at all even though he was the number one male hero for nearly every man in America.  But, he was used to giving his opinion when asked for it.

     ‘Well, I’m not a big fan of Wayne.  Seen him in lots of movies of course but he always comes across to me like a card board cut out.  It not so much that he portrays the idea of a man but imitates it.  He doesn’t seem natural.  They try to make him too big putting him on small horses so that his feet drag and give him that small rifle that looks like a toy gun in his hand.   Like in Hondo, speaking of the Hondo Hurricane, he seems to be too much bigger than life to be real.’  Dewey almost said that Wayne appeared to him as a fag but then thought better of accusing the guy considered the most manly man in America of being gay.  Still the guy could have played himself in the Village People with that mincing hip twisting walk.  Especially the one he used in Hondo.

     ‘Yeah, I liked Hondo a lot better than Shane although Shane was another good book ruined by the movie.’

     ‘I thought Audie Murphy made a good Shane.’ 

     ‘I thought maybe that was Alan Ladd rather than Audie Murphy.’

     ‘Um, yeah, I guess you’re right.  For me he was too jumpy, nervous and in drawn.  I though Shane was a lot more confident than that.  Besides that bit at the end when he rode off wounded into the sunset and the kid calls out ‘Mom wants you, Shane, Dad wants you and I want you too.’ was too much.  I nearly laughed myself to death.  Hondo was the real thing.  Louis L’Amour could turn out to be a heck of a writer.  I read a couple other of his things but they weren’t anywhere near Hondo.’

      ‘Well, I really like your tastes in literature but I’m not too sure of your interpretation.’  Clint replied ponderously.  The guy was like an elephant walking off a heavy dinner.

     ‘By the way, I’m Dewey Trueman.  Uh, The Michigan Kid.’  Dewey said in a lame attempt to match the Hondo Hurricane.  ‘How far are you going?’

     ‘I’m on my way to Superstition Mountain.  Ever heard of that?’

     ‘Oh yeah.  Sure. Of course.  Dutchman’s gold.  there’s supposed to be a lost gold mine.  Flying Dutchman or something like that.  Guy had it, went down the mountain and couldn’t find it again, right?’

     ‘That’s close, Kid.  I’m a goldminer.  Got my sluice and pans in back.’

     ‘Right.  Where are your claims and mines.’

     ‘I don’t mine properly speaking.  I pan for it or set up my sluice and wash the gravel.  I been up on 49 around Placerville working the streams around there.’

     ‘I thought that was all played out.’

     ‘Sure ain’t like it was in forty-nine but you never know when you might find a crack or crevice that’s loaded.  No luck of that kind yet but I’m always hopin’.’

      Why do you do it if you don’t find gold?’

     ‘Oh, I find plenty of gold, just not a big cache yet.’  Clint groaned out like a Henry Kissinger in slow motion.  He produced a prescription plastic container half filled with gold.

      ‘That’s gold.’  He said with satisfaction flipping it to Dewey.  Dewey looked at the sand and small nuggets with fascination.  He was disappointed.  Somehow he expected ‘gold’ to be more.  This may have been gold alright but without the capital G.  It was just sort of gold and not a lot of it.

     ‘How long did it take you to pan this out?’

     ‘That’s about three-four weekends worth.’

     ‘Where did it come from?’

     ‘That’s from up on the Tuolmne but I’ve been everywhere for gold.  Alaska, the Yukon, haven’t been to the Australian fields yet but I’m on my to Superstition Mountain now.’

page 1458

     Dewey was so impressed with the Hondo Hurricane that he dropped his usual sarcastic manner.

     ‘Wow, this old pickup really flies along I wouldn’t think it could go so fast for so long.’

     ‘My old Ford here?  I put a ’58 Chevy V8 in it.  Now it’s an all American car.  Best both Ford and Chevy have to offer.  Never know when you’ll need the power when you’re a gold prospector.  Lot of claim jumpers out there and of course you never know when you’re trespassin’ on someone else’s claim until it’s too late.’

     Dewey laughed merrily as the eclectic Ford-Chevy truck raced the moon across the Grapevine through the starry starry night.

     Dewey had assumed that Clint would be passing through San Diego on his way to Superstition Mountain so he was both surprised and disappointed when Clint Hartung pulled over to the side to let him out.

     ‘I take the Lancaster turn off here and take the desert route from here, Kid.  You’re welcome to come along if you like but I hate big cities, always avoid ’em when I can.’

     ‘Well, I think I’m better off where there’s lots of traffic so I have to stay on this road.  Thanks for the ride Hondo, and good luck on Superstition Mountain.’

     Clint was flattered to be called Hondo.  He gave the Kid, er…Dewey, a desert hat salute and roared off honking his horn a couple times in acknowledgment of Dewey’s compliment.  Needless to say he didn’t have any luck on Superstition Mountain or anywhere else gold might be found but he lived the kind of life so many men only dream about.  Maybe he’s updated his old Ford truck with a newer engine by now and is still out there gunning the engine for the vanishing point.  I sure hope so.

page 1459.

     One uneventful ride dropped Dewey off at the head of Lankersheim Blvd.  Cruising was still in progress on Sunday night.  Dewey had made good time notwithstanding the wreck on the highway.  At midnight the cruisers had thinned out but were still plentiful.  Three fruits and two fundamentalists brought Dewey to the on ramp of the Hollywood Freeway which was the way he ought to have come if the Marine, Bill Baird, hadn’t driven him astray.

     A red and white ’56 Chevy pulled over for him.

     ‘Going back to the base, I suppose.’  the driver, Al Pscholka mused.

     ‘Yep.’

     ‘Where might that be, if I might be so rude to ask?’

     ‘I’m based in San Diego.  How far are you going?’

     ‘I could be going not too far; or, on the other hand, I could drop you off at the gate in San Diego.  The choice is yours.’

     ‘O-o-oh.  No kidding.’  Dewey replied grasping the situation.

     Acquiring the rudiments of the road doesn’t require long and patient study, especially as your attention is so concentrated.  Dewey was also grasping the concept of keeping them talking as long as possible without getting to the point.

page 1460.

     ‘You must be a traveling salesman or something.’ He volunteered.

     ‘No.  I’m an accountant.  I add up figures.  I know the score.’  Pscholka said with knowing double entendre.

     He was a good looking fellow of about six-two, slender but muscular.  There was a vicious mean spirited look to him.  His shame at his homosexuality made him fairly brutal toward his conquests.  Otherwise he had a mean derogatory attitude.

     ‘Accounting huh?  That must be interesting.’

     ‘Cut the crap.  You know what I want.’

     ‘Who me?  No, I’m not sure I do.’

     ‘You going to give it up or not?’

     ‘I’m not queer if that’s what you mean.’

     ‘I don’t care if you’re queer or not.  I am.  What I’m saying is we can go somewhere and have a good time and I’ll get you back to the base for muster or you can take your chances on the highway.’

     ‘Pull over and let me out then.’

     ‘Did you hear what I said?’

     ‘Only too well.  Did you hear what I said?’

     At this time they were going through the Stack.  There is a hill in LA where five freeways are stacked one above the other.  This is a very impressive sight.  Dewey was trying to take it in with awestruck eyes while still trying to deal with Al Pscholka.

     Pscholka started to edge over when a light went on behind his eyes.  ‘It wouldn’t be right to let you out here just because you won’t suck my dick.  I’m a nicer guy than that.  I’ll take you to a better place.’

page 1461.

     ‘If it’s a question of right or wrong, in my opinion it would be right to let me out here.  I don’t want to inconvenience you any further.’

     ‘No inconvenience, buddy.  Sit tight.’

     At seventy per Dewey had no choice but to sit tight.  At this point he thought that Pscholka was going to drive him off somewhere that he would have no idea where he was or how to get back.  Pscholka didn’t seem to be carrying a weapon so Dewey had full confidence in his Japanese pocket knife.

     But Pscholka was both much more devious and malicious, devious, malicious and knowledgeable at that.  He haunted these roads every Sunday night.  Since he actually would drop sailors off at the gate his shtick had enough appeal to be successful quite often.

     Still, Dewey was astonished when he made the turn down to Anaheim and kept on going toward the Disney towers.  Somewhere along the way Dewey began to notice a very long line of sailors.  Miles of them spaced one to a hundred feet.  Dark blue blobs with white hats topmost merging with the night under the streetlights.

     ‘God, how are they all going to get rides?’  Dewey mused out loud.

     ‘Yes.  How are they?’  Pscholka laughed quietly pulling over to let Dewey out.  ‘Last chance.  This or the gate?’  He leered. 

     Dewey got out.

     He looked to the right horizon to see hundreds of sailors strung out as far as the eye could see.   He looked to the left to see the same sight.  He looked at the sailor in front of him with a quizzical look on his face.

page 1462.

     ‘I know, man.  Just walk down the highway between me and the next guy and put your thumb out.’

     Dewey walked down and stepped in line.  As he did so the sailor on either side stepped away until they were about one hundred feet apart.  Those adjacent to them did the same until a giant wave effect rippled through the line of sailors for miles and miles.  This happened repeatedly for the two hours Dewey was there.  As a sailor dropped off the ripple kept eddying back and forth.  Dewey moved to and fro as though tossed by an invisible current.

     Trueman lost all anxiety as he pondered the situation.  It seemed hopeless.  There didn’t seem to be enough cars on the road to accommodate this portion of the fleet let alone drivers to pick them up.  There wasn’t even any reason to put your thumb out.

     ‘Probably if you do get picked up.’  He thought.  ‘It will be another queer trying to cut a deal or else.’

     He watched the cars pass with drooping spirits.  Suddenly a car traveling the fast lane at a terrific clip caught everyone’s attention from a mile away.  It was a red and white ’55 Chevy.  While everyone had their attention riveted on the car the driver whipped almost at a right turn across all three lanes of traffic to screech to a stop in front of Dewey Trueman.

     Dewey was astonished beyond belief as adjacent sailors looked in envy.  ‘Why me?’  Dewey thought.  ‘What signals am I transmitting, what criteria were those guys using to select me?’

page 1463.

     The door flew open.  ‘Hop in.’  Said the guy in the passenger’s seat getting out.  ‘Ride the middle.’

     It was a messy car.  The back seat was jammed with clothes and household goods.  A Louisville Slugger lay conspicuously in the space between the front and back seats atop some junk with the brand name up.  Dewey looked across at the driver.  Both guys were lean and wiry, probably not queer, but either high or jacked up on some emotion.  They were obviously out joy riding.  Dewey tried to opt out.

     ‘Hey, thanks for stopping guys but I think I’ll pass.  Wait for something else.  Thanks anyway.’

     ‘Aw, hey now, man, you definitely do not want to hurt our feelings.’

     Dewey followed his gaze down to the Louisville Slugger.  He looked behind him out across the plowed fields that would be houses the next time he passed by.  He wasn’t a fast runner anyway.  The guy could bring him down from behind with the baseball bat as he ran.

     ‘Well.’  Thought Dewey.  ‘Maybe I can talk faster than they can.’

      ‘Hurt your feelings?  Aw, no man,  I didn’t realize it was like that.  But, hey, since I’ll be getting out first why don’t I sit on the outside?  Save you some trouble down the road.’

     ‘No, I’m athletic.  Get in the middle.’

page 1464.

     Dewey slid in.  The door slammed shut; the driver accelerated to the fast lane.  The driver, Dave, who did not introduce himself, got right to the point.

     ‘We need your opinion, man.  I got a real difficult situation here.’

     Dewey didn’t like the depth of that quagmire.  ‘Oh yeah?  My opinion wouldn’t be worth much.  Gee, I just turned twenty.  I don’t have much experience at all.’

     ‘You got enough for me, man.  Here’s the problem.’

     All the time Dave spoke the car was going eighty miles an hour.  The seemingly endless line of sailors to the right ebbed and flowed and danced to the right and left like some giant conga line.  The phenomenon was surely one of the most spectacular sights the world had to offer.  By daylight all those sailors would be gone.  Nearly all of them would make it back in time for muster.  This phenomenon happened every single Sunday night for those who had eyes to see and the intellect to understand.

      ‘Ya see, it’s like this.  I used to be married to this woman, beautiful woman, high school sweetheart.  We were very happy but I wasn’t making much money.  Then this guy comes along.  A coal miner.’

     ‘Coal miner?  In LA?’

     ‘Yeah.  So this guy is making a lot of money; coal miners get paid real good.’

     ‘They do?’

     ‘Sure.  They gotta work underground where the coal is which is real dangerous work.  You wouldn’t do it for the minimum wage would you?’

page 1465

     ‘I wouldn’t do it for a lot of money but there aren’t any coal mines in LA.’

     ‘Shut up and listen.  So my high school sweetheart and wife falls for this guy’s bucks.  That’s all she could see was his money, divorces me and goes to him.   This was a couple years ago.  So I become very distraught.  I don’t know what to do, so I join the Army.  While I am in the Army now I meet this very wonderful girl who loves me only for myself, she doesn’t care whether I have money or not.  I married her last month.’

     ‘Where is there an Army base in LA?’

     ‘There is one.  I’m stationed there, OK?  I know.  Now shut up and listen.  So right after I marry my present wife there is a terrible cave in at the mine and my wife’s new husband is killed.’

     ‘Boy, I never heard about that.  Where are those coal mines in LA?’

     ‘Listen, they have steel mills in LA, don’t they?’

     ‘Maybe.  OK.’  Dewey didn’t know but they did.

     ‘Well, you need coal to make steel don’t you?’

     ‘Coke.’  Dewey corrected.

     ‘Coke?’

     ‘Yah.  Coke.  You coke the coal and use the coke.  It burns hotter.’

     ‘What, are you a wise guy?  So you coke the coal, the point is you need coal to make steel, don’t you.  So where there’s steel mills there must be coal mines.  Get it?’

page 1466.

     ‘Boy.’  Thought Dewey.  ‘There’s a stretch in logic.’  But it wasn’t his car and he was in the middle.

     ‘So the mine roof drops on this guy’s melon and he’s got accidental double indemnity life insurance for twenty-five thousand dollars.  So now my ex is got twenty-five thousand dollars and no husband to spend it with.  So now after I’m married to my current wife my ex wants me to come back to her and the twenty-five grand.  What would you do?’

     So this was the trick.  Dewey thought that if he answered one way they would beat him to death with the baseball bat; if he answered the other way they might let him go.  He wasn’t sure what kind of guys they were.  Dave sounded like he was more interested in the twenty-five Gs than in a good woman but it could be a trick.

     ‘Gosh.’  Dewey tried to equivocate.  ‘That’s a tough one; I don’t know how to call it.’

     ‘Call it anyway.  I gotta know because whatever you say determines what I will do.’ 

     That was what worried Dewey.

     He looked right at Dave’s partner, Jack, who was looking at him expectantly, then back at Dave who was urgently demanding an answer.

     Dewey desperately wanted to give the right answer but he was having a hard time reading Dave.

     ‘Funny I didn’t hear about this coal mine cave in.’  He countered.  ‘You think it would have been on the news.’

     ‘Forget the cave in; you were out at sea.  It happened.  Give me your decision.’

page 1467.

     Dewey grasped that how he answered would determine how he was to be disposed of.  Unable to read Dave he decided to go with his own morality and trust to his luck.

     ‘Umm.  I’d stay with your current wife who loves you for what you are, whatever that may be, and is true to you even in the Army which is really saying something.’

     ‘Really?  Yeah, but my ex is a better looker.  Lots better than my current wife.’

     ‘Well, looks are transient and only skin deep.  Fidelity is worth lots more.’

     ‘Sure.  But what about the twenty-five thousand dollars?  That’s a lot of money.’

     Dewey could nearly count the number of twenty dollar bills he’d seen in his life.  If you laid them all out in a row they wouldn’t reach across the dash board.  He had no concept of money but even in the late fifties it was becoming common to speak in terms of millions of dollars so 25,000 didn’t sound like much,  except maybe to a banker calling a loan.  Dewey could see himself spending it in no time.

     ‘Well, she’s left you once for money and twenty-five thousand won’t last long.  Once it’s gone she’ll probably leave you again.  This is Hollywood.  There’s lots of guys with lots of money, lot more than twenty-five thousand.  If she’s that good looking she’s liable to get some taste and get one of those.’

     The unconscious insult slipped past Dave.

page 1468.

     ‘Say, you know, I think you’re right.  You’ve helped out a lot.  I think I’ll stay with my current wife.’  So saying Dave whipped over to the side of the road, shoved Dewey out and sped off.

      ‘Wow.  That was a close one.’  Thought Dewey.  ‘I thought I was going to die for sure.  Coal mines in LA!’

     Dave had dropped him off way at the end of the line of sailors just where 101 jogged off the freeway through San Juan Capistrano.  A couple of disconsolate sailors were standing in front of the rich black loam of the plowed fields.  They were soon picked up leaving Dewey alone.  His anxiety increased as it was getting late.

     A car pulled over.

     ‘Listen, I’ve been driving all day and I’m bushed.  If you can drive and let me sleep, OK.  Otherwise no ride.’

     ‘Of course I can drive.’  Dewey said who had only been behind the wheel once in his life.

     ‘Do you have a license.’

     ‘Are you kidding?  I’ve been around cars all my life.’  Dewey said, artfully avoiding lieing.

     ‘OK.  But I’m really tired and need to sleep.  Get in on the driver’s side.’

     Dewey ran over to the driver’s side and hopped in.  As he got behind the wheel he realized that he was somewhat hazy about shifting.  Fortunately the car was an automatic.

     ‘Do you usually drive your car in D1 or D2.’  He asked what he hoped would be taken as a polite question and not a betrayal of his ignorance.

page 1469.

     ‘I put it in Drive, of course.  Say, do you really have a license?’

      ‘Does Carter have little liver pills?’  Dewey slipped it into D1 and lurched off.

     ‘You can go to sleep now.’  He announced.

     ‘I’m going to watch you a little, make sure you know how to drive first.’  But he drifted off to sleep immediately.

     The night was very dark.  Dewey was driving very tentatively.  He didn’t always see the Stop signs in San Juan in time to stop, driving through them.  There were no other cars on  the road so that didn’t matter.  Past San Juan he was driving very tentatively, barely fifty miles an hours.  He was not only timid himself but emotionally exhausted by a most adventurous trip thus he wandered over onto the shoulder for a moment.  The driver awakened immediately.

     ‘Jesus Christ!  What’s happening?’

     ‘Nothing. I just ran over a narrow part of the road.’

      ‘Narrow part of the road!  Say, you don’t have a license do you?’

     ‘I know how to drive.  They just didn’t make this part of the road very wide, that’s all.’

     ‘Answer my question directly.  Do you have a driver’s license?’

     ‘Not today.  I’m going to get one tomorrow.’

     ‘Just what I thought.  Stop the car.  Get out.’

     ‘Wait a minute.  I can at least talk to you to keep you awake.  C’mon, give me a ride into San Diego.’  Dewey said stopping the car.

page 1471

     ‘Nobody rides for free.  Can’t drive, can’t ride.  Get out.’

     The driver drove off in a frenzy leaving Dewey in the dark by the side of the road at four in the morning but it was really tight now.

     Rosy fingered dawn shone faintly on the horizon before he caught another ride.  He lamented his situation to the driver who was decent and sympathetic.

     ‘I’ll get you back in time.  It’s going to be close but I was in the service myself.  I know how it is.’

     The man did drop Dewey off at the gate.  Dewey gave him a heartfelt thanks.  Past the gate he broke into a run then raced back to the ship.  They were just about to call roll with Dewey stepped into line in full dress blues.

    ‘Trueman.’

     ‘Yo.’

     ‘You’re late, Trueman.’  Dieter glowered.

     ‘Whadya mean I’m late, Chief?  You called Trueman and I said yo.  Sounds like I’m here to me, I can hear myself talking to you, doesn’t it sound like I’m here to you?  I’m talking to ya.’

     ‘Wise ass.  Don’t push your luck with me.  You’re not in dungarees.  You work in that uniform and you go over the side to paint the fo’c’sle.  Get moving.’

     Dewey wasn’t happy about that trying to find a way around it.  On the fo’c’sle he took off his middie folding it up on deck in what he hoped was a secure place.  There was nothing he could do with his pants but he hoped to dink around all morning so he wouldn’t get paint on them.

page 1471.

     Dieter showed up on the fo’c’sle to torment him followed by Blaise Pardon.

     ‘You’re out of uniform, Trueman.  Put that middie back on.’

     ‘Go down and change, Trueman.’  Pardon countermanded.

     Dieter gave him a dirty look but let the matter slide walking aft.  That was one the reason the old salts had no use for Pardon;  he was too reasonable.

Dazed And Confused

     Life moved along at a pace that was beyond bewildering.  There was no time to ingest the stream of happenings let alone digest their significance.  Dewey experienced life like a leaf blown by a storm, every touch down was too brief and fleeting to leave a sense of meaning.  Whatever understanding he had took place on the subliminal level.  He was way too busy just staying alive; catching his breath was out of the question.

     His nervous excitement was such that he was unaware that he wasn’t even getting enough sleep.  On the weekends he got no more than six hours.  During the week he got not much more.

     His agony was such that he preferred to be away from the Navy as much as possible at whatever cost.  Two weekends a month was not enough; he wanted all four.  The only chance he had to do this was to find a stand-in.  In this he was in luck.  The ET who replaced Dart Craddock was called Corey Wells.  His situation was that he wanted liberty on all weekdays while the weekends meant nothing to him.  He was willing to swap the one for the other.

page 1472.

     The two sailors were brought together and an agreement was struck.  The question remained whether both men would honor the terms.  Even on such a small ship as the Teufelsdreck where one would think it rash to incur enmity the men betrayed each other without a second thought.  No one seemed to worry about their reputation.

     It was always possible that either man would refuse to honor his obligation.  If that happened the other was AWOL and not available for his watch.  Thus, initially at least, it was necessary for Trueman to have a backup.  Trueman took Wells’ duty first so Wells had a friend in reserve which proved unnecessary as Trueman always kept his word.  Trueman, whose friends were all leaving for the same weekend, agreed to pay Laddybuck two dollars a day to stand his watches in addition to Laddybuck’s own, who had duty, if Wells defaulted.  Trueman and Wells were grateful to find someone who was honest and whose needs were complementary.  Thus Trueman had every weekend free for the next several months.

     Kanary tried to interfere by shifting watch times but he found he was messing with more than Trueman being compelled thereby to keep his hands off.

     Trueman’s other problem was eating.  Navy food as prepared by Bocuse was intolerable to him.  He could eat only one out of three breakfasts so he filled up on toast.  Lunches were tolerable but the soggy green beans that accompanied every other dinner meant that he ate sparingly.  On the weekends he ate little if at all.  Needless to say a toothpick cast a bigger shadow than he did.

page 1473.

     Nervous excitement masked any sleep or nutritional defects Trueman might have had.  He had a strong consititution.  However the general trend of events was very unsettling to his mind.  The question of who had tried to commit him to the mental institution was worrisome.  That Tory Torbrick was the agent of someone was obvious but it seemed impossible that the Navy should have assigned him to the Teufelsdreck with that object in mind and he had known who Dewey was when he came aboard.

     Without knowledge of Yisraeli Trueman was mystified.  He indirectly associated the attempt with Kanary from whom he felt the pressure of discrimination but he could assign no cause.  He ruled out Captain Ratches and he refused to give Dieter the credit of enough intelligence to conceive or execute such a plan.

     However his suspicions seemed confirmed during the year’s K-gun exercizes.  On the day the U.S. Marines went ashore in Lebanon the squadron took to sea to further the Navy’s apparent attempt to rid the sea of tuna fish or any other living matter.

     First Division gathered around the Depth Charge racks and K-guns to perpetuate their skill at sowing the seas with high explosives.  Trueman took his former position at the second starboard mortar.  Dieter stood looking at him as the bile rose to his face to give him that liverish complexion.

     His mind roved longingly back to his attempted entombment of Trueman in the Depth Charge locker.  Snarling inwardly he ordered Trueman to go below during the exercizes.  Trueman was in no position to debate or disobey so he stepped down the after hatch to First.

page 1474.

     Dieter walked over and dropped the hatch on him.  As Trueman sat alone in the compartment his ubiquitous nemesis the queer Kanary dogged down the port hatch then crossing over to starboard, glowering menacingly as though he were actually executing Trueman, he dogged the starboard hatch.

     The fantastic Dieter having failed to destroy Trueman in the Depth Charge locker now dreamed that he was blowing Trueman up in First.  The aft charges were exploded with little more than a distant rumble.  But then the K-gun charges fired to the side began to report.  The first charges were deep but you could still hear the displaced water rushing up to the side of the ship followed by a dull thud as the pressure hit the side.

     The mad Bos’n’s Mate was nearly insane with rage at Trueman’s lack of reverence or interest in his exploits as the Hero of Saipan.  As the exercise progressed the charges were set for shallower and shallower depths.  The thuds became clangs as the displaced water crashed against the hull followed by the plate rattling concussion.

     Becoming more enraged as the charges become shallower Dieter ordered the next at sixty feet down two hundred feet out.  The force increased considerably.  The plates not only clanged but rattled as the sound reverberted up and down the hull.  The force rocked the ship a little but it didn’t heave out of the water as it had the previous year.

page 1475.

     Dieter slipped into another world.  He was about to order the next charge at the shallowest and closest in.  The charge at that speed,depth and distance might have burst the plates.  Dieter was so far gone in his chagrin as to sink his ship in an attempt to trap Trueman below.  From Saipan to sinking his own ship.

     However the last charge had brought the Captain to his feet.  Standing in the starboard lookout with his glasses trained on Dieter he had the bridge talker call Dieter to the phone.

     ‘That’s enough for today, Chief.  Pack it in and clean it up.’

     ‘Yes, Sir.’  Dieter replied as his mind slowly returned from its nether regions.

     The sailors who had it figured out blew out a sigh of relief.  The Mad Chief was derailed from committing a crime of the first magnitude.

     The after hatch was propped up as the Gunner’s came down to replenish their Depth Charges.  Dieter followed them down to gaze first lovingly into the hold he had wanted to place his nemesis and then over at Trueman as though he wished him there.

     Trueman did not consciously process the information entering his brain.  It went directly into his subconscious where it worked like yeast in bread.  He had a little over a year to go; he knew he must be very wary.

     His mental malaise was exacerbated by the subsequent discharge of the men of low I.Q.  As in Guam over fifty men left the ship at one time.  They received their orders on the same day streaming off the Teufelsdreck at a happy gallop.  As Trueman looked at Dieter he thought ruefully that the fat mad Chief should join them.  Trueman was wrong though, Dieter wasn’t that dumb he was the proud possessor of a score of thirty-three.

page 1476.

     As the ship had never been fully replenished after Guam in addition to the departure of the Black sailors the crew was very depleted.  First was nearly half empty as a couple dozen bunks were left unused.  Trueman who had been spitefully moved from his favorite bunk to a middle bunk in the starboard center tier now took the opportunity to move back to his former bunk announcing that anyone who didn’t like it could kiss his ass.  As no dissenting voices were raised it may be assumed that all were unpleased with the opportunity to kiss Trueman’s ass.

     The pleasure of the unwonted roominess was destroyed as the replacements began to come aboard.  The amazing thing was that the low I.Q. sailors had been the most objectionable men on board.  However the replacements, if of a higher I.Q., were even worse but in different ways.

     These were all men of the high school class of ’57.  Now it is a fact that the class of ’56 had the highest ever scores on the scholastic aptitude tests.  Beginning in ’57 the scores began a long decline that to my knowledge hasn’t ended yet.

     The causes of the decline in the way of society are debated with no results but it must be true that years subsequent to ’56 did not digest the material if they received it.

     This fact was evident to the perplexed members of the crew.  The new men’s reactions to Navy discipline were even more deplorable than those arriving with Dewey.  The new men even made Frenchey seem like a stellar performer.  Frenchey had always gone through the paces but the new men refused even to do that.  Worse, they even seemed incapable.

page 1477.

     The class of ’56 seemed to be different than earlier years but intermediate between those and subsequent years.  Somehow they were neither of the Depression mentality or the Affluent mentality.  They were neither as solemn and dutiful as the earlier years nor as flighty and irresponsible as the subsequent years.

     The education and expectations of the younger men seemed entirely different from what had gone before.

     The difference of a single year had changed their expectation toward affluence.  Born in ’39  they had come to an age of awareness in the post-war years.  Too young to have a memory of the Depression or War years they knew only the boom years of the late forties and fifties.

     Having begun high school in ’55 and ’56 they were all of the Rock and Roll generation.  The class of ’55  had missed the Rock and Roll influence completely.  In that respect their tastes were those of the preceding generation.  The class of ’56 had been mixed in its influence.  Half had rejected Rock and Roll completely while a quarter accepted it as part of what was happening; another quarter, to which Dewey belonged, had embraced the music wholeheartedly.  Still, Dewey had little in common with the new men on that score.

      In addition the new men, while not of the TV generation, had grown up with it during their teen years thus identifying completely with the tube while Dewey had only known TV for about three years before leaving high school.  It is to be assumed that the classes before ’56 had less TV time than that or none.  So that while the new men had been absorbed into the TV phenomenon, earlier men saw TV as a phenomenon not part of their psychic organization.

page 1478.

     Howdy Doody, Kukla Fran and Ollie and the Mickey Mouse Club were alien to the older men.  The importance of the Mickey Mouse Club especially should not be under estimated.  The World War II vets like Dieter had no inkling of the emerging consciousness.

     In addition and most importantly the new men had attended high school while the civil rights movement was gearing into full swing.  The resultant uproar was very disquieting as the schools began to move from educational institution into Thought Management systems.  Learning became subsidiary to attitude formation.

     Black-White relations were managed by a small percentage of Whites concentrated in the universities, the press, publishing, entertainment and like influential areas.  They were and are a self-righteous group of people who will use any excuse to belittle others and magnify themselves.  They consider their opinion paramount to the law or perhaps more accurately they equate their opinion with the law.  They have been in control from the times of Reconstruction to the present.  They assume that they are pure and all others are foul and evil.

     They assumed that all other Whites were and are incurable bigots.  They assumed that all others had to be tightly controlled and beaten into submission.  They moved from individualism into collectivism.  They were censorious; they would tolerate no discussion of the problems and difficulties except on their own terms.  Hence, while claiming to be pure democrats they imposed an authoritarian system not less severe than Hitler or Stalin punishing by expulsion from the community of anyone who dissented from their explicit viewpoint for any reason.

page 1479.

     Small violations were met with draconian punishments.  A sportscaster using the word ‘nigger’ in private conversation would be stripped of not only his livelihood but his self-respect.  These criminal demons would actually equate such a person with Hitler.  In a word they had been driven insane by their self-righteousness.

     In their efforts to punish other Whites by making them consort with Negroes they wantonly insulted Black Folk by denying that they were capable of educating themselves.  They completely destroyed the Black educational infrastructure turning an entire cadre of educators out on their ears from satisfying and rewarding careers to menial tasks.  These Whites didn’t look forward and they didn’t look back.  They weighed and evaluated nothing they merely acted out of their self-righteousness.

     No consideration was taken of either the Negro intellect or the White intellect.  No attempt at psychology was made.  Thus with no preparation of either Blacks or Whites, Blacks were thrown into what Blacks considered a hostile environment.

      Now, the image of this little Black girl in her cute little pink dress being escorted down the walk by the Army in Little Rock is a very effective piece of propaganda but cute little Black girls would never be the problem.  Big Black boys with knives and razors bent on vengeance would be.

page 1480.

 

 

    

    

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A Novel

Far Gresham Part I

by

R.E. Prindle

 Clip 7

     In their sullen resentment at Americanization they had reversed the roles.  They now claimed that immigrants had built America.  There would be no America had the Irish, Slavs and Italians not shoveled it into existence.  They now wanted revenge for having lost language and national culture.  They weighed their advantages and disadvantages and found that their disadvantages tipped the scale.

     Nevertheless the mores of the Founding Fathers predominated.  The Ango-Americans retained political control if not cultural control.  The country shifted further from English ideals toward a multi-culture splintering.  The ideals of the Melting Pot promoted an ostensible tolerance of all beliefs though each group strove to impose as much of its culture as possible.  Vengeance had to be a little more surreptitious.

page 301.

     Thus my selection as victim, as well as serving David Hirsh’s need for personal vengeance satisfied the needs of my immigrant scouting fellows.  Gresham was an eminently English name.  I was an American, even though I bore an English name my ancestry carried as many elements of the Melting Pot as anyone else and more than most.  Legally because my grand-mother was Jewish, through my mother I was more Jewish than Michael Hirsh.  Michael was legally not Jewish at all as he came from a shiksa mother.  I was Polish as that was the State my mother’s ancestors had lived in.  I was German through my mother’s father who was Pennsylvania Dutch.  I was English or Scottish through my father who bore his father’s name, but his mother had been a French-Irish hillbilly from Kentucky.  There were numerous permutations on my father’s mother’s side also.  I was Far ‘World’, or perhaps better, Far Melting Pot.  Yet I bore an English name; these ingnorant common men saw no further than the end of their noses.

     Cahallan was selected for vengeance on the Anglo because he was Irish.  The Bible says that no man can serve two masters.  In law it’s called a conflict of interest.  Cahallan was ‘pure’ Irish.  His family had married Irish on both sides since arriving on the New Island.  The Cahallans considered themselves patriotic Americans; indeed they might be called super-patriots in the mold of Joe McCarthy, yet, James Cahallan, John’s father, contributed a fair part of his income for arms for the Irish Republican Army.  He helped foment rebellion or rioting i

n North Ireland.  James was in conflict with his 100% Americanism.  It was not American policy to foment trouble in Ireland.  The truth was that Irish Americanism was an alternate nationalism from Anglo-American nationalism.  The Irish-Americans favored Ireland; the Anglo Americans favored England.  It always had been so; yet both sides considered themselves patriotic Americans while pursuing opposing policies.

page 302. 

     Mankind is mankind.  One faction is always trying to dominate the other.  The Cahallans had emigrated during the Potato Famine of the 1840s.  The war between the English and the Irish preceded that date by hundreds of years.  Cahallan and his Irish fellows brought the war with them to America.  In America they found the English and their customs had preceded them once again.  They fought the English in Ireland, the Ould Sod, as opposed to the New Island.  Irish rebels retreated to the United States when it became too hot for them in Ireland.  American money and men flowed across the water to finance and man the rebellion.

     In New York during the eighteen forties and fifties the Irish seized the government of New York City from the Anglos.  The Irish claimed bigotry when the Anglos of the Native American Party protested the Irish appropriation of the police department, their seizure of Tammany Hall.  But then defamation is the way battles are fought against the Anglos in the New Secular Order.

page 303.

     Fresh from the militry experiences of the War Between The States, the Irishers organized a military invasion of Canada from the United States in a wild hope of separating that nation from the British Commonwealth.

     The 1920s were to bring them joy on the one hand when the Irish Free State was proclaimed, crowning the efforts of hundreds of years; on the other hand they were plunged into despair by the triumph of Communism in Russia.

     The Irish were and are truly Catholic.  They cherished their Catholicism all the more as the English were Protestants.  Communism- atheistic Communism- was the avowed foe of the Mother Church.  The Irish were therefore anti-Communistic on the one count of their Catholicity and on the second count because of their Americanism.

     The Church was engaged in a world wide or international battle against Communism.  The Church fathers believed that their intransigence toward workingman’s unions had lost them the faithful of Europe during the nineteenth century.   The Church now faced the intransigent and powerful foe in control of European soil.  They were determined not to lose the battle in the New World.

     Radio became an important cultural force in the 1920s.  With the rise of radio rose the Radio Priest, Father Coughlin.  Coughlin broadcast from just down south of Detroit.  Detroit was a hotbed of Communism in the United States.  The Irishman, Father Coughlin carried the banner of the Holy Mother Church against the infidel hosts.  The Papacy, as every Protestant has always feared, was attempting to direct affairs in America.  The Radio Priest was fiercely anti-Communist.

page 304.

     As an anti-Communist he locked horns with another immigrant group that was just as fiercely pro-Communist.  Their size was only a small fraction of the Catholic population but they were well organized and single minded.  Too, they bore an inveterate hatred of Catholicism learned in the old countries they had just vacated.  The Radio Priest could have castigated  Communists till the cows came home and Americans wouldn’t have cared.  But the Jews, who were pro-Communist, forced the Radio Priest to make adverse comments about them as the impelling force behind Communism.

     Communist baiting was alright but Jew baiting wasn’t.  No apatering les Juifs.  Bourgeoisie yes, Juifs no.   Communism was not a recognized religion. Thus the Jews protected Communism through their own immunity to criticism.  ‘Bigotry’ cannot be condoned in a multi-cultural State.  The Jews got the Radio Priest off the air while thoroughly discrediting him.

     At about the same time the House Un-American Activities Committee was established.  The original notion of HUAC was contributed by the Jews in 1934 in the wake of Hitler’s election to the Chancellorship of Germany in 1933.  The notion of HUAC was part of the international Jewish fight against the Nazi Party, which fight had been in progress for years already before 1933.  Already by 1938 anti-Semitism had been made against the law in France and had almost succeeded in Switzerland.  The purpose of the House Un-American Activities Committee according to the needs of the Jews was to root out anti-Semitism in America, in other words, make it illegal, to establish Judaism as a protected State religion.  By 1938 they had succeeded in establishing the Committee, but failed to obtain the chairmanship.  HUAC then turned not only against their bete noir, the Fascists, but also against their favorite, the Communists, which is to say in so many words, the Jews.

page 305.

     Father Coughlin had been driven from the air but the Irish Catholics had not given up, they returned to the charge at the head of HUAC.  The Committee languished during the Wars but sprang back to life as hostilities ceased.  An Irish Catholic, J. Parnell Thomas, secured the chairmanship.  Thomas did not conduct himself along the lines of Anglo-American tradition, with which indeed, he was in little sympathy and had little understanding, but more along the lines of Rebel Irish and Catholic inquisitorial methods.  Thus the ‘American inquisition’ acquired its name from Irish Catholic torchbearers.

     Thomas tore after the Communists of Hollywood, which is to say his indictments were preponderantly Jews.  The Radio Priest had already come to grief over Communism; Parnell Thomas was to be no exception.  Within a couple years he was out of office and in prison.  In America defamation is the best weapon.

     The Church could not rest with their enemy in the field.  Shortly, a few months hence, a new knight would enter the lists for the Holy Mother Church who cast a spell over America for decades- Joe McCarthy.

     The Church was not concerned with my boxing with John Cahallan.  The bout was merely a symbol in the minds of the Sokolskys and Hirshes of vengeance on the ‘injustices’ perpetrated by Anglo-Americans on the immigrants.  For David Hirsh had not only suggested the bout but he and Michael were there.  As I had my gloves laced tightly on the Hirshes took places behind the kitchen window where they could see clearly into the Sokolsky’s backyard but could not be seen behind the screens.

page 306.

     I knew I was being set up; but I couldn’t devise a way out.  Some girls who I didn’t know, or couldn’t remember, had shown up and now stood waiting in gleeful anticipation.  The other Scouts could barely suppress their grins, in fact, they didn’t.  As Mrs. Solkolsky was carefully tightening the strings I told her again that I knew how these bouts were fixed.  I asked her again point blank not to lie, not to betray my trust in her.  She had the integrity of a snail.

     Reluctant as I was, based on her assurance, I went ahead in good faith.  We were blindfolded, or I was, and I was spun around several times.  I had no idea where my opponent was.  I struck out several times, in the hopes of finding him to the merriment of all.  Then the blows started landing on me thick, fast and hard.  It didn’t take me long to figure out that I had been betrayed; that Mrs. Sokolsky was a liar.  Mrs. Miller should have extended her condemnation of men as liars, sneaks, cheats and thieves to have included her own sex as well.

     I cried out that I knew.  I told them to stop.  Cahallan redoubled his efforts; the laughter went from shrieks to gales.  I tried to get the blindfold off but they had put it on too tight.  Boxing gloves have no fingers and the thumbs are useless for gripping.  They laughed and laughed and laughed while Cahallan pommeled me as fast and furious as he could.

     The gloves were laced so tightly I couldn’t shake them off.  Mrs. Sokolsky had acted in cold blooded, determined premeditation.  Finally in desperation, I placed a glove between my knees and tore my hand out of it, taking the blindfold off in the same motion.  I took out after Cahallan who, now that my blindfold was off, lost his taste for battle and backpedaled guiltily trying to avoid my blows.

page 307.

          Mrs. Sokolsky grabbed me from behind.  I was thrown down on the ground as the other scouts piled on to hold me down.  David and Michael Hirsh had enjoyed the scene so much they were actually rolling on the kitchen floor in laughter.

     Mrs. Sokolsky was saying:  ‘Now listen, Far, now just listen.  It was all just a joke.  Listen, now calm down. It was just a joke.  It could have been played on anyone.’

     ‘No, it wasn’t a joke, it was a lie.’   I yelled back.  ‘It was a dirty trick and you’re a dirty, dirty liar, Mrs. Sokolsky.’

     When I called her a dirty liar she recoiled a few steps as the truth of her actions slapped her face.  The consequences of her affirmations hit her.  She was a dirty, dirty liar.  Shame overwhelmed the other scouts too.  As Mrs. Sokolsky reeled back they relaxed their holds on me and sat back.  Cahallan quickly took off his gloves and threw them behind a bush.  He pushed his guilty hands in his pockets while pretending to study the peeling paint on the garage.

     ‘No, it wasn’t a joke.  It was a dirty trick.  I told you what you were going to do Mrs. Sokolsky and you denied it.  You swore on your Holiest of Holies you weren’t going to do it and you lied.  You all lied.  You’re all going to rot in hell as dirty liars.’

     I turned and fled through the back gate calling out:  ‘Dirty liars.’ over my shoulder one more time.  So they were; so they acknowledged themselves to be with deep shame.  In the scenario of the event that they had devised, because of the tight blindfold which couldn’t be removed with the gloves on and the fact that they had tied the gloves on so securely that it was only with difficulty that I was able to tear my hand out with considerable violence, I was to be so defenseless  that I would be driven to my knees, shoving my head in the dirt while covering it with the gloves begging for mercy, abasing mayself beneath the continuous pommeling.  I would be what they had known all along, a dirty sniveling coward.

     For this was the way the immigrants perceived their entry into the United States.  The symbolism involved depicted the misery that they, or rather their parents felt and transmitted to them.  This is not to say they were conscious of their intent; rather the idea flowed from suppressed wellsprings of discontent.  The form of the revenge merely reflected the substance of their imagined injury.  In their subconscious the great Anglo-American bully had been paid back in kind.

     These were not subtle people; these were common men; they had not thought through the possible reactions.  As the sons and daughters of serfs and peasants they could have no alternative but to return to the scene of their abasement.  They thought that I would return the next week to the next meeting.  Unaware of the seriousness of their offence to me they thought to assuage their own now apparent guilt by being extra-special nice to me for the duration of the meeting…most of it…the first few minutes…well, their greeting at the door…possibly.

page 309.

     For my part I was absolutely destroyed.  All the fantasies I had entertained at the Home of beginning live anew were dashed.  What they had done to me was something they would only have done to someone toward whom they had the deepest contempt.  Had they triumphed and I had returned, I would have been reduced to mere beggary.  I would have been suffered only on bare tolerance.  David Hirsh had known this; it had been his plan.  He went away deeply disappointed.  He felt himself failed again.

     The following week Mrs. Sokolsky and the scouts had intentionally prepared themselves to greet me.  When I didn’t appear their guilt was profoundly deepened.  They began to prepare defensive measures, for they feared that I would expose them, or in their terms, defame them.  Consequently Mrs. Sokolsky telephoned Mrs. Warden to ask why I was not in attendance.  Of course as I could expect no support from the Wardens I hadn’t even bothered to tell them about the incident.  Mrs. Sokolsky was quite relieved to hear that Mrs. Warden knew nothing.  Mrs. Warden promised to learn why I was not in attendance.

     I expected nothing from the Wardens so I just told her I didn’t want to be a Cub Scout.  Mrs. Sokolsky, in possession of the information, took further steps to protect herself.  She and the scouts and the girls then slandered me so as to get their story first before the interested public.  As an outsider I had no one to tell, nor would I have anyway as I considered the matter closed by quitting the troop.  I was unaware that I had been defamed or that people who knew or didn’t know me had formed an adverse opinion of me.

     Though they had sought to protect themselves, their actions only added to their shame and guilt which continued to gnaw at them demanding expiation.

pp. 310-311.

5.

      As the incident of the cub scouts had been a result of the trip to Reuchlin Park so a reaction was set off in the mind of Jack Warden.  Warden was of that type, which is the most common, that seeks to impose their fantasy of life on reality.  In all cases it is an ill-fitting match, the two views seldom go together.  If one is fortunate enough to get a match for a brief while, reality ever changing, slips beneath the fantasy leaving it merely a monument to vanity.

     Thus Warden made no attempt to understand me or the environment from which I came and compare it with his own.  He simply attempted to impose his fantasy on me and my own vision of reality.  He was not sprung from noble stock, his ancestry was in no way related to Richard Couer De Lion.  He had only a romantic attachment to that king.  His sons were not patricians; they bore no resemblance to Lancelot or Percival.  I was not Sir Gareth of Orkney.

page 312.

     The only element of his vision of himself that he was prepared to alter was my status in his vision.  He had been sorely disappointed in my performance at Reuchlin Park.  He considered, he put his two broad fingers at the side of his nose and flicked them against his skin.  He made a decision firmly as a man of imagined royal lineage should.

     One morning not long after my sledding adventure I was ordered into Skippy’s presence early in the morning.  It was demanded of me that I stand and watch him dress.  Skippy fixed a disparaging eye on me from the front while his father stood arms folded behind me harrumphing.’     Skippy doffed his pyjamas.  As I stood at attention, as it were, he pulled on his shorts.  God, what an odious memory to carry through life, would that there were some psychic blotter to remove such mental oppression.  Skippy stood looking down at me with a perverse leer on his face that metaphosed into a perverted grin as the waistband caught under his penis and flipped it up.  He stretched the waistband out releasing his thumbs.  The waist band hit his stomach with a snap.

     Jack Warden harumphed a scoff behind me as if to say that I could never be such a man.  Warden was such a jerk.

     Skippy continued.  He put on his shirt, studying me with a contemptuous air while he slowly buttoned each button patting it against his body as he did so.  He grabbed his pants thrusting in his legs one at a time.  I noted that was the identical way I put on my pants.  He buttoned the top button; then turning full face with his mouth gaping in a lascivious leer he snapped the zipper shut in my face in a quick move of satisfaction.  He and his father walked away laughing, he buckling his belt, his father patting him on the back appreciatively.

page 313.

     ‘You’re quite a young man, Skip, my son, you’re quite a young man.’  He looked back at me with contempt.

     This incident coupled with the subsequent boxing match dispirited me a lot.  Still, I was growing; my capacity for understanding was increasing.  I was able to devleop some defensive measures although they were weakly defensive contributing to eccentricity rather than strength.

     By the time I reached the sixth grade I had succeeded to some extent to reconcile the Children’s Home mentality with middle class mores.  I did rise to the Challenge.  I was not wanted in the first reading and arithmetic classes by the students.  I quickly perceived that the teacher, a Mrs. McMahon, spent most of her time with the first class, less with the second class and virtually none with the remainder of the students.  Their performance was commensurate.  They were left behind.  I also noticed that the first class contained only the affluent children of the class, those of privileged families while the members of the second class came from less affluent homes while the remainder came from homes where the parents had no status at all.  I spent the first half of the year alternating between the first and second groups.  The students in the first group refused me admission but I practiced and persisted.  I petitioned Mrs. McMahon for admission into the first group with such force that she could hardly refuse.  The others still refused to permit me among them so I was compelled to sit behind them all as a member of the second class but a participant in th first class.  Still I succeeded in partaking of the most and best instruction.

pp. 314-315.

     6.

     Jack Warden had acquired me to shore up his fading fantasy.  He could be powerful against the helpless.  He was becoming increasingly helpless against the the more powerful forces of his own life.  I hadn’t been in the household for more than a month before I realized who Warden was and his relationship to his world.  His career was over; he would never be promoted.  He was seen somewhat as a blowhard in the neighborhood.  Amongst people who were all putting on airs he was seen as putting on airs.  No one accepted him at even an approximation of his own valuation.

     His insistence on his descent from Richard Couer de Lion had subjected him to ridicule.  As a result, just as Skippy snapped his fly shut in my face, Big Ben Webster was about to do the equivalent to Jack Warden.

page 316.

     Big Ben was the father of Beverly Webster, the father-in-law of David Hirsh.  Big Ben was the patriarch of the Webster-Hirsh family.  He owned the coalyards that were called Webster’s.  Big Ben was the big man in town.  Had he been a little more intelligent he might have made the town his own.  As it was he was forced to share dominance with two or three other families.  Still, he considered himself the lord of the manor.

     In the way that people are known in small cities, Jack Warden had his place in the pecking order.  His family had been in town as long as anyone could remember.  His father had had a decent reputation.  Warden’s place would ordinarily have been in about the eighty-second percentile, weighted average.  But he had been indiscreet while younger in asserting primacy because of his supposititious relation to Richard Couer de Lion.  He had been entirely too vocal about it, hence he had called ridicule down on himself.  Had his competence been equal to his claims he might have overridden the scorn, but Jack Warden’s talents were sadly lacking in conspicuity.

     People now took a certain delight in baiting him.  He had found his way to Big Ben’s list; Webster got a good laugh tormenting him.  Thus all Warden’s coal deliveries were made troublesome for him.  Big Ben always humiliated him in some way.

     In those days when coal was the universal fuel, Big Ben with his monopoly called all the shots.  At that time the coalyards were full from August to February.  They were allowed to deplete during the late winter, spring and early summer.  The rail cars started arriving in late July to begin another season.  Ben extended a discount to those who bought in August.  Jack Warden prided himself on his farsightedness and economy.  He had a standing order of August 1.  Somehow Big Ben always forgot to give him his discount; Warden’s delivery invariably was billed at full price.

 page 318.

     Nor would Ben refund his money or give him a credit easily.  Warden had to work for a couple months to get an acknowledgment.  Even then Ben wouldn’t give him a refund, only a credit.  ‘You’re going to buy another ton later in the year aren’t you Warden?’  So the game was played out every year.  Ben tickled himself at Warden’s torment; Warden simple enough to believe that he had triumphed yet again.

     Ben caused Warden no end of irritation.  Other little problems twitched at the back of Jack’s mind.  Jack’s mind was always anxious and sullen on coal delivery days.  He believed that Ben shortweighted him.  Ben did.  Ben couldn’t help himself, he was just that way.  With everybody.  The coal industry was founded on shortweighting.  Miners at the minehead had to deliver twenty-six hundred pounds of coal to be paid for mining a ton.  While the coal was in transit hoboes in the jungles stole coals from the cars for their fires.  Ben himself was shorted a hundred pounds to the ton.  A wise man he said nothing and incorporated the shortage in his pricing.

      You didn’t take advantage of Ben; if some wiseguy tried to nick him for more than the customary he would say something, but his reputation in the industry as a tough customer and a right guy protected him.  Not only did Ben have the walk, the talk and the right gestures, he knew what a tight rope act was;  he walked the wire and never fell off.

page 319.

     Ben never gave full weight except to some few families who could punish him in return.  Jack Warden couldn’t punish Ben; Warden was always shorted a hundred weight by Ben.

     The delivery men took another fifty to one hundred pounds.  One of the advantages of working for Ben was that you got your coal free.  Ben didn’t give it to them but they got it free anyway.  Except since the introduction of the unions Ben had hired immigrants to whom he paid as little as possible.  Ben thought of himself as clever, or perhaps a better word might be knowing.

     He had always hired men of as many different nationalities as possible.  They couldn’t talk to him but they couldn’t talk to each other either.  He hired Anglo-Americans to indicate an amount more or less.  The Anglos also communicated with his customers.  The system had begun to break down with the cessation of immigration.  The unions had brought it to an end but the system lived on in Ben’s mind.

     The system was also remembered by his employees who maintained a lingering resentment.  Since the Wars they had taken to sabotaging the company in earnest.  They also resented their situation in relation to Ben as well as their situation relative to the prosperous people they served.  In dealing with Ben and his employees coal deliveries could be traumatic.  They usually were.

     Thus short deliveries were the norm.  Warden knew he was being shortweighted; everyone knew they were being shortweighted.  They had no scales to prove it.  And as Big Ben Webster combatively put it:  ‘What are they going to do about it?  Go without coal?’  That had, indeed, been the alternative.

page 319.

     For me the coal delivery was great excitement; it was fun.  I was out front waiting for the truck to arrive.  It was a clear hot August day with the humidity in the nineties.  The air was still; the trees stood like statues; there was no movement or mumur of the leaves.  Geli’s bank of flower’s wound around the porch to the edge of the house at which was located the coal chute.

     The Warden’s coal room was against the front foundation of the house.  There were no windows in it in order to prevent the theft of coals by less provident neighbors.

     I saw the truck rumbling up the street.  The cabin sat high above the road on huge rubber tires.  The bed of the dump truck was awe inspiring to my young inexperienced eyes.  The truck carried four tons, metal dividers separated the tons into compartments.  Ours was the first delivery so the truck was fully loaded.

     The driver was as skillful as he wanted to be.  If he liked you he did his job as neatly as he could; if he didn’t he did you as much spite as possible.  It was possible to do a great deal of spite.  The gleam of spite was prominent in the driver’s eye as his assistant watching the addresses pointed out the house on the corner.

     The mighty vehicle ground to a stop across the intersection while the driver studied the layout.  It would have been a simple matter to have turned the corner and backed into the driveway.  The driver laughed as he eased the truck around the corner and began backing up.  He didn’t try for the driveway.  Backing abreast of the coal chute he brought the black leviathan over the curb across the little stretch of grass between the curb and the sidewalk leaving deep ruts in Warden’s lawn while cracking the sidewalk.  With the engine still running, belching scorching clouds of vapor into the hot August air, he and his helper said:  “Damn.  Sorry about that.’  The driver grinned at Geli Warden.  His helper released the bed and directed the driver back a few more feet over the driveway and signaled the driver to raise the bed.  All of a sudden Geli realized the drift, raising her hands before her she shouted in a panic:  ‘No. No.  Wait. Wait.’

page 320.

     The waiting was over, the coal slid out the back into her flower bed against the porch.  The driver hadn’t even tried for the chute.  They hadn’t even dumped the coal in the driveway against the chute.  they had destroyed her flower bed.  The assistant looked at her with a wry smile and repeated:  ‘Oh, damn.’  The driver shoved a pencil and delivery receipt at her as he arched spit into the heap.  ‘Sigh here.’  He said with a suppressed chuckle.  Geli signed numbly, hardly aware of what she was doing.

     The driver leaped into the cab and lowered the bed.  The helper secured the bed and gave a taunting look at Mrs. Warden as he secured the back gate.  the truck bounced over the curb widening the ruts in the lawn.  Even over the roar of the engine, the clank of the body, I couold hear the two laughing uproariously.  I never have liked slapstick.

page 321.

     Geli Warden very nearly had tears in her eyes as she surveyed the damage to her flowers.  I stood looking alternately at the flowers and the departing truck.  I thought it was pretty chicken of those guys to do that to a woman.  It would have shown something, but not  much, to do that to Jack Warden while his two sons were standing around, but Geli Warden had no defense against two sinister looking swarthy men.  Not that being swarthy was bad but Geli Warden had found swarthy men more fearsom than fair ones.  Besides, modern sensitivity to the word ‘swarthy’ was not yet so prominent.  If the actual truth were known, yes, it’s true, Geli Warden was prejudiced against Greeks and Italians.  Not that she was spiteful to them, or to anyone, but their culture was different from hers.  To be different was to be inferior, or at least to be beneath consideration.  The Greeks and Italians thought the same of her.  After all, they had dumped the coal on her flowers to do her spite.  They had proven to her that she was right; they weren’t decent men.

     She was beside herself in grief at the loss of the her flowers.  When Jack Warden came home he was beside himself with rage.  Not only had Webster’s people destroyed his flowers and left him with the daunting task of shoveling a ton, or rather, eighteen hundred pounds, of coal down his coal chute but Webster had sold him nothing but dust and crushed bits left at the bottom of the bins when the big chunks had been shoveled out.  Big Ben had done him again.  Ah, life’s little pleasures and frustrations.

page 322.

     His mind was a turmoil of chagrin and loathing as he and Skippy and Cappy shoveled the coal dust down the chute.  He stormed and fumed seaching for an alternative to get out from under the dominination of the Big Fella.  He could have gone to oil but oil was smelly and dirty.  But as he stood up in the heat and terrific humidity and wiped a black stripe across the sweat of his brow he looked down Froide and saw the casings of the gas line snaking up the street toward him.  He stared while a glimmer of recognition of deliverance flickered across the top of his brain like an itch.

     It wouldn’t be long before he could connect up.  By God, he decided he didn’t care what the cost was or if he had to borrow money to do it, he was going to connect up.  So was everyone else.  Apart from ridding themselves of dependence on Big Ben Webster there were solid advantages.

     With coal the fire had to be banked at night so it wouldn’t burn out.  Then in the morning in what were often sub-zero temperatures it had to be stoked up.  It might be an hour before the house warmed up; then it was either too hot or not warm enough.  Every couple of hours you had to go down and shovel more coal on the fire.  Then, once again it was too hot until the coals burned down some.  The temperature couldn’t be controlled.  With gas the thermostat kept the temperature even.  When you got up in the morning you simply moved the lever to the desired temperature.  The house was warm immediately.  The delivery was metered.  Big Ben and his offensive drivers were a memory.

      Warden thought of this but as he shoveled another thought obtruded into his image of resentment and hope.  He might not have to endure this particular humiliation at the hands of Ben.  He looked down the street at the casements laying on the ground.  He set the shovel before him and leaned on the handle looking down the street as though into the future.  This was only August, cold weather wouldn’t set in until November.  August, September, October.  They might very well have gas to him by fall.  If not, if necessary, what with this delivery and his reserves he could probably  make do over one winter without Big Ben.  He decided to challenge the Big Fella, to clear his gut of anxiety and resentment, to give ease to his heart.

     He called Ben up on the phone.  Complained to him about the quality of the delivery.  He explained that he didn’t want to pay full price for inferior coal, Ben had a reputation to keep up.  Ben stifled a laugh, said there wasn’t anything he could do for Warden, take it or leave it.  Ben was astonished by Warden’s answer.  Warden said to come and get the stuff.  the enormity of his gas problem began to sink into Ben.  The Big Guy knew he was wrong in charging full price for the dust.  He knew a third party would judge against him if it came to that.  He did the gracious thing.  He offered to eat his profit.  Jack Warden thought that meant a fifty percent reduction to which he assented.  Ben then explained to him that no, that meant ten percent, his net profit, after taxes of course.

     Warden was flabbergasted.  He said nonsense.  Come and pick up your coal.  Ben didn’t want to pick up that dust so he consented to fifty percent.  That was no longer good enough for the Duke.  He said he wouldn’t even keep it at twenty-five percent of the billing.  Ben blinked and said alright he could have it at twenty-five percent.  Jack Warden accepted with alacrity.  He had won.  The first round.  He sent Skippy to Ben’s office the next day with payment to seal the bargain.

page 324.

     I learned from that confrontation that manhood had nothing to do with innate qualities, it had to do with who had who by the short hairs.  When Ben had had the upper hand he treated Warden with contempt, but now that Warden had the leverage Ben had done as he was bidden.  The Duke was very happy with himself.  After many years of humiliation he’d gotten Webster.  If necessary, with his reserve and his fresh delivery he could economise his way through th winter while switching to gas late in late winter or early spring.  He’d foxed the fox.

     But the fox was not so complacent.  He wouldn’t have minded giving up fifty percent which still left him a slight margin but he considered that Warden had stolen the other twenty-five percent from him.  He wanted it back.  He had a dirty deed he wanted done dirt cheap.

     Anyone who can strikes but conceals his hand.  Whenever possible commit the crime but direct other peoples’ attention to the innocent party.  Ben had done this many times before.  He didn’t need a plan or a blueprint.  He called ‘Whoa Tom’, the fellow who had officered the incident in the barber shop and at the fence of the Home and explained his needs.  Whoa Tom understood and undertook the deed.

     A few days later Warden walked out of the plant at closing time carrying his brown paper paper lunch bag under his arm.  As he approached his car he noticed a bash in his front door.  He raised his hands to his hips in consternation as his brown bag fell to the cement.  ‘What the hell?’  He ejaculated.

page 325.

     A couple of Whoa Tom’s thug’s were standing by to get Warden’s reaction and relay it to Ben who was too busy to park unobtrusively in the vicinity to get it himself.

     ‘O, hey, fella, that’s too bad.  We seen it happen.  Feller, George Hocher, swinged open his door and banged it up.  Just got in his car and drove away like nothing happened.  Didn’t leave a note on your windshield nor nothing.’

     ‘Hocher, huh?’  Warden said casting them a contemptuous disbelieving look.

     ‘Yeh, Hocher.  We seen him do it, didn’t we Jack?’  He said to his companion  ‘Not more’n half an hour ago.’

     Jack Warden didn’t believe it.  Hocher worked in accounting with him.  Hocker was a precise, maybe even precious, individual.  Hocher didn’t bang up other people’s things, accidentally or on purpose.  Warden would check Hocher’s car on the morrow and his door wouldn’t show any damage.

     Warden knew that Ben did it.  He knew Ben was trying to pass the buck to Hocher.  Jack didn’t  know why Ben was after Hocher but he knew Ben was trying to use him as a dupe or foil to take out vengeance for himself in Jack’s own name.  Ben could then sit back and chuckle as the two fought it out.

     Ben had underestimated Warden’s perspicacity.  Jack knew his Arthur backwards and forewards.  Ben could only intuitively act out his.  Warden had read it eight times.  One might almost say that the was always in the process of reading it.  He knew all the little deceptions; the rings that changed colors, carrying someone elses shield to disguise oneself, someone giving you a ‘better’ shield before a joust so one would be mistaken for someone else.  Jack was armed and guarded.

page 327.

     He knew Ben would strike back; he just didn’t know where or when the blow would fall.  So this was it; Ben would damage something of his so that the expense would be as great or greater than the cost of the coal.  Warden didn’t know what to do next.  He was cut off from retaliating against Ben because, if found out, he would appear to be the aggressor.  Ben hadn’t atually done anything to him that anyone else could see.

     He did talk with a certain amount of bitterness about it that night at dinner.  We all listened with sympathy but Skippy gave a little nod of the head as he listened and ate that left me with the impression that Skippy would mete out justice for the Duke.

     Skippy was almost sixteen.  He was what is euphemistically styled ‘high spirited.’  In other words he walked a line between immorality and criminality.  Like the knights of Arthur’s court if he needed  a horse he didn’t mind knocking the unwary off theirs and appropriating it.  ‘Methinks I need thy horse, Sir Knight.’ was explanation enough for Skip.

     Among his friends were a couple of tough late seventeen year olds.  They used to come over and spend evenings discussing desperadoes and famous criminals.  Skip and these guys weren’t exact scholars but they knew all the names and most of the legends, even if they didn’t always get them right.

page 327.

     These guys would come over, Skip would shut the upstairs door with his Do Not Disturb sign on it as a warning to his mother and father and these guys would get into it.  Cap and I sat respectfully listening as we were too young and dumb to participate.  The only things I knew came from the G-Men, T-Men, Revenuer, This Is The FBI comic books that Cappy and Skippy had by the hundreds.  The period was the golden age of comics.  At ten cents each both kids spent at least a dollar a month.  Just like the library at the Home, I had acess to all the comics.  Plastic Man, Captain Marvel, the Heap, Green Lantern and Green Hornet, the Blackhawks, the Daredevil, Skippy and Cappy bought them all.  Tales From The Crypt.

     Skip and these guys read books and magazines too.  TV didn’t hurt the movies at all but it wiped out publishing.  Hundreds of magazines became obsolete.  The entire pulp genre disappeared.  All the Western story magazines that Skippy had by the dozens.  Skip had all the men’s magazines before men’s magazines became synonymous with porn and pictures of nudes.  These magazines were endlessly telling of the adventures of Johnny Ringo, Singular Smith, Bonney, the Youngers, the Daltons, Frank and Jesse James, Butch and the Kid through Bonnie and Clyde, Pretty Boy Floyd, Dillinger.  Skip and his friends could talk all the Western Badmen.  Tales of the Texas Rangers, Riders Of The Purple Sage.

     Their interests also ran to the immigrant Jewish and Italian gangs of the East from New York to Chicago including one in Minneapolis.  They could discuss, with a very knowing manner Monk Eastman, Dopey Bennie Fein, Arnold Rothstein, Lepke and Gurrah, some guy named Johnny Torrio, Lucky Luciano.  They even knew Luciano’s real name.  His first name was Chuck.  I forget his real last name.  They knew tales of the Purple Gang in Detroit, the Mayfield Road Gang in Cleveland.  Of course they could go on for hours about Capone.  See, the imprtant thing there was that the Jewish gangs were important in all the Big Cities except Chicago.  In Chicago it was the Irish and Italians.  When Capone knocked off Dion O’Bannion that was the end of the Irish.  But the Jews could never get a foothold in Chicago.  Skip and these guys could speculate on that for hours.

page 328.

     They even went so far as to study the methods of Brooklyn, Inc. and Murder, Inc.  Murder Incorporated was a hot topic at the time.  Even the perverts around the Oprphanage used to talk about Lepke Buchalter and Gurrah.  So Skippy and these guys already had the theoretical knowledge about casing the scene, plotting the hit and escaping.  To this point they had only talked about these things but now Skip said:  ‘We got to help the Duke.’  The other guys were ready.  One look at Skip’s model airplanes would show you that he was a very meticulous guy who paid attention to detail.

     He even made a model of the streets around Ben’s coalyard so that every step would be imprinted in their minds.   Then, just like Murder, Inc.  they drove over the route several times.  Skip thought they were ready.

page 329.

     About two-thirty that night they went and hot wired a car they had picked out in a driveway.  They drove it into an alley to take off the license plate, then cruised on over to the coalyard.  There was a night watchman to look after Ben’s coal.  First they came up behind the yard to drop off a guy who was to make noises like he was stealing coal to get the watchman to run down to the backend of the yard.  Then they drove slowly round to the front.  When they saw the watchman run for the back of the lot they pulled abreast of the gate and Ben’s office shack.  One got out of the back seat to throw red paint, Skip had the idea that red stood for Stern Justice, all over Ben’s whitewashed gate.  As he finished Skippy got out of the passenger’s seat and leveled a twelve gauge across the roof emptying both barrels through the windows of Ben’s shack.

     The watchman caught flatfooted heard the shots but was in no hurry to get back to the front until he saw the dark blob of the car turn the corner.  Skip and his confederates were cool.  They didn’t peel out bur drove off slowly and majestically.  They pulled into another alley put the plate back on and left the car in nearly the exact position as they found it.  Skip considered it a good night’s work well done.  He thought Brooklyn, Inc. would have given him a pat on the back.

     The guy whose car they borrowed had no idea that it had been used.  He couldn’t explain the ashtray full of cigarette butts that weren’t his brand so he accused his wife of infidelity.  That one ended up in a divorce.  Well, life is like that sometimes, isn’t it?  If you can’t take the heat stay out of the kitchen.

page 330.

     At breakfast that morning Skip gave a smile to the Duke:  ‘Hey, Dad, did you read in the paper where Webster’s coalyard got shot up last night?’  The Duke looked through the paper but couldn’t find it.  Indeed, the paper had been put to bed before Skip shot up Ben’s shack.  ‘Well, maybe I heard it on the radio.’  Skip said with a mischievous twinkle.  ‘That radio hasn’t been on this morning.’  Geli retorted.  The Duke gave Skip, who was quietly shaking with laughter, a sharp understanding look.

     A slight look of alarm passed over his face.  He said quietly:  ‘The night has a thousand eyes, Skipper.’

     ‘Yeah, but the shadows are dark and deep.  It takes sharp eyes to separate black from black.’  Skip snickered in self-appreciation.

     Jack nodded an approving look and went back to reading the Free Press.

     The shadows may indeed have been dark and deep.  The hour had been in fact late but the night is argus eyed.  They had been seen and identified but no one wanted to help Ben.

     Ben stood surveying the damage without a clue as to which of his enemies might have done it.  It never occurred to him to suspect Jack Warden.  Ben thought his hand so well concealed in the damage to Warden’s car that Warden had no suspicions.  Ben had no idea how transparent his deception had been.   Thus the matter was closed in the minds of both parties.

     It had cost Ben as much or more as though he had forgotten the discount he had had to give Warden.  Still Ben could afford the extra cost much more than the Duke could so that in the exchange Big Ben would have to be accorded the winner.

pp. 331-32.

7.

       I had watched the contest between Ben and the Wardens with interest because, as improbable as it may seem, I actually knew Big Ben Webster.  Oh, we never shared a baloney sandwich or anything like that but still I knew him other than as one who has seen him from afar or as one knows a movie star seen on the silver screen.  We had had an encounter.

     We met at the very coalyard, down by the river, that Skippy and his friends shot up.  Ben had his main yard plus several subsidiary yards distributed throughout the city.  The main yard wasn’t probably as big as I remember it, yet it was an impressive affair.  Ben had imbibed industrial cleanliness from Henry Ford.  As Ford’s plants were spic and span, so incredibly was Ben’s coalyard.  A white slat fence enclosed the yard; Ben kept it freshly whitewashed at all times.  His little office shack was spotlessly white.  The North side along which the rail spur ran, Ben’s own rail spur, the length was divided into several bins, much like the bins that lined the wall at Longfellow.  Ben had guys out washing the slats after every delivery and on the inside every day after the last truck had been loaded.  The yard was swept everyday so that no coals or dust littered the yard.  On the South side was a huge hopper that scintillated in the sun.  I couldn’t ever get to that side so I don’t know the purpose of the hopper.  The yard was Ben’s little kingdom.  It done him proud.

page 333.

     Delivery time was magic.  A little four wheel switch engine huffed and puffed and chugged the gondolas back down the spur.  The couplings clanked, the wheels ground and slid to a stop while the men shouted and clambered onto the coal to begin shoveling it down chutes into the bins.  The noise, the bustle, the motion was magnificent.  There was romance there enough to warm any boy’s heart.  The hissing and blowing of the locomotive was the epitome of power; the activity of men and machines was the acme of activity.  I loved it.

     Big Ben stood outside the door of his shack surveying his kingdom with a soft glow of satisfaction  adorning his face.  The Big Fella was only five-six but he filled out his entire form.  He was passing through his fifties into old age as the world wheeled through the nineteen forties.  Five-six with a barrel chest that slipped into a big round stomach without a break.  The fringe of hair on his balding head pointed up like Dagwood’s.  Ben had a resonant baritone that didn’t require electrical amplification to be heard.  Even with the steam engine roaring, the coal cars clanking, trucks coming and going, a dozen hands shoveling coal and the hopper discharging a load into a truck, Ben could be clearly heard anywhere in the yard from his ofice in the right front corner.  He was a spectacle for eye and ear.

page 334.

     I can still hear Ben in that situation bellow at a loader he thought was slacking, or perhaps he did it just for practice:  ‘Come on Sherman, get the lead out.’

     Ben had a primitive quality of hyper-genetic masculinity.  He was not educated beyond high school and had no, nor had he ever had, any intellectual interests.  He despised the notion as so much ‘bushwa.’  I never really knew what ‘bushwa’ was but I imagine that it was derived from the word Bourgeois, which Ben and his ilk had never seen in print, or if they had they didn’t recognize it so their ear picked up the French pronunciation as bushwa and as they had no meaning for it they gave it one of their own as they picked up the deprecatory tone of the word.  As they used the word it had a derogatory feel that Ben and his ilk feeling put into the phrase:  ‘That’ so much bushwa.’

     Ben inhabited a sphere where sane and insane were not specifically distinguishable.  He lived in a world of pure masculine rage.  Everything was a force sent against him to be destroyed.  There was no love or hate involved, just a triple distilled primoridal need for possession, dominion or destruction.  Like some ancient proto-human at the dawn of civilization in whom the intellect was already clear, old and sated, while the emotions were like a young wine straining to burst the bottle, was the way Ben dealt with the problems of life.  The changing pulse of American civilization had subdued the expression of his passion since 1910, when to speak curtly to him was to have the hurricane of his wrath descend on your head.

page 335.

     I had come to his attention one day as I stood watching his operation with mouth agape.  I had wandered over to that section of town to escape the Home.  Chunks of coal lay outside Ben’s realm.  The truck drivers jolted out of the yard as hard and fast as they could.  The bounce over the sidewalk often dislodged chunks of coal from those piled high on the beds, that clattered unto the sidewalk and into the street.  The slats of the fence were wide enough apart for chunks to fall through; also inevitably chunks fell off the gondolas or chutes.  The people of the neighborhood thought these their rightful plunder, they thought that once the chunks were outside the coalyard they were public property.  Ben, of course, was of a differing view.  Thus adults didn’t dare face Ben’s wrath.  They sent their little children.

     The more improvident bought their coal by the bucket rather than the ton.  Ben really appreciated these people because he could really sock them.  They paid three times the going rate for a ton.  When these kids walked up to the yard it was impossible to tell whether they were going to buy or pick up stray chunks.  When they came in groups of three their intent was a giveaway, but still you couldn’t tell.  Just to confuse the Big Feller they would sometimes buy.  Most often they scooped up whatever chunks there were then ran off as Big Ben came bellowing up to the gate.  Wow, what a voice.

page 336.

     I was leaning on the fence by the gate with my arms through the slats watching the activity in the yard.  Ben was in his pose, the barrel of chest and stomach out, hands in pockets, legs spread wide when he broke pose and made a dash for the gate bellowing at a couple kids behind me.  I looked back with a certain amount of interest; I wasn’t involved so I remained leaning unperturbed.  The baby bull chased those two little runts away.

     Ben must have been impressed because I hadn’t budged.  But in the Orphanage days I believed that I had acquired certain rights when they placed us outside the law.  I believed we had our own set of rules that they had to honor.  I don’t know whether they accepted my view or not but as I had no parents to complain to I was generally left alone and ignored.

     Ben sucked in a lungful of air and bellowed at me, and I mean bellowed; swear to God the sound roared past me in particles you could see and didn’t focus into intelligible words until several yards behind me.  ‘Well, what are you doin’ standing there?’

     My rights, which were clearly defined in my mind, were being violated.  I yelled back, if it may be called yelling in comparison:  ‘You can’t tell me what to do.  I’m from the Children’s Home.’

     My answer stunned him into silence.  Perhaps the logic escaped him; nevertheless he calmed down and just said:  ‘You can’t be takin’ them coals there, they’re mine and I don’t want no argument.’

     ‘I don’t need your stupid coals.’  I said.  ‘We’ve got tons of them.’

     He looked at me quietly, not at my clothes and shoes, but at me, my eyes, then he snorted and walked away blowing a fart at me as he turned.  We noticed each other after that whenever I hung around the coalyard although we never spoke again.

     Thus when Jack Warden cursed Ben, I knew who and what he was talking about.

pp.  337-338

     8.

      At the time of the fight with Warden Big Ben’s troubles were beginning to take definite form.  The relentless extension of the gas lines eroded Ben’s situation on a daily basis.  After his family having been in the coal business for more than sixty years as the Valley grew and the business expanded, Ben was about to lose his place.

     Ben had come to maturity in 1910.  He had been born of New England Puritan stock through both grandparents.  It was primarily for that reason that Solomon Hirsh so readily acceded to David’s choice of Beverly.

     Ben’s grandfather had moved West just in time to take advantage of the Valley lumber boom.  The area had previously been covered with white pine and swamps.  There was a story that some folks told that I classed with the legendary snowstorms, but it was alleged that in the days when the Indians ruled the country from their birch bark canoes that it was possible during the spring floods to paddle your canoe from the arctic ocean over the Northwest, down the Ohio on to the Mississippi and into the Gulf of Mexico.  Of course you had to cross the straits of Mackinac somewhere.

page 339.

     This was a very prevalent legend; the perverts along the fence of the Children’s Home debated it.  I objected that the Indians would have to get out of their canoes somewhere to make a portage.  I was told I was ingnorant of how slight a draught birch bark canoes drew; apparently they could be successfully paddled over wet grass.  The notion was always improbable to me but, who knows, if the Indians had been told in 1800 that the Cuyahoga River would one day spontaneously burst into flames they would have laughed themselves silly; yet one day the Cuyahoga river did spontaneously burst into flames.  I don’t know how you put a river out though.

     When I was a child the canoe trip could no longer have been possible as the swamps had all been filled in; the River never overflowed its banks in the Valley.

     A further legend I found it hard to credit was that the swamps had been filled in with the sawdust from the mills cutting the white pine.  Whenever a chuckhole mysteriously appeared in the street some one would say that the sawdust underlying the dirt was rotting away.  I pointed out that the houses never sank but I was waved away.

     Nevertheless all the stands of white pine were cut and the swamps were filled in.  There was no longer a lumber business in the Valley.  Nothing daunted, Ben’s grandfather and father turned from lumber to coal.  Ben’s grandfather and father started the coal business; Ben and his father consolidated it; Ben now was to find that he would have nothing to pass on to his son.

page 340.

     The economics of the coal business required a large base.  Ben and his father had driven the other colliers out of business to establish their monopoly.  Nor did they do so merely by being more competitive or minding their own business; they resorted to what is called ‘low cunning’ and dirty tricks.  They had been aided by the Great Depression of the thirties which finished off their last competitor.

     Ben had had the best of lives as a child and young man.  The American Ben had grown up in had been an Anglo-Saxon America.  The immigrants had been fodder for the mills and factories; human cattle to be used and discarded when broken and worn out.  Ben had been raised to view them as human scum.  Well, that’s not quite right.  They just didn’t have enough human qualities to be part of humanity; they talked funny, dressed funny and would work for next to nothing.

     Ben considered himself a member of the quality.  The quality may be viewed as a sort of Arthurian knighthood.  When the Cavaliers of Virginia, who were second sons of the English nobility, arrived here they found it difficult to give up the ideas that they were inherently better than the rest of humanity.  So they devised the notion of the quality and the equality.  The quality represented all the virtues of humanity while the equality represented the vices.  Thus as soon as an American made a little money he considered himself the equivalent of an English duke.  If he made a lot of money his daughter might actually marry an English duke.  Thus, in a sense, knighthood has always been in flower in the United States.

page 341.

     Ben, ignorant as he was, thus considered himself a prince among men.  He despised not only the immigrants but Americans who were common laborers.  He accorded a grudging respect to college professors, lawyers and doctors, and skilled persons and skilled laborers in general but only if they acknowledged his superior manhood.  Manhood was no joke to Ben.

     The years from 1910 to 1915 were the halcyon years of Ben’s life.  He had been the cock of the walk.  No one or no thing stood in his way.  The yards made money, the immigrants worked cheap, Ben’s superiority was manifest.  The Great War was troubling.  Political events took a sour turn when the war ended.  The glorious prosperity of the New Era ushered in by the twenties obscured Ben’s increasing malaise.

     Ben plunged into the great stock market rise of the twenties.  In the delirium of that great bull market Ben realized the Capitalist’s dream.  The rise proved what American businessmen have always said:  All Americans could be millionaires.  There was no reason to upset the apple cart with all that union crap they would just spoil things; invest in the market and be rich like them.  Their genius was providing wealth for all.  Up to a point.

     It wasn’t a bad dream, but it was a dream.  In October of  ’29 Ben was looking at a mountain of debt and a molehill of assets.  He didn’t lose his nerve, somehow he got credit arranged to allow him to keep his firm assets.  The thirties conspired with him to remove his final competitor.  Ben had what he had always sought, a monopoly.

page 342.

     Ben didn’t accumulate money during the thirties.  His debt load and the growing expense of maintaining and educating his maturing family prevented his saving much.  It was only in 1946 that his losses from 1929 had been liquidated.

     The years after ’29 had presented small opportunity for accumulating riches.  Property values were stable, interest rates were low and few were willing to trust the stock market again.  As the imminent loss of his business approached now Ben had money in the bank but not as much as everyone thought he had.  Ben viewed the future with trepidation.  Money was not the worst of his problems; he really feared the loss of his status.  Dread of the future was beginning to give him anxiety attacks.  He had chest pains; it was his mind, Lord, not his heart.  He was foolish enough to talk about it to family and associates.

     Ben’s persnoal affairs were cause enough for anxiety; adding to his woes was the apparent danger to his country.  Ben had never been fully aware of it but his lifetime had been one of fantastic evolution in politics.  The immigrants he so despised had unobtrusively been pulling the ground out from under his feet.  The addition of all those millions had been altering the demographic complexion of his dream.  He and his kind were about to realize the toppling of that dream.

page 343.

     Ben didn’t recognize the fallacy of the Old Guard’s immigration policy until that watershed year of 1920.  One shortsight of the Old Guard was that American was a land of unlimited physical resources; like a boy with a quarter in a penny candy shop they saw no limit to fulfilling their desires to the end of time.  They raped and plundered the continent; waste was endemic.  In 1920 Henry Ford stood the lone industrial sentinel proclaiming conservation of resources.  His fellows proclaimed him eccentric.

     Because the Old Guard saw the land as one of unlimited riches they thought it could support an unlimited population.  Because they wanted an unlimited amount of lucre they encouraged immigration to provide more hands to rip it out of the earth that much faster.  Modern lighting enabled them to get at it twenty-four hours a day.

     They foresaw no social problems because, as they saw it, as soon as an immigrant set foot on American soil he became a ‘new’ man.  An American with American mores who had miraculously shed his national antecedents.  As the social evils piled up some few voices were raised calling for a reappraisal of immigration policy.  Some efforts were made to limit immigration but the Old Guard only came face to fact with the problem with America’s entry into the Great War.  It was at that time the issue of hyphenated Americans became a problem.

     The Old Guard assumed that the East and South European peoples had imbibed Old Guard attitudes and prejudices, wasn’t that what ‘new’ man meant?  The Old Guard was pro English and French in its Great War attitude.  Their notion of solidarity with the immigrants was shattered when they found strong sentiment in favor of the Central Powers among them.  The Irish, German-Americans and the Austro-Americans tended to side with the Central Powers.  The Jews were reluctuant to cooperate with the Allies because of the inclusion of Czarist Russia in the alliance.  Suddenly America seemed to the Old Guard as little more than an international boarding house.  The loyalty of the immigrants was no longer assumed.  The immigrants hadn’t become ‘new’ men at all.  They were the same as they had ever been, only richer by America.  The Old Guard thought their generosity had been betrayed; actually it was only that they had a faulty belief system; they hadn’t thought things out properly.

page 334.

     A crash Americanization program was begun.  The Old Guard frantically tried to instill their beliefs into the immigrants.  Once again Henry Ford had preceded them; he had been patiently trying to educate immigrants to American mores for several years.  Once again he had been ridiculed for his foresight.

     Just as the Old Guard was in the midst of its Americanization program the fatal blow struck; the Red Revolution was successful in Russia.  The efforts of the previous seventy years were bearing fruit.  the French Revolution, then the European Revolution had become the World Revolution.  The Reds said they would not stop at Russia but would revolutionize the world in their own brutal image.  They were serious about it too.  This was no joke.

page 335.

     Needless to say Ben became, or had always been what was known as a 100% American.  The reaction was worldwide.  In opposition to the Red Revolution 100% Europeans were known as Fascists.  the Western world was divided along the lines of us and them.  Modern Times had arrived with a vengeance.  Ben had never taken the time to investigate the Reds although like the rest of the Old Guard he knew they were dangerous and opposed to everything he believed in.  The Reds first gained a foothold in America through the immigrants who left Europe in the wake of the predecessor of the Russian Revolutions, the abortive revolutionary attempt made in 1848.  Anarchists and Socialists had flooded into the United States.  By the time Ben was old enough to notice things, anarchism had ceased to be a political force although the tradition lived on in other movements.  To the Old Guard the anarchists wielding bomb and pistol had been the spearhead of the movements.  The great events; the Chicago Fire, the Haymarket Riot, the Homestead Steel strike were recent history for Ben.  These events lived on at the dinner table and the country club.

     Ben chose sides and chose the right side, the Old Guard side.  It had never been proven that the anarchists had started the Great Chicago fire but Ben took from his elders that it could hardly have been coincidence that the fire just happened to start and rage while a fierce North wind drove the flames furiously East and South over the entire city.  Maybe so, I’m sure I don’t know, but Ben thought he did and so did everyone he knew.  It was an unrelated but undeniable fact that an anarchist had shot President McKinley.  Somehow one proved the other for Ben and his people.

page 346.

     Not only that, but the Reds were always agitating for labor unions.  Plus during their parades behind Red flags, just the American flag wasn’t good enough for them, they wore little American flag pins upside down in their lapels.  Plus…well, there were a lot of plusses.  Ben had his reasons, some good, some not so good, but all supporting the right side.  Overall Ben was right in the direction of his political beliefs.  He loved his country; he wanted it to survive.

     By 1920 History had shifted from nineteenth century mores to twentieth century mores.  The lines were drawn.  Capitalism or Communism.  Ben hadn’t been clear in his thinking before but now the waters rose way over his head.  Ben would never have the least idea what was happening for the rest of his life.

     With the Russian Revolution all societies were organized along collective lines.  The liberal indivualism of the nineteenth century was replaced with collective political units.  The world was polarized along the Biblical ideal of us and them.  On the one the side were the Semitists and Communists; on the other were the Fascist and National groups.  In America it was the Semitists and Communists against the Old Guard Americanists.  The Semitists used the Communists as a front while they managed to class all dissenters as Fascists.  Properly speaking there were no American Fascists.  The Old Guard had no idea how the term applied to them.  Ben was certainly puzzled when his nationalist American views were labeled as Fascist.

page 347.

     In the twenties and thirties he, along with a lot of his fellows, had the sneaking suspicion that the Jews were behind it.  Henry Ford had bought a newspaper and openly proclaimed that the Jews, not all Jews, Ford divided the Jews into good Jews and International Jews, were behind it.  Indeed the Jews had invented Semitism, they were the original collective political body; a tight little group dedicated to bringing the light of their tribal deity to the world.  How could they deny it?  The Bible proclaimed it.  Communism, Fascism, Nazism were all modeled after the Biblical ideal.  Heck, the Semitists could only be influential in internationalist organizations like the Communists.  There was no place for Jews in competing National organizations like the Fascists, the Nazis or even for that matter the America First Committee.  The ideals of all the national groups fostered only benefits to their respective nations.  The Jews as a nation were outsiders in all other nations.

     The Bible proclaims it boldly:  No man can serve two masters.  The Semitists could not serve their God as well as a nation.  Their law, as they asserted, had been given to them by their God; how could they possibly subordinate their Law from their god to the law of the nations which was only formulated by men.  It wasn’t an unsolvable problem; one side or the other had to triumph.

     In the Arthurian cycle a knight is given a shield on which is portrayed a knight standing one foot on the head of King Arthur, the other on the head of Queen Quinivere.  Mallory explains that the symbol represents the dominion of the knight over both the King and Queen.

page 348.

     Before 1920 in the golden age of movie theatres, a magnificent theatre was built in NYC with beautiful decorations.  The ceiling was a magnificent replica of the night time sky, a magnificent deep blue spangled with stars.  Descending toward the stage from the apex, a large Mogen David sat in splendid isolation.  Beneath the Star of David lay a row of national flags of the world.  The theatre had been constructed by Jews.  Ben and his fellows had their own Mallory, Henry Ford, to explain to them what it meant but they didn’t seem to comprehend.  The symbolism was quite clear.  The blue sky of God covered all.  God had made the Semitists the custodians of His truth- the Law.  The nations of the world were beholden to the Semitists for the light of their tribal deity.  The nature of the struggle was clear for all who had eyes to see.  All the chit chat just took up time.

     During the surging prosperity of the twenties the problem seemed less important than making money.  Then too, the Old Guard had acted promptly and severely to suppress the Reds.  For a brief time the Communist Party had been outlawed.  But the Semitists and Communists had reacted savagely to discredit and suppress the 100% Americans, successfully castigating them a bigots.  Ben had at that time thought discretion the better prt of valor.  He still maintained his nationalist beliefs but tended his business while quietly viewing with alarm.  He didn’t understand what was happening anyway; why be too concerned.

     The Crash of  ’29 brought Ben’s fears to the surface again, especially as the Roosevelt presidency began.  All hell broke loose in Ben’s mind.  He couldn’t explain the system that was being destroyed or the system that was replacing it but the collectiveness of the Semitists began to displace the individualism that Ben cherished.  Roosevelt made the corporate State a reality in the United States.

page 349.

     The European reaction to collectivism had first surfaced with Fascism in Italy.  At the exact same time that the collective State of the Semitists arrived in American the collectivist State of the Nazis that was modeled after the Semitism of the Jews triumphed in Germany.  The world was polarized into two camps acting from the same philosophical point of view.  The war was on.

     The choice was between the ‘living’ water of the Semitists and and that water that would make ye thirst again of the rest of the world.  For the Semitists believed that their religious system was Truth and all else false.  Their prophet, Jesus of Nazareth had said:  ‘Ye know not what ye believe, but we do;  for salvation lies with the Jews.’  There could be no more succinct an expression of Semitist goals than that.  Salvation could only mean the triumph of the Star of David over the flags of the nations of the world.

     The Semitists did know what they believed; all their energies were directed to realizing their beliefs.  Those beliefs they believed were the absolute truth, sacred in the eyes of their god.  All other belief systems were false.  They must be destroyed.  For several years in the United States the Semitists had secularized the religious belief of blasphemy.  They had turned the notion of blasphemy around to the notion that one could defame, be legally responsible here in the New Secular Order, for criticizing a belief system.  They claimed it was an actual crime to decry Semitism in favor of another belief system.  Thus the notion of anti-Semitism was popularized as a criminal act.  The Semitists not only believed in the sacredness of their belief system but wished to pass laws against its ‘defamation’, thus establishing it as a State religion.  They thus wished to subvert the Constitution of the United States.

page 350.

 

I’m going to put up Vol. I of Far Gresham.  This is a novel of life in America that many people would deny.  I have been told by a few people that the story is a lie and could never happen in America.

The story is not a lie.  It is a fictionalized account of a true story.  In many ways it is horrifying but nevertheless it happened.

This Book is about 500 pages so that it will take a couple months to get up.  As usual I will post one day and proofread the copy the next.  Read along like an old newspaper serial if you like or come back at the end or drop in whenever you choose.  I think you’ll find it’s a good story.  This half takes place in the  1940s and the very early fifties.

Table Of Contents

Book I:  Deep Mud And Slick Tires

The Bridge

Book II:  Forty Miles Of Bad Road

Book III:  Warbaby Remembers/The Bible In America

Book IV:  Into The Mystic

 

Ah, Sinful nation,

folk whose guilt is heavy

oh, race of wrongdoers,

sons degenerate–

they have have abandoned the eternal.

———————

Your whole head is sick,

Your whole heart is diseased.

Isaiah 1: 4,5

 

Far Gresham

Book I:  Deep Mud And Slick Tires

May 1938-June 1946

1.

     I was born on May 26, 1938.  But like any other story mine has its antecedents long before the blessed event.  They involve the characters of my mother and father.  Their acts would have so much to do with what happened to me.  To a very large extent my life would be shaped not only by my character and deeds but as well by animosities created long before I was conceived.

     My mother’s family had come from Poland.  Her grandparents emigrated to the United States in the eighteen-nineties.  Landing at Castle Gardens they were conducted into the lower East Side, even to the fabled Hester Street.  They had found the East Side too congested, too inhospitable.  They longed more for the smell of the earth, the vista of more open skies.  Migrating West, they stopped at Pittsburgh for a couple years, but hearing of even greener pastures they turned the corner of Lake Erie and settled in the Valley of Michigan.  They were Jews.

     Their daughter, my grandmother, a hard bitter woman, abjured Judaism as soon as she was able to embrace Americanism.  She interpreted Americanism in the faith of her husband who was Pennsylvania Dutch, or as alternatively known, Rhineland German, whose family had found a place in the New Secular Order during the eighteenth century.  So you see I go way back.

     Thus, my mother, who was brought up Methodist, was shielded from my great-grandparents’ nationality by her mother.  My grandmother forbade her parents to even mention Judaism in front of her children.  You didn’t want to mess with that woman either.  She was hard.  My grandmother aspired for English husbands for her daughters.  She wanted in.

     The United States between the wars was still one of unassimilated or partially assimilated immigrants.  Contrary to the Melting Pot theory of immigration, large numbers of immigrants refused to be melted.  Many went to their graves speaking their native tongues.  Foreign accents were still very common when I was a boy.  National antecedents were still very important.  It would take the European and Pacific wars to smash down the big wrinkles of national rivalries. The wars didn’t do a very job at that.

     It was in this environment that the event occurred that would shape my history when it came my time to see the light of day.

     My mother lived out in the Thumb in a little town called Adrian for most of her youth.  As she entered high school her parents emigrated from the burg Adrian to the larger Valley.  No one should ever be compelled to change schools after the sixth grade. A person needs the security of having a place among classmates he knows and who know him.  There is nothing more difficult or dangerous to a person’s character than entering a new high school.

     My mother was a large robust woman who still had traces of the cow dung of the farm about her shoes.  The mildly sophisticated Valleyites smirked at her open frank manners as a hick from the sticks.  She was a good hearted naive innocent thing who wished well for everyone.  She could not comprehend why others should not be the same.  Her goodwill gradually became blunted when she realized, had it pressed home to her, that the others ridiculed her open frank, or hick, attitude.  Her cry of pain was such that only one who has had their kindness flung back in their faces can understand.  It’s something like the scream of the butterfly.

     You can imagine the attitude of the boys toward her.  Those knights without chargers, Prince Charmings sans titles, decided to break her down for easy seduction by refusing to date her.  Then when she was desperate from ostracization to move in for the easy kill.  My mother had been brought up by fervent rural preachers, she was a good Christian girl; she had a sense of her own worth.  Thus, rather than ripe for easy conquest, she was angered by the crude attentions thrust upon her by the sons of the Valley sophisticates.

     Her frustrations were increased by her mother’s insistence that she date only good English boys.  My mother had no trouble finding English boys but she couldn’t find a good one.

     Her freshman and junior years were thus spent rejecting the advances of some crude young fellows.  In her senior year, this tender maiden was asked out, perhaps politely commanded to go out would be a better description, with a boy named David Hirsh.  Her wounded heart was doubtful of David’s intentions, yet she was flattered.  David Hirsh was the son of one of the wealthiest families in the Valley.  As my mother’s family’s economic status didn’t register on a scale of one to ten, she really ought to have known better.  Rich boys ask poor girls out for one reason only.

     Still, as I said, my mother had arrived in the city with the naivte of a Christian country girl.  According to Christian doctrine if one has a pure heart one’s worthiness will eventually be recognized.  My mother considered herself worthy.  She thought perhaps her moment of recognition had come.  She was, in fact, more worthy than David Hirsh.

     David Hirsh’s family , as his name implies, was Jewish.  You’d have to ask my grandmother why she made this exception.  His family had emigrated during the German immigration of the 1840s to 1860s.  Hirsh’s ancestors actually came from Prague that ancient center of European Jewry.  His ancestors had actually lived against the wall of that famous cemetery in Prague where the saints of Judaism were buried.  The Hirshes were of ancient lineage.  David’s grandfather had arrived in the 1860s while the Civil War raged.  He stepped from Castle Gardens just as the flames of that great criminal uprising known as the Draft Riots were dying down.

     David’s ancestors were not without means.  His relatives in Europe had been well to do.  After mucking about in New York a bit trying to find a sense of direction, his grandfather found one and headed West into the Old Northwest.  Thus the eighties found David’s immediate ancestors in the Valley.  Baruch Hirsh, David’s grandfather, set up as a haberdasher.  Baruch’s son Solomon had a greater retail vision.  Baruch listened and was proud to have such a son.  the two developed Hershey’s Department Store.  Hershey’s was the marvel of Michigan retail North of Detroit, which was saying something.  But it has to be kept in perspective, there weren’t that many people North of Detroit at that time.

     David Hirsh was thus the heir apparent of the most successful store North of Detroit.  This was saying something unqualifiedly in both Valley terms  and the terms of the times of the Great Depression.  Hershey’s wasn’t doing as well as it mgiht have been in more affluent times but Solomon Hirsh had not been caught off base by the Crash of ’29 as many of his contemporaries had.  Solomon was not all that quick but neither was he that slow.  While others had plunged into the stock market heavily and stayed too long, he had been more moderate in his investing and more intelligent in realizing that nothing goes up forever.  He was patient and methodical.  He would be surprised but given time to analyze a situation he would always be able to perceive the general trend.  Now benefiting from his father’s wisdom, David Hirsh was enabled to cut a wide swath about town.  David had his own automobile, and he had a new one in his Junior year, that was not quite as snappy as his new one in his Senior year.  He drove it to school every day.  There was plenty of parking.  He bounced into the parking lot and slid to a stop in a stall in a manner that announced that David A. Hirsh was HERE.  He had the latest styles in clothing, every color and every shade of every design.  He had the latest styles and in abundance.  He was living the good life.

     Nature had also endowed him.  He was tall, dark and handsome.  Six feet two with just the right amount of wave to his hair.  He cut a fine figure about town.  Yet, there was just a hint of a lack of confidence in his posture; a slight diffidence in his walk.  Perhaps he felt apologetic for being Jewish.  He certainly, one couldn’t say he concealed it, but he didn’t like the fact brought out either.  To conceal this slight sense of inferiority he adopted an attitude of brash arrogance.  Yet to the observant eye, and there were not that many, he failed to pull the attitude off.  His attitude slid off to the edge of bumptiousness with an apparent streak of cruelty.

     Thus David Hirsh watched the tall buxom girl, my mother, who no one had been able to touch for two years and he fancied he was the man to break the bank at Monte Carlo.  Or, as they all talked among themselves, he was the one to get into her pants.

     David chose his friends from that group that was just beneath him in status as he was unable to be comfortable with his equals.  Among these friends he was in the habit of being boastful of his possessions and exploits.  They were sycophantic hoping for crumbs like riding around in his car.  Thus as his desire grew he began telling the boys what he was going to do to the Polish broad.

     Finally, one day he strode over to my mother and told her that she was going out with him.  My mother was both offended and flattered at the same time.  Her mixed feelings flashed before his eyes which David in his egoism took for the flush of pleasure.  She was uncertain of his intentions, nevertheless her tender heart was bursting for recognition of her virtues.  Her first two years had been painful; more in hope that her value was at last recognized, as the Good Book promised, rather than enamored of David she accepted, besides how could her mother complain when the catch of the school drove up for her.

     Here David Hirsh, as was his habit throughout life, began to dig his own grave.  Perhaps he over compensated for his sense, not really of inferiority, but his conspicuousness as a Jew, or what he thought was conspicuousness, for his American lineage was quite respectable.  He did not, as yet, look Jewish, yet he wore his Jewishness as a badge.  There were those to remind him of it if he forgot but then they had the same attitudes toward Poles, Italians and immigrants in general.  David was over tender in a rough and tumble America.  thus he did not wear his advantages with the calm air of the patrician, but with the bumptiousness of the upstart.  We are all innocents in that respect, we carry our weight not only as we would but as others permit us.  David saw himself as the persecuted exception and reacted accordingly.

     With my mother’s consent to a date he began to boast to the boys what he was going to do to the ‘Polack bitch’, when he was going to do it to her and where.  As always David Hirsh would have no one to blame but himself; as always he would refuse responsibility.

     Having primed both his fellows and himself, the big Saturday night arrived.  His car pulled away from the curb in front of my mother’s house with my mother in the passenger seat.  David’s confidence for the success of his plan would have been apparent to the Derby Ram.  My mother immediately realized her mistake; in his exultation David failed to note my mother’s instant disappointment and revulsion.  She looked away, her merit was yet to be validated.

     As her emotions overwhelmed her senses, she probably didn’t even hear David Hirsh ask why didn’t they dispense with the movie and just go for a drive in the country instead.  David with a deep chuckle interpreted her silence as acquiescence.  As she sat immersed in her misery David kept up a bright chat as his car surged impatiently for those country lanes.

     My mother had not yet emerged from her misery when she felt David’s hand on her thigh.  Reflexively she batted Hirsh across the mouth with the back of her hand.  David felt it but he felt more the mortification of his disappointed hopes.  In his anger he began to shout, scream at my mother that she must put out or get out.  His words roared past her like the winds of a hurricane.  Scarcely understanding David’s words but registering his dismissive gesture her hand mechanically reached for the door handle as her eyes filled with tears.

     Politely shutting the door she began the long walk home.

     Scarcely able to believe my mother’s reaction, David had been successful with this ploy before, he sat bouncing on the seat  clutching the steering wheel yelling, ‘Hey, hey.’  at her receding figure.  Beside himself with the humiliation of rejection David opened the car door, stood on the running board, and yelled epithets at her like Bohunk and Wop, erring in his geography  as the clarityof his mind shifted left through the reds.  People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.  My mother shot back one word, the most feared word in the Jewish vocabulary,  ‘Kike!’  To gois the word has only one meaning that includes all Jews but David considered himself a German Jew .  The word kike is of German Jewish origin used to denigrate Eastern European Jews from the Russian Pale of Settlement.  Thus David took it in a double sense accentuating the German-Jewish meaning.  Technically speaking he wasn’t a kike.  The word was not only an insult to him, he thought, it wasn’t even used correctly.

     David immediately choked back his rage and calmly sat back behind the wheel.  Closing the door calmly and deliberately he thought:  So that was why she rejected him.  Because he was Jewish.  She was an anti-Semite.  Minds like David Hirsh’s can never differentiate between action and reaction.  Well he would be able to show her.  He put his car in gear moving slowly along until his rear wheels were abreast of my mother at which time he gave it all the gas the pedal allowed and popped the clutch showering her with gravel from the unpaved road.  Sliding to a halt he stood on the running board shouting back at her:  “Ha! Ha! Take that you bigoted bitch!’  How David twisted the facts around.  While he had the makings of a gentleman he didn’t have the wrapper.

page 10

     Acting on Hirsh’s boast of his anticipated conquest, his friends, unwilling to accept his bare word as to his success, had driven out to the location which Hirsh had advertised to them and secreted themselves  in the ditch.  At that time in the Valley the fields were drained into deep ditches which ran along either side of the road.  It had been his friends’ intention, when the car got rocking, to emerge from the ditch to enjoy the live sex act.  They had intended to clap and grunt to the rhythm, then run off cackling loudly.  Now they emerged from their ditch cackling loudly, but for a different reason.  In their car, driving past my mother who was trudging along disconsolately, they flung a few insults at her and drove away laughing madly.  My mother recognized them, intuited the whole situation and buried the pain in her heart.

     The following Monday Hirsh arrived at Valley High.  Putting on his most boastful strut he walked up to his locker where the boys were waiting for him with an air of expectation.  They were obvious enough that David should have seen through them, but with the confidence of obtuseness he plunged ahead.  Assuming the smile of one who knows but who has to be coaxed to tell he quietly went abut stowing his jacket with a soft ‘Hi, boys.’ tossed off in their direction.  To a chorus of ‘How’d it go, Dave?’ he dropped his jaw open shoved his tongue into his left cheek and beamed a ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ look at them.  They were ready and they wanted to know.

     The boys began a series of innocent questions, then eased into a series of more knowing questions.  David looked at them sharply.  The thought:  Hey, how could you guys know that? began to form in his mind, when, the answer quickly following, slammed against the inside of his forehead crushed like popcorn under the wheels of a locomotive.  His pained expression brought forth the merriment of his friends.  He had set himself up, been had, and been had bad.  His friends, who chafed under their inferiority to him took full advantage of his embarrassment.  Nor when he turned fifty would they let him forget it.  Big boys don’t cry, at least they don’t let others see them doing it.  Excusing himself, David Hirsh went home and vomited in the toilet.

     My poor mother who, had she fornicated, would have paid a dear price for her lapse of character, now paid for her integrity.  David Hirsh was that type of person who found slights and insults to avenge where none had been intended or even existed.  He had dug his own grave, he blamed everyone else because he had to lie in it.  Unable to accept responsibility for his own actions he accused my mother of intentionally humiliating him.  He began the whisper campaign.  He changed and distorted the facts; he didn’t fail to mention that her retort had been ‘kike’ but he left out that it had been a retort to his own insults.  His torts disappeared in the telling.

     On this note their senior year ended.  Their lives had nothing in common.  My mother went her way, Hirsh went his.  But David Hirsh was neither the forgiving or forgetting kind.  David believed, quite sincerely, that my mother had humiliated him and had set him up for humiliation on purpose.  He meant to have vengeance he could feel.  There was not enough of it in the whole world.

     Sometime in the summer after graduation my mother met my father.  He was a nice looking boy who had graduated in her class.  He had an English name, my grandmother was satisfied.  David Hirsh, who in this same summer was busy with his own romance took time to notice.  He was determined to scotch her romance if he could.  He was determined that she was not to find happiness.  Hirsh sent a couple of his friends to pay attention to my mother.  If he could divert her attention from my father perhaps he could ruin the romance.  Once the romance was destroyed then his friends would lose interest in my mother and she would be left empty handed.  David would gain some satisfaction, not enough, but some.

     My father found Hirsh’s flies buzzing around my mother.  They in their turn made knowing comments about my mother.  My father was not a stupid man.  He looked at those guys, knew who their leader was and was vaguely aware of the situation between my mother and Hirsh through high school gossip.  My father did not come from an affluent background.  His people were hillbillies from Kentucky.  He had despised Hirsh from afar because of his show of wealth.  Now that the equality of school was a thing of the past and economic shadings were being forced upon him, he was developing a real resentment against the presumptions of the rich.  Thus he easily traced the problem to its source.  My father was not known for his placid temper.

     While Hirsh was attending a Sunday Ice Cream Social in Pfeffercorn Park, my father strode into the park and confronted Hirsh.  Bad form but right action.  In the resulting exchange of words, David made the mistake of asking:  ‘Yeah, Gresham, what are you going to do about it?’  My father belted Hirsh in the mouth and knocked him down.  ‘That’s what I’m going to do about it.  And there’s more where that came from if you don’t lay off.’ he said as he walked away.  To add to David’s chagrin he was knocked down and didn’t jump up in front of his soon to be fiancee, Beverly Webster.  Still on the ground he uttered dire threats as my father stalked out of the park.

     ‘The sins of the father…’ Hirsh muttered as he attempted to retrieve his dignity and get up,  ‘The sins of the father…’

     Nevertheless he did not desist; he only became more circumspect.  He was learning to become a man.

     About a year later both my mother and father as well as David Hirsh and Beverly Webster were married.  Beverly Webster was the daughter of Big Ben Webster who owned Webster’s Coal Company.  The Websters, with a monopoly of coal in the Valley, at that time few houses were heated by oil or natural gas, were probably the most influential family in the Valley.  The union of the two families was the sensation of the season.  As my mother had been instructed to get an Englishman, David had been instructed to find a wife of old American stock.  He had; the Websters had landed in 1669.

     The wedding was celebrated in the Valley News under the headline:  The Melting Pot Bubbles.  David Hirsh was billed as a son of the God of Justice, while Beverly Webster was referred to as a daughter of the Religion Of Love.  Two biblical traditions were joined as one.  Very romantic.  After a couple of paragraphs gushing over how Old World differences were being filed away to create an entirely new and golden people, my how they could ramble in those days, the paper got into the details of the wedding which were lavish.

     David kept an eye on my mother and father, against both of whom he now bore a grudge.  Hershey’s, as a department store was a major financial strut of the Valley News.  David used his influence to keep the notice of my parents more modest wedding out of the paper.  They complained, of course, but were given the glib excuse thast it was an oversight.  My mother actually believed such trash.  She believed that things happened, that coincidence abounds.  Things don’t happen, they are caused.  Coincidences don’t abound, they are more often planned.

     After a time I was given the gift of light, a month before the first Hirsh offspring, their son Michael.

2.

     To all appearances David Hirsh had a brilliant future before him.  But rather than counting his blessings he dwelt on his grievances.  His grievances ate like chancres at his soul.  He couldn’t forget that each of my parents had frustrated his designs.  Like most elitists he believed he was entitled to succeed; failure of his plans meant to him that his rights had been violated.  He now set out to destroy my parents marriage, and he did.

     My father had apparently expected to live on love as he had no steady job.  It was still the tail end of the depression before the Wars provided steady employment for millions: men at war and women in the factories.  He had no skills, we had very little money.  My parents lived in a small little house, just a notch above a shack, really, out in the numbers off Janes Road.  I can’t remember the number of the street.  Thus after a fairly desperate life in high school my mother was faced with a bleak impoverished existence.

     One would think that Hirsh would have settled for that, but he didn’t.  David sent seducers to dazzle her with the appearance of affluence.  She told my father she was neither dazzled nor seduced.  My father refused to believe it.  Thus between his embarrassment at not being able to provide for us adequately and his suspicions about my mother’s virtue, he began to have fits of violence.  He had always had a temper; now, unable to reach his enemies he began to take it out on my mother.

     When I was two and a half he became angry with my mother and began to beat her in my presence.  My father had knocked my mother down and was bending over her when I leaped on his back demanding he leave my mother alone.  Fist still clenched and raised before him, my little arms clutched around his neck, he glanced over his left shoulder and gave me a look of the most inexpressible sorrow.  Shame had overcome him.  I read in his eyes that he meant to desist.

     At that moment my mother leapt up.  She lifted me off my father’s back and stood me up against the wall.  She said:  ‘Farley, honey, stay out of this or you’ll get hurt.’  Then she went to assume her former position to be beaten.

     The human mind reacts to information in peculiar ways.  One’s character is made up, not so much by the information presented to one’s mind as by one’s interpretation of it.  My young unformed mind grappled with this information.  My brain interpreted the information as that one was not to defend oneself.  One was not to attempt to alter the course of events.  Thus since then, I, while unafraid, have made little effort to defend myself.  I have let events take their course.

     Shortly after this instance my mother and father parted.  She filed for divorce.  Her life to that point had been one of bitter disappointments.  Her attitude toward life changed after her divorce.  She then had to go to work.  We went to live at her mother’s.  There, perhaps because of the dazzle Hirsh’s friends had shown her, ashamed of the poverty of life with my father, she determined to ‘better’ herself.

     In the manner of those who have known poverty the clothes she chose to express her betterment were a bit on the flashy side.  the Fortress Of God Congreational Church was considered the elite of churches in the Valley; all the prosperous families attended it.  For some reason my mother thought she would be welcome among those very Christian brethren of the religion of love.

     Fortress Congregational  happened to be the church that David and Beverly Hirsh attended.  David was Jewish but was lax and unobservant.  Affluence and a lack of antagonism caused David to be unconcerned about religion.  He and Beverly had never discussed religion before marriage.  So when Michael was born Beverly automatically began to attend Fortress Congregational.  David had not objected and even accompanied her.  Thus David attended Fortress Congregational with Beverly without discussion or even thinking about it.

     Beveryly was quite proud of David.  She considered him a catch.  The idea of ‘catch’ went beyond his appearance and social standing which were, of course, important to her, but with her biblical Protestant upbringing which taught her to reverence the mythic quality of Israel and Israelites she prized him especially as ‘her tall Israelite.’  Israelite should not be confused with Jew.  True, as an Israelite he must have been a Jew but for Beverly David stepped straight out of the pages of the Old Testament bypassing all the history between.  She saw him not only as a direct lineal descendant of the Patriarchs Abraham, Isaac and Jacob but almost as contemporary with them.  All the mythos which the Protestants invest in Genesis and Exodus was transferred by Beverly onto David’s shoulders.  The whole divine afflatus, as it were, she invested in David Hirsh.

     David himself, unaware of the mystery invested in the Old Testament by Protestants, and quite mystified by some of their interpretations of that text, was quite unknowing of the real reason Beverly loved him so.  He accepted the adoration she gave him which was never more apparent than while in Fortress Of God Congregational.

     This glow from Beverly was actually part of why he enjoyed attending church with her.

     The two with little Michael were two pews ahead of us as my mother and I took our seats.  Hirsh, with half an eye on incoming worshippers, had recognized her immediately and turned his back so as not to be seen.  My mother did not notice him.

     Not yet three, I was scooting about the aisles, probably trying to get the attention I promptly received.  The ‘sins of my father’ descended upon me.  Here before the God of Justice in His citadel of love, Hirsh grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, thrust me back at my mother, hissing between his teeth:  ‘Keep the little bastard quiet.’

     ‘Don’t take it out on my little boy.’  My mother pleaded.

     ‘Yes!’ Hirsh hissed.  ‘Yes!’

     We didn’t go back.

3.

     Our move to my grandmother’s was more fateful than I might have thought.  Had we stayed out on Janes Road I would have entered kindergarten in a different school district.  My grandmother lived in the Emerson school district.  Emerson district just happened to be the one within which the Hirshes resided although in a better neighborhood.  So when I entered kindergarten Michael Hirsh took the news home to his father.

     David listened, pursed his lips just so, raised his eyebrows as the cat who has just spotted the mouse, picked up his newspaper and walked slowly and thoughfully over to his recliner.  He calmly slid into the seat easing the chair back as he raised the paper to cover his eyes and became absorbed in thought.  Wasn’t God good to him?  he thought.  He had delivered his enemy into his hands.

     What did David Hirsh lack to enjoy the most pleasant of lives?  Nothing.  His pregnant wife cooked in the kitchen, his son played on the floor at his feet, his roof was freshly tiled, the check to pay for it had cleared and left a goodly balance behind in the bank.  Could David have counted his blessings this story would not be told.  But he couldn’t.  He could not change his habit of clinging to old grievances.  The poison red berries of yesteryear’s harvest had drenched his brain with their bitter juice.  He demanded vengeance for injuries that had been returned on himself because of his need to inflict injury to prove his pre-eminence to himself.  The seeds sown in the Old Testament of the Bible provide but a bitter harvest.  Rather than embracing a joyous life, David pursued death to prove himself alive.

page 21.

     David’s grandfather Baruch who had established the basis of the family fortune had, in David’s view, been compelled to live the life of a nonentity.  His father, Solomon, while respected, had been denied the ascendancy which, in David’s view, God had intended him to have.  The way appeared clear in 1943 for David to achieve the status the Hirshes believed was theirs by the divine right of their personal god.  Still David would have to work for his position.  The fourth generation Hirsh, Michael, was being groomed to inherit the position of arbiter, Prince, of the Valley.  In 1943 the Hirshes and Websters appeared to be an unbeatable combination.  The scions of the Hershey Department Store and Webster Coal Co. fortunes had determined that Michael Hirsh was to be a leader of men.  They foresaw a time when he would assume the title of King of the Valley.  This was not an unwarranted hope.

     There was a fatal flaw to their plan.  Rather than training Michael to leadership traits, more effort was being put into the training of his companions, who were half the kindergarten class to be submissive.  He and his friends were the Eloy of the class.  Below Michael and the Eloy were we Morlocks who were expected to be servile, hewers of wood and carriers of water.  Here too the Scions erred, for I was not by nature a Morlock.

page 21.

     But David sat and considered.  Having sat and considered he concluded.  He gave Michael his instructions.  I was to be beneath the Morlocks.  I was to be the least of the lesser, the most bottom of all.  I was to be denied and humiliated at every turn.

     David and the parents of the Eloy were influential.  Our teacher acceded to their requests, she was even attuned to respond to hints.  The Eloy were given preference.  The Morlocks fell in behind.  I demanded equality.  During the first part of the year I was fairly successful.  But having attained my rights the Eloy failed to cooperate.

     The teacher had constructed a boat out of boxes and chairs and what not.  We all wove Indian file through this boat on an imaginary voyage.

     One of us led the procession making all the whistle noises.  I was entranced.  Michael led the first day, succeeded on the next day by the Eloy in turn.  When the Eloy had finished the game was discontinued rather than have Morlocks leading Eloy.  I demanded an opportunity to lead the procession, but the lesser and the least were not intended to be leaders of the Eloy.  I insisted and of course in Democratic America the teacher had to concede.

page 22.

     I proudly took my place as leader and the Morlocks fell in behind.  The Eloy, giving me reproachful venemous looks refused to participate.  I had transgressed on their aristocratic rights.  Michael Hirsh carried his tale to David Hirsh.  David gave instructions and efforts to isolate me were redoubled.  They were also successful.  It was David Hirsh’s idea to avenge himself on my mother and father by destroying my life.  He hoped to convince me that I was worthless.  I’m sure he would have succeeded.  The rejection which I could not understand left me more and more despondent as the year wore on.  Such treatment continued for years would have left me abject.  I was as good as lost when an event occurred in the spring of kindergarten which had an astounding effect not only on my life but on David and Michael Hirsh’s lives as well.

     The wars in Europe and the Pacific raged requiring ever larger complements of men.  Employers sought workers anywhere to keep production going.  Women of Rosie the Riveter fame entered manufacturing in numbers but they were not enough besides they couldn’t do the heavy work.  You need real slaveys for that.

     The government and employers went into the South and moved Negroes North and West.  Prior to the wars there had been few Black Folk in the Valley.  Then, in 1943, numbers of Negroes, as they were respectfully known, began to arrive.  The inevitable friction arose between Blacks and Whites.  Of course, today no one will admit to ever having been resentful of Black Folk; nevertheless, then as now, they were expected to live and stay in their own quarter of town.

page 23.

     In 1943, as the school year was nearing its end, it was announced to us, or word got out, that three Black children, Negroes, would be joining our class.  Without our, or at least my, knowing it the knowledge which had reached adult circles before us created a furor among them.  There were great racial distinctions made at that time.  The South was still separate but equal.  The doctrine had great appeal in the North also if not put into those exact words.  The parents of our students were infuriated that their children would have to attend school with Negroes.

     At the same time forces were working to integrate the races.  The two sides came into conflict in the kindergarten at Emerson.  David Hirsh and his allies refused to have Negroes attend Emerson.  His opponents pointed out that the law required all children to attend school; the Negro children could be no exception.  All people were equal before the law.  The Negroes would attend Emerson.

     Hirsh and his allies lost the first round.  The Negro children were entered at Emerson.

     David Hirsh made up his mind that if they did attend they would be sorry.  They were not to be received in good grace.  Michael Hirsh and the Eloy began circulating among the Morlocks advising them that the Negroes would be arriving and on what day.  It was made emphatically clear that no one was to play with them or talk to them.  I was already in that category so I was not startled by their intent.  The Morlocks acquiesced with their usual placidity.  I’ve never had to wonder why they chew gum.

page 24.

     Then the Negro kids arrived.  Hostility toward them turned the atmosphere vicious.  They were studiously and contemptuously avoided.  As recess time arrived we were again warned not to play with them.  Michael Hirsh singled me out; he made a point of wagging his finger at me, sternly looking at me while he admonished me.  Perhaps he remembered when I led the Morlocks through the boat against his wishes.

     The Eloy filed out first followed by the Negroes.  As usual I was required to bring up the rear.  As I say, I was nearly isolated, no one could play with me.   I didn’t understand why; thus I was developing a listless indifferent attitude that would have gratified David Hirsh’s vengeful wishes except for what happened next.

     By the time I got outside I saw that the Negro kids had been compelled to sit on the edge of the sandbox.  Michael Hirsh with the massed Eloy at his back was standing over the Negroes wagging his everlasting finger at them.  As I slouched up I heard him telling them that they were to sit on the sandbox all through recess and not move a kinky hair.  I was aghast.  I was prepared not to talk to them, but to compel them to sit on the sandbox was criminally unfair.  I thought Michael and the Eloy were going too far.

     As I was an outcast I had nothing to lose.  I told the Negroes to ignore Michael.  I told them to get up and the four of us would go off and play together.  Michael came unglued.  He started shouting at me to watch my step.  I raised my fists and told the Negroes to get up and we would fight them.

page 25.

     Michael faced the first opposition of his life.  He recoiled back into the massed Eloy, it was a fatal mistake.  He was being groomed as a leader but the Eloy were being trained as followers.  Michael had never been tested.  He failed his first test.  The sword remained in the stone.

     I had embraced Sunday School morality; I knew that the God of Justice was on my side; I knew that the Religion of Love forbade this treatment of the Negroes, not to mention myself.

     From within the Eloy Michael’s eyes narrowed.  Shaking his finger through the mass of Eloy, he shouted;  ‘You shut up Gresham, and get back in your place.’  My place was where I made it.  I was doubly angry now.  I exhorted the Negroes to get up and we would fight them.  The Negroes meekly declined the exert themselves for their freedom.  They left me hanging out there to dry.

     Left with nothing to fight for I was fearful as to what would happen next.  Nothing.  I wandered away; the Negroes accepted their place on the bench.  Michael and the Eloy glowered after me.

     Oddly, my resistance had completely shattered Michael Hirsh’s self-confidence.  His image of himself as leader was shaken to the foundation.  Neither had his conduct gone unnoticed by the Eloy.  Doubts had entered the girls’ minds; an internal smile of satisfaction beamed from the eyes of the boys.

     David Hirsh sat upright glowering in his recliner listening as Michael sobbed out his tale of humiliation to him.  He knew exactly what the scene had meant to his aspirations for Michael.  In his vanity he hoped that Michael’s reputation could be recovered.  In his heart he knew that even with his influence and position it could not.  Like a woman’s love, once gone, forever gone.

page 26.

     David sat for a moment then he dismissed Michael, pushed the paper from his lap and moved slowly and painfully into his bedroom.  He closed and locked the door.  Then he walked into the far corner of the room.  Placing a hand on each wall he leaned his head against the right angle where the walls joined and began to sob softly.

     ‘Oh, God.’  He thought. ‘Where is thy justice in this world.  How much shame and humiliation must I bear.’

     As with my mother and father David forgot what he had done to cause his own humiliation.  But David thought that he was God’s favorite child and that he was entitled to prevail.  Merely resistance to his wishes in itself was unjustifiable and unforgivable conduct.  God’s favor to David was shown by his wealth and position.  If he were not better than others then God would not have given him his advantages.  The inferiority of others was thus proven.  It was bad enough that God had allowed my mother to humiliate him; but then my father and now me.  David A. Hirsh’s son, his heir, the once and future king had been humiliated by a virtual outcast.

     Had David Hirsh been a wiser, more philosophic man he would have examined his behavior, known himself, adjusted his behavior to the circumstances and been a happier man.  But the poison red berries sank more deeply into his mind.  Like Abraham of old, David believed that he was talking to God.  Yea verily, he heard a voice within his mind say:  ‘You will be avenged, my son David, you will be avenged.  You shall see your enemies prostrate themselves before you.’  He understood this wish of his mere ego to be permission from God to smite his enemy hip and thigh.  Satisfied, David Hirsh choked back his sobs, ordered his face, opened the bedroom door and reassumed his place in his recliner as though nothing had happened.  Still, he was thinking.

     He knew what he had to do, or wanted to do, to avenge his son’s humiliation.  Just as he had dug his own grave boasting to his friends about my mother, he now began to dig it deeper.  The year was nearly over.  He had not time to devise a plan to humiliate me sufficiently.  Everyone was forbidden to be seen speaking to me.  I played alone for the rest of the year.

     On the last day of school as I was leaving Michael ran up behind me, leaving plenty of room for a safe retreat, to hiss at the back of my head:  ‘We’re going to get you next year, Gresham.’

     I returned a standard retort:  ‘You and what army.’  But my brow furrowed in genuine concern.  Internally I trembled because I knew he did have an army.  I was fearful because I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist it.

page 28.

5.

     The stars that play with the laughing dice chuckled at us both.  I was to get a temporary reprieve; David Hirsh was given a temporary frustration.

     My mother, since her divorce, wanted to ‘live.’  She was to pursue that phantom that invariably ends in disaster.  I had become a burden to her.  It would be easier to ‘live’ without me around.  She decided to farm me out.  Blessed Salvation, she found a family over on the West Side in the Thoreau School District to board me.  I was delivered from the lion’s den; I heaved a sigh of relief. 

     On the one hand deliverance but on the other rejection by my mother.  I don’t believe adults, parents, have any idea of the trauma such a situation has on a child.  There is no way that it cannot disturb a child’s emotions no matter what his external deportment may be.  There is no argument to be given, no line of reasoning to follow by which you can explain his abandonment  to the child.  Abandonment is abandonment, partial or complete.  There is no way, no matter how frequently you visit the child, to make him understand why his mother doesn’t want him.

     Nor was my mother overly discreet.  I wasn’t in rags by any stretch of imagination but I was wearing ill-fitting hand-me-downs.  When my mother did visit, which wasn’t often, she always seemed resplendently dressed.  I was too young to understand, but it made me uneasy to see my mother looking so well while she left me with these people who didn’t, couldn’t love me.

     My kindergarten memories, my mother’s abandonment and this new family all contributed to a mental malaise that expressed itself in aberrant behavior.  The fear of Michael Hirsh and his retaliation was a palpable presence with me.  My young mind no longer associated my fear with the incident of the Negroes.  My fear was disociated from its cause.  My fear was a fear of vague hatred that haunted both my waking and sleeping hours.  Entering the first grade class at Thoreau was no comfort and I had to make my way in my shades of mental distress among a new set of classmates who had of course been forewarned by Hirsh.

     The family with whom I boarded was named Smith.  They were decent enough folks.  They had five other children among whom I was expected to integrate myself immediately.  As might be expected I was given no time to acclimate myself; nor, quite possibly in such circumstances could any be expected.  A young mind still cannot make such a diffiuclt tranistion without support and understanding.  I had no support; I was an outsider who brought them money each week.

page 30.

     They as adults should have expected me to be somewhat reticent and unruly as I adjusted to my new circumstances.  I had no place with them.  I was difficult but I was gradually learning to accept them.  They were learning to reject me. 

     I would not like to have been imprinted by the Smiths.  They were not my kind of people.  Thus rejection by them which was certainly very painful was probably not the worst thing that could have happened to me.  I would rather be outside a group of people that I don’t like then inside a group of people one has to bear.

     I had only been with them nine months.  I was about to accept them as part of my permanent environment when they threw me a thunderbolt.  It came about that they were having a major party.  I was not to be allowed to attend.  My mother was to take me for the evening.  She acted as though this were an imposition for her.  Thus I entered a no man’s land in my mind.  I was a burden for my mother and unwanted by the Smiths.  Just as I was about to accept the Smiths they began to push me out of the nest into the void. 

     My mother came to pick me up in her ridiculous clothes.  A desperate feeling began to rise in me for I already considered my mother a stranger.  She didn’t want me and now if the Smiths rejected me where would I go?  More pertinent, who would I be?

page 31.

     I was extremely distraught when my mother brought me back.  I thought I had better be good.  I wanted to demonstrate my solidarity with the Smiths.  I had already made up my mind that my future lay with them rather than my mother.  They had purchased a carton of ice cream sandwiches for their party.  The sandwiches were packed in dry ice to keep them cold.  The box was sitting on top of the counter.  I thought by eating a sandwich I could retroactively participate in the party and be one with the family.  I was prepared at that moment to be ‘good.’  The box was above my head and I stretched my hand up over the top of the box to grab a sandwich; I came up with a cake of dry ice instead.  I didn’t know dry ice, had never seen it.  Expecting the cold of the ice cream sandwich I was more surprised than hurt by the burning sensation of the dry ice.  All my fears crystallized around that burning cake of dry ice.  I could veritably see them taunting me.  I screamed and cried out of all proportion to the pain.  It wasn’t that easy to be ‘good.’

     The adults couldn’t understand my reaction.  What good is it to grow old if one doesn’t grow wise?  It was incumbent on them to understand.  Mr. Smith, leaning comfortably against the counter looked complacently down at me than looked at my mother with a wry face as if to say:  ‘See!’

     They had no compassion on that little boy.  I was turned out with just a couple months left in the school year.  I was to be expected to ingratiate myself into a new class.  My mother found a new place for me with a family called Johnson.  The Johnsons lived on the East Side.  I shuddered when I learned that they lived in the Emerson school district.

page 32.

     A great groundswell of terror rose at the base of my brain and rose in great swirling spirals to overwhelm my brain.  The evil that I feared had come to pass.  At the same time the moorings of my life had been cast from their bollocks.  First my mother had rejected me; then the Smiths; now my mother again passed me on to a new family.  I had been rejected by the Smiths just at the point that I was about to transfer my trust and affection to them.  I was not capable of accepting the Johnsons as more than temporary.  The effect on my attitude was corrosive.  I could not explain the turmoil of my mind to them.  Oddly, I think, the adults were incapable of understanding that a child is not an adult, even an adult has difficulty adapting to abrupt changes.  The adults were obtuse well beyond their years.  I was about seven.  I was about to be written off as a troublesome and disorderly child.  As dark as my childhood had been, yet darker days lay ahead.  I do not know how I or other children survive such ordeals.

     Mrs. Johnson herself was a lovely woman who administered a lovely home.  Everything that I appreciate of beauty can be traced to that sojourn.  The constant agitation from the five children at the Smiths was missing as Mrs. Johnson had only one daughter who was my age.  There was a placidity to her manner of living that would have placated my anxieties except for the torment that awaited me at Emerson.

    I reappeared among the Eloy and Morlocks at Emerson in late April of the first grade.  I appeared as a rock thrown in a schoolyard.  I felt the shudder of recognition and heard the muted ‘He’s back.’ whispered as I walked past.  The incident of our antipathy had been forgotten by both of us.  They merely knew that I had repudiated their authority; as always in such situations that was a capital crime.  I only knew that they hated me,  I didn’t know why but I had transferred the cause to myself.  I felt a vague sense of guilt.  I felt their enmity but I didn’t know why I was hated.

page 33.

     I had completely surprised them.  It was too late in the year for them, or rather for David Hirsh, to evolve a plan to punish me for being an uppity ‘nigger.’  David and the Eloy would spend the summer preparing for my reception in the second grade.  For the interim they contented themselves with hazing me continually.  They committed little spiteful acts.  As usual they were all committed at my back.  Michael Hirsh would never take the chance of confronting me on a one to one basis.  The teacher observed these acts but did nothing to correct the situation.  Whether she felt unequal to the task or had been warned off by David Hirsh I don’t know.  What I realized was that I was completely on my own.  Authority, in the person of the teacher, would not interest itself in the justice of my case.  My mother was no help and Mrs. Johnson was beyond the reach of my ability to explain.

     Thus the school year ended to my great relief.  My summer was made a purgatory to the hell that awaited me in the second grade.  I was new to the neighborhood and had to make friends.  The Eloy kept a close watch over me.  As I found someone to play with, one of the Eloy showed up, a few words were said and I was shunned.  My feelings of desperation grew as I tried to amuse myself.  I gave evidence of unexlainable apprehensions in front of Mrs. Johnson who merely shook her head.  Actually adults are not the brightest of people.

page 34.

     David and Michael Hirsh had already, or would easily have achieved my psychological destruction if they had continued the same course and let well enough alone.  That was not in David Hirsh’s nature.  He demanded a blood sacrifice.  He demanded that which neither he nor Michael could ever have, homage.

     A series of events, perhaps for God to test David, were beginning for David Hirsh which he would be unsuccessful in meeting.  In the spring of the first grade a long awaited event had come to pass just before I transferred back to Emerson.  It was the joyous event of VE Day, Victory in Europe.  Hitler had gone up in the acrid fumes of a gasoline fed pyre.  The Nazis had been run to ground.  David’s live was changed forever.  All his relationships changed like a stack of marbles in an earthquake.

     The Smiths and I had gone down to a row of shops surrounding the Court Street theatre.  There the people were shouting and dancing in the street.  I looked on in amazement, unable to comprehend.

     ‘What’s the matter little boy, aren’t you happy?  The boys are coming home.’

page 35.

     I didn’t even know the boys had been gone.  I was just at the age when the war was all I had ever known.  It was normal to me.  When I still lived over on Grimm Street with my grandmother, planes had flown overhead filling the sky with printed fliers.  Tens of thousands of them had fluttered down, waffling through the air as we leaped to snatch them from the sky.  An older boy said that they said:  ‘Buy War Bonds.’  I had rushed home  to exhort my grandmother to buy bonds.

     Someone had nailed a poster to all the telephone poles.  On the right was a gross caricature of Hideki Tojo, little round glasses, near sighted squint and buck teeth.  One the left was a picture of that most common of common men, Adolf Hitler.  I had stood studying them wondering what they meant.  Then, in the spring of 1945 the European War had ended.

     As the Allied troops occupied Germany horrid rumors were proved to be true, but, even then, we all had a hard time believing them.  The Nazis had extermination camps where they killed millions of people.  There had been rumors beginning in 1943, not that I heard them, that the Nazis were systematically killing Jews but they had been dismissed as wartime propaganda.  Now the rumors proved true.  The Jews had been the Nazis’ primary target.

     David had been blithely going through life not too concerned about his Jewishness.  Indeed, for years he had been attending the Fortress Of God Congretational with Beverly.  The hold of Judaism on the majority of Jews had been as strong as ever, but a segment, David Hirsh was among them, had become lacksadaisical and nonobservant.  They might easily have slipped away into the American ethos.

     The confirmation of the existence of the extermination camps crossed David’s mind like one of those atomic clouds in the movies that mutated all those it passed over.  A new man was born.  David had drifted from his people; Michael had virtually no Jewish education.  David now began to reverse this situation as he realized that he was above all else, a Jew.  He, like every other errant Jew, was called back to the fold.  As a rabbi was to say:  I have been an American all my life but I have been a Jew for four thousand years.  The Nazis had called every person with a Jewish grandparent a Jew.  The method was universal, there was nothing unusual in it. All peoples, the Jews themselves, required both sets of grandparents to represent the nationality if one were truly to reflect the ethos of the nation.  But to the Jews of the time it indicated that there was no escaping one’s Jewishness.  Thus if it had happened here, and in the hysteria of the times it was thought possible if not probable there would be no escape for any Jew.  The feeling arose that once a Jew always a Jew, the Jewish nation cohered ever more strongly.

      The return to the fold created troubling difficulties for David, for he had married a goish wife, a shiksa.  Descent in Jewish families is traced through the female.  Thus a child of a shiksa by a Jewish fathere is not automatically a Jew,  whereas a child fathered by a goi on a Jewish mother is.  Therefore, technically, Michael Hirsh was not a Jew.  While he would now be brought up as a Jew, he nevertheless would have a lower status within the Jewish community.  Socially Michael was at the top of the ladder; in Jewish circles he was at the bottom.  His son’s situation rankled David Hirsh and embittered him further.

page 37.

     With his reattachement to Judaism and his estrangement to the goi world, David Hirsh found his relationship with Beverly enter a different period.  Not that Beverly would abandon her ‘tall Israelite’ but their relationship changed and became a little more distant because of Beverly’s relationship to the two worlds.  A little sponge rubber wedge entered their relationship.  Beverly found that, while it was easy for David Hirsh to be accepted into her, for want of a better word, Christian community, it was impossible for her to find acceptance in his smaller much more exclusive community now traumatized into actual hysteria by the news from Europe.

     The Jews confused Hitler and the Nazis with Christianity.  Over the ages their arch enemy had been their offshoot, Catholicism, or as they generalized it, Christianity.  Thus the Nazis seemed to be the culmination of the Jewish conflict with Christianity.  This was not true.  The Nazis were outside Christianity.  But now Beverly was received as a quasi-perpetrator of the extermination camps.  Her presence made the Jewish congregation uneasy.

     For her part she simply wasn’t Jewish.  She didn’t have the Jewish education or manner.  The God Of Justice looked on the Religion of Love from a higher mount.  Beverly’s life took on an ambiguous quality that left her unhappy just where the limes and sublimes met.  Thus additional discord was introduced into David Hirsh’s life.  Changes which he wasn’t actually aware of nor that he could understand altered his life.  More were  to come.  Just as mine, his problems were only beginning.  His hand rose to stroke his chin as wonder crossed his mind, then it slid down to his throat on the way to clutch his heart.

     Through the spring and summer these influences jostled in his mind crying for a solution which his inherent bitterness would never allow him to resolve.  Rather than turning toward the light he allowed the darkness to grow in his mind.  Slowly his anger and frustration turned in my direction and centered on me.  I was the defenseless object of his irritation.  During that bright time of year he mulled over darkest thoughts on how to best punish me.

     As he sat in his recliner Hirsh concentrated on what he thought was the humiliation I had caused Michael.  David had won the second round over the Negroes at Emerson; they had finished out kindergarten but had been put in another school district at year end.  David equated me with Negroes.  Like them I had no social status.  I, a mere nobody had dared to challenge the future king.  Nor, in David’s mind, had I given Michael a fair chance.  I had appeared out of nowhere, I had surprised his boy, just like Hideki Tojo and the Japs had surprised us at Pearl Harbor.  I was therefore a dirty fighter.  Commingling his anger with me he confused his relationship with my mother and father, transferring his machinations against them into unwarranted humiliation of himself.  David Hirsh and his ilk never accept responsibility for their actions.  When their own plans misfire it’s always someone else’s fault.  The plan was perfect except that those people ruined it.

     The worst of Michael’s situation was that my resistance had sapped the foundation of his authority.  Whereas before he had been the young prince among the Eloy his conduct on that day had reduced him to primus into pares, a mere first among equals.  It was apparent to David that Michael would never be able to regain his former position.  All the effort toward grooming Michael for his throne had been rendered null by a mere nobody.

     David literally gnashed his teeth as he pondered the best way to make me see the enormity of my crime.  He was of Biblical orientation so that the punishment had to ‘fit the crime.’  The events of Europe weighed heavily on his mind.  He had reflected on the words of the itinerant rabbi rolling them around in his mind:  ‘I have been an American all my life, but I have been a Jew for four thousand years.’  The statement was a flight of incredible fantasy, but David pondered it deeply, ignoring its absurdity.  He was in the process of placing his life in that mode, as improbable as the statement was.

     As was his way he began to ruminate on all the injustices done to the Jews over their four thousand year history.  He shuffled the deck of been forward and backward; laid the cards out face up and stared at them.  The implacable dripping of the juice of the poison red berries of yesteryear corroded his sensibilities.  Each injustice corroborated and amplified the real or imagined injustices done to him.  David was sensitized to insult, he could find a personal injury in a stranger driving past his house too fast.

page 40.

     Naturally the category of ‘humiliation’ was uppermost in his mind.  Slowly a figure emerged from the dense fog of resentment in his mind.  David nodded affirmatively as he recognized his appropriateness.  The figure was someone who had endured as bad a humiliation as possible.  If not the worst, there is nothing in history to exceed it.  The humiliation was certainly as bad as anyone had ever endured.

     In the France of 1894, Alfred Dreyfus, a Jew, an officer of the elite Statistical Department of the French Army had been convicted of spying.  The conflict between Jews and Europeans was reaching high intensity.  The fact that a Jew was involved enraged the French nation.

     On a rainy day, the ground of the compound turned into mud, Dreyfus had been arraigned before his fellow officers, surrounded by a hostile public.  There, as he stood at stiff attention his commanding officer stripped him of his insignia and trampled them in the mud.  Before the hooting jeering mob he broke the symbol of Dreyfus’ manhood over his knee.  The two halves of the sword lay in mud with his insignia at his feet.  The hatred against Dreyfus was so intense that a new prison was designated to contain him.  He was sent to Devil’s Island.  Just as the French thought the Jews were devils, so David Hirsh thought of me.

     The picture was so vivid in Hirsh’s mind that he relived it in the person of his son’s humiliation in kindergarten.  Involuntary sobs rose from his breast.  He now knew what to do.  In the closing weeks of the summer he assembled Michael and the Eloy to drill them in the procedure so that nothing would misfire.  The Hirsh name would be redeemed, or so he thought.

     I passed the summer in dread.  The Eloy prevented anyone from playing with me.  I knew that something terrible was waiting for me in the second grade.  I was isolated; I had no friends, no parents, no guardians, no help.

     What happened to me on that day was concealed from me for forty years.  The suppressed memories controlled my actions against my will from their subliminal hole in my brain.  I was only able to recover the memory and free my soul after a series of dreams finally revealed this major cause of my emotional distress.

     I don’t know exactly when it happened.  It may very well have been the first day of the second grade.  It was a warm late summer day.  We were all in shirt sleeves.  It happened, naturally, at recess.

     All morning long Michael had turned to look back at me with a malevolent stare.  The Eloy were seated in the front of the class, the Morlocks behind them.  I was in the very last row.  After Michael Hirsh glared back at me another of the Eloy would turn to glare.  One after the other they fixed baleful glances on me.  Then in teams they did the same.  Then all.  Then Michael Hirsh began again.  I sat glumly, fearful of the outcome. 

      The teacher announced recess.  I dropped my eyes to the desk pondering whether I should stay there or whether I had to go to recess.  When I looked up the Eloy stood glaring at me by the door; hands by their sides, waiting for me to precede them.  I got up.  I walked by each one on my way to the door.  As though he were telling me what to do Michael flicked his finger indicating to me to go outside.  It was a symbol of weakness, I should have resolved to oppose him.  They all filed out behind me.  I was apprehended.  The Eloy gathered around me in a semicircle.  Michael Hirsh was the keystone of the arch.

page 42.

     David Hirsh and Michael had analyzed the scene in the playground during kindergarten and arrived at conclusions which missed the point.  It was true that Michael had been vulnerable standing at point.  It had behooved him, a young Arthur, to step forward and chastise me; instead he had stepped back into the protection of his confederates.  The act was a confession of weakness.  To redeem the situation it now behooved him to reprove me in individual combat.   Having failed as Arthur; Michael was not the boy to succeed as Richard.  For whatever reason, David chose Michael to do otherwise.  The flaw in his character cost him the triumph he desired.

     Thus Michael stood with the Eloy flanking him and surrounding me.  In my mind he shrank to insignificance while the Eloy surrounding me paralyzed my mind.  They annihilated my existence with their projected hatred.  Beams of malice flashed from their eyes piercing my body and soul from all angles.  Their hatred reduced me to impotence.  I could not resist.  My attention was fixed on them while Michael intoned at me.  I didn’t hear his words, I was only aware of the finger he was shaking at me.  He probably was telling me what I would have to do to remove their hatred.  If so, I didn’t hear it.  The only thing I heard him say was that I was to take a step forward and stop when he told me to stop.  I raised my foot and was told to stop.  I was then told to stay in that position through recess.  I did and I died of shame.

page 43.

     Perhaps the Hirshes were lucky in tapping into the subliminal memory of my mother standing me against the wall.  The punishment was so extreme, so successful, if you will, that it failed to achieve its desired result.  The punishment so succeeded that it appeared to fail in the Hirshes’ and Eloys’ eyes.  I was not only humiliated as much as Dreyfus had been but my personality had been murdered.  I was no longer able to face myself.  My personality withered, atrophied, to a mere empty garment, a deflated balloon.  My body remained but Far Gresham was gone.  When Far Gresham died the memory of the event died with him.

     Whatever the Eloy hoped to achieve was never acknowledged by me.  Whatever instructions Michael Hirsh had given me were never performed.  I never begged for forgiveness nor rendered the proper obeisance.

     Michael had proceeded from weakness.  He had acknowledged his dependence on the Eloy.  Indeed, they achieved the results not Michael.  I had in actuality won the victory; but like the Greek General Pyrrhus I was annihilated in the process.  Michael had won but was unable to realize the fruits of his victory.  They were all dumbfounded.

page 44.

     Once again Michael was compelled to go to his father in tears.  David Hirsh listened in astonishment; his mouth hung open in wonder.  How could I have resisted?  He could not know the degree to which he had suceeded, for though dead, Far Gresham was real to the naked eye.  It took much more subtle perception than David Hirsh had to perceive the truth.  He was much too self-absorbed to develop that sublety.  But he was able to perceive the consequences on his son.  Michael had fallen from Prince-in-process to Primus Inter Pares; he now sank to Pal.  He could only rely on group solidarity not lead it.

     All of David’s hopes for his son were being dashed by the insignificant son of his two insignficant enemies.  Had David been a true student of the Bible he would have known to curb his pride.  He would have taken pleasure in accepting the will of the Lord.  Oh, but justice had another meaning for David Hirsh.  What he called justice wise men called pride.

     The defeat was a blow, a severe blow.  Coupled with his renascent Judaism born of despair it was a blow that David’s mind could not withstand.  Who knows which of his own inadequacies, which he apparently felt so keenly, he thought would be redeemed by his first born son.

     Unlike myself, who was compelled to endure the consequences by inflicting the punishment on myself, David Hirsh was in a position to gather his frustration together and lay them on someone else.  He honestly believed that he could purge, cleanse, his own spirit in such a dishonest way.  He thought he could expel darkness rather than letting the sun shine in.  David had heard it said:  Know thyself, but its wisdom went over his head.

     David was mystified by the apparent failure of his plan.  It had proceeded satisfactorily but had been excessive.  Now he sought to escalate the punishment, to raise the violence to a higher plateau.  I must acknowledge my humiliation, I must give homage.

5.

      I sat through the second grade in a fog of pain.  I could not understand my ostracization.  If I had been able to associate it with the kindergaren incident with the Negroes I would have thought I had been right.  Stripped of my identity by my humiliation, or murder, I now sat as a lifeless lump in class.  My whole existence revolved around my mental anguish.  Anguish was my identity.

     I daily endured the enmity and spiteful tricks of the Eloy.  The Morlocks who had merely watched my humiliation from a distance were of no help to me at all.  Of course, had they shown me friendship they would have incurred the enmity of the Eloy themselves.  Who can blame the Jellyfish because it has no spine?

     The Eloy were well rewarded by my abject appearance, nevertheless I gave no obeisance, no homage.  They remained unsatisfied.  Had I been old enough to bear the situation I would not even have satisfied them with a long face, but then my identity had been obliterated.

      The constant hazing of me coupled with my resistance brought the situation to the attention of the teacher.  Since it was twelve on one she assume I must be at fault.  She demanded that I explain.  I was barely alive, I couldn’t give a suitable explanation.  Then, in what should have been a clear admission of Michael’s guilt to the teacher, Michael motioned the teacher to lower her ear to him which she did.  Michael cupping his hand so that I souldn’t be able to hear and possibly refute him whispered a few words to her.  She straightened up, glared at me steadily and said:  ‘Now I understand.  You’ve got only yourself to blame.’

     She was wrong and she should have known she was wrong.  If at any time your accuser cannot announce his accusation in front of you then he is lying.  The teacher, who was after all, authority, should have been aware of the principle and demanded that Michael accuse  me openly.  How often these unfounded accusations evaporate when the light hits them.  Aware of the injustice of the teacher’s response I began to rebuild an interim identity based on the realization of injustice.  As I grew and observed, the structure begun with that single brick developed rapidly.  The basis of my view of society was laid.

    My emotional state was the same at Mrs. Johnson’s as it was at school.  I became morose and despondent, true sadness frequently overcame me.  I had no one to whom I could turn.  Once I sat in the darkened dining room crying softly to myself.  Mrs. Johnson, who was a kindhearted woman, asked me as solicitously as possible, what the matter was.  I had no way of articulating my situation to her.  I could only turn away in despair.

     At that moment I knew that Mrs. Johnson made the decision to send me away.  I could sense it.  Mrs. Johnson notified my mother that she no longer wished to keep me.

      Go To Clip 2 of Far Gresham

    

Our Lady Of The Blues

by

R.E. Prindle

Part V-2

From Gaia To Maia

 

     This too is an established Jewish custom.  Things don’t absolutely have to be done in the manner in which they are being done.  When the Jews invaded Egypt they began to slaughter the sacred animals which the Egyptians had protected for millennia.  The Jews saw no reason for the custom so they rudely pushed Egyptian mores aside.  This habit is repeated in every country they invade.  The peoples can learn to do it the Jewish way which they feel is the way of God.

     By 1899 they were over 10% of the population of Vienna which is where critical mass begins.  Musceling into the cultural life of the city they acquired a disproportianate number of seats in symphony orchestras.  As in Chaldea and Egypt they assumed that the Semitist style of playing was superior to that of Kultur.  As music in Germania occupied an analogous position to astronomy in Chaldea and magic in Egypt the Jews naturally assumed that they were better musicians than the Germans although music had never played a large part in their culture before.

     As the scientific demands of music are greater than ancient astronomy and magic the Jews were never able to muster a composer of the first rank although their instrumentalists dominated the stage.  But then all the empresarios were Jewish so they would necessarily hear with the Jewish ear or intellect.  Even today the Jews believe that without the Semitist intellect the orchestras of Europe sound nowhere as good as before the Holocaust.

page 851.

     They estalished their own newspapers and publishing houses.  They used them to defame anyone who dissented from their program.

     Without physical resources they had to resort to psychological means to disarm their opponents.  They had to ‘psyche’ them out.  Anyone who opposed or criticised them was branded an anti-Semite.  Thus German nationalists became, if not criminals, at least, pariahs in their own land.  The Austrian reaction to Jewish nationalism was extremely violent giving expression to itself only after the Anschluss.

     These German defense forces were active and powerful during the period from approx. 1890 to 1914.  After 1918 the resistance to the Jewish invasion crumpled everywhere.  The Millennial Revolution was going swimmingly.  Jews assumed the top positions or became dominantly influential in nearly all governments including that of the United States.  The Jewish invasion was for all practical purposes a success.

     Two men were born into this Viennese environment that would have a profound impact on world history:  Sigmund Freud and Adolf Hitler.

4.

     Freud’s main desire was to become a great man.  this idea was planted in his intellect by his Christian nurse as a child.  He succeeded in doing this in the field of psychology.  Freud was himself an immoral man nor does he advocate morality for others.  He advocates an unbridled self-indulgence.  Like he says:  Life is short.  To succeed in one’s aims it is permissable to use criminal means.  The Mafia believes the same thing.

page 852.

     As a mature man he was schooled in the tradition of Anton Mesmer from whom modern psychology descends.  He was heavily indebted to the teaching of the French psychologist Jean Martin Charcot as well as to the school of Nancy.  His own approach was an adaptation of their methods.  He at first used Mesmerism or hypnotism as did the schools of Paris and Nancy but later abandoned pure hypnotism is favor of the self suggestion or free association.  Hypnotism as a result went into a period of disfavor although applications for it are being found once again.

     He got his real start by insinuating himself into the good graces of Josef Breuer whose work he very nearly appropriated.  Having plundered Breuer he broke off with him never speaking to him for the rest of Breuer’s life.  Thus does conscience make villains of us all.

     Unable to admit his indebtedness to his teachers he repudiated their influence acting as though he had evolved his theories out of whole cloth.  As an aspect of his character he was unable to suffer any criticism or advancement of his ideas by others.  He eventually acrimoniously broke with any of his associates with intelligence and independence.

     Freud was a Jew which is to say devoutly so.  He did not consider himself an Austrian or German but an ethnic Jew.  He believed in the supremacy of the Jewish people.

     The most revealing anecdote concerning him was that as a child he was walking with his father who told him how when he was a young man he was wearing a new hat when a Gentile knocked it off his head into the street.

page 853.

     ‘What did you do?’  Freud asked breathlessly expecting the answer to be that his father knocked the Gentile down.

    ‘I went out into the street and picked it up.’  His father replied.

     Freud then lost all respect for his father which troubled him greatly throughout his life and in his vision of psychology  for he wrote:  ‘I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father protector.’  His dad wasn’t it.

     So Freud’s own psychic needs distorted his approach from one of  Science as Jung claimed to one based on his personal needs.  He falsely maintained that the father figure is the most important in a man’s life.  When his disciple Otto Rank had the courage to correctly insist that the mother was the most important Freud drummed him out of the ranks.

     Disappointed by his own father he took as a surrogate father figure Hamilcar Barca, the father of Hannibal.  Hamilcar Barca having suffered an injury at the hands of the Romans made his son swear on his sword, which is only a substitute for the penis, that he would avenge him on the Romans.  Clearly Freud would have promised his dad to avenge him on the Europeans if he had asked.

     Curiously Freud doesn’t carry Hannibal’s story through to its conclusion.  The Romans exterminated the Carthaginians and razed their city.

page 854.

     Freud’s lapses in the application of his psychology are very peculiar.  Having discovered the psychological compulsion to repeat he applied it neither to himself nor to his people.  He might have saved the Jews much suffering if he had.  In his desire to avenge his father he became a central figure in the millennial period of 1913-28 which ended in yet another attempt to exterminate the Jews.

     Post-exilic history for the Jews began rather favorably.  They returned to Palestine just as the Middle Eastern empires were entering a time of troubles.  The succeeding Hellensitic period left them more or less independent until in 186 BC the Seleucids interfered in their internal affairs.  Under the Maccabbees the Jews were able to defeat the relatively weak Seleucid Emperors who were besieged on all sides.  The victory gave them a feeling of invincibility.

     The feeling was shattered by the Romans.

     The Jews tried again and failed in seventeenth century Europe.

     Their third repeated attempt was 1913-28 Europe.

     Freud made the incredible mind boggling statement on the eve of the Bolshevik, or Jewish, Revolution in Russia:  We tell ourselves that anyone who has succeeded in educating himself to truth about himself is permanently defended against the danger of immorality even though the standard of morality may differ in some respects from that which is customary in society.  He then goes on to say especially since the existing standards of morality are beneath contempt.

page 855.

     Thus he advocates a private, personal, obviously self-serving morality as superior to any ideal morality that has evolved over millennia.

     What could Freud, knowing of the imperfect nature of man, have found so objectionable about the existing  morality?  It can only have been that it was based on European traditions and not Freud’s own.

     The birth of modern Judaism was caused by the rise of the European Scientific attitude.  Science was the sole creation of Europeans with which Jews had nothing to do.  Prior to the Enlightenment in their arguments with Roman Catholicism the Jews had not only been equals but superiors.  As the creator of the corpus followed by the Church the Jews were in a better postion to undertand and interpret  it through the repository of the Talmud.

     When as a result of the Enlightenment Scientific Europeans left the puerile biblical debates behind the Jews were hopelessly medieval.  The Talmud, so effective against the Bible, was worthless against Science.  The more intelligent or, perhaps, less traditional Jews began to reorganize Judaism to meet the Scientific times.  This left them second rate beneath the Europeans, a serious affront to their amour propre.

      The real challenge then was to regain their superiority.  This could only be done by excelling in Science as they could invent nothing superior to it.  If they merely excelled in Science they merely excelled in an European milieu.  Freud at one time says that he saw no reason why the ‘wisdom’ of the the Talmud couldn’t be raised to a level of a Science thus bringing the Jews superior to the Europeans in their dreams.

page 856.

     Strangely he didn’t understand that the entry into full consciousness caused by the understanding of the workings of the psyche obviated all forms of consciousness that went before including the so-called ‘wisdom’ of the Talmud.

     So, to whom was Freud speaking about educating themselves against the danger of immorality?  By Freud’s own admission his fellow Jews.

     Freud’s vision of psychoanalysis is personal dealing exclusively with the inner workings of the subject’s mind.  He doesn’t even seem to grasp that the fixations are caused by external forces.  He seems to think the mind functions independently of the outside world.  Input does not seem important to him.

     To Jung and others Man’s relationship to his world is based more on a Challenge and Response system.  In other words, the intellect, which Freud denies, plays a very important part.

     Freud’s own intellect cast against his ideas places them in a different light.  The man was born in 1856 in a Central European Jewish milieu.  It will be remembered that the Hasidic religious movement grew out of psychological trauma that occurred in 1648.  Founded c. 1700 the Hasidic movement was only about a hundred fifty years old at his birth thus retaining much of its original vitality.

     Also arising out of the Jewish disappointments caused by the failed messiah, Sabbatai Zevi, in 1666 was the movement led by a follower of Zevi by the name of Jacob Frank.  This movement also took shape in the first half of the eighteenth century and was still flourishing during Freud’s young manhood.

page 857

     As a consequence of Zevi’s failure Frank believed that man was inherently evil thus God would never redeem him until the evil was spent.  The only way to expel evil was to commit enough crime to get it out of one’s system.  Novel psychology to say the least.  Thus he taught a large and attentive Jewish audience that one must commit evil for evil’s sake and that good will come of it.  So, in a manner of speaking, one is doing good by doing evil.

     Now, one can trace the spread of this idea in various forms and guises through time and space.  One very interesting advocate who deserves more study is an eighteenth century English Jew by the name of Falk.  Another is a twentieth century American Jew by the name of Arnold Rothstein.  And of course, Marx and Freud.

     Freud does not go into the external influences that formed his outlook on life or personal Weltanschauung but this emphasis on a personal morality that is superior to prevailing morality seems a sublimation of Jacob Frank and his evil for evil’s sake.

     Now, to whom was Freud speaking and why?  Certainly Freud considered himself a prophet of the Jewish people amidst the dawning millennium.  He had an intense desire to avenge his people on the goyim.  Did this Hannibal in that role have anything to do with organizing or directing the Jewish revolution of the dawning millennium?

page 858

     There is no question that his statement that anyone who has educted himself to truth about himself is permanently defended against the danger of immorality could be construed as advance absolution for any acts of the Bolsheviks that would be considered a crime by conventional morality.  Examine the acts of Hitler in light of Freud’s criteria.

     Freud’s statement and role resembles those a great deal of Simeon Bar Yochai, a second century rabbi of the Roman Wars.  The Roman-Jewish war of 66-135 AD was perhpas the first of the Holy Wars.  Its rationale and leadership was provided by the religious leaders of Judaism.

     Simeon Bar Yochai was a leading architect of that war, probably its guiding light.  After Bar Kochba’s defeat in 135 AD Yochai was compelled to go into hiding in a cave from which he daren’t move for many years until the Romans gave up the search.  As a tribute to his influence in the war his obituary said that he was the man who shook the world to its foundations.

     Just before the bloodbath of 116 when the Jews rose up to slaughter hundreds of thousands of Gentiles a moral quandary arose in the Jewish community.  They wondered whether it was permissable to kill ‘good’ Gentiles as well as ‘bad.’  Yochai without a moment’s hesitation replied that it was permissable to kill any and all Gentiles.  Genocide in other words.

     In 1666 with the expected advent of the millennium heralded by the messiah, Sabbatai Zevi, the Jews had been prepared on the strength of ‘God’s’ promise to rise up and murder Europeans much as they had done during the Roman War.

page 859.

     The third repeat of the Jewish Revolution of which the millennial dates were 1913-28 had come to a slow boil with the Communist Manifesto of 1847.

     It will be remembered that following Marx’ manifesto all the national Communist parties were over half Jewish.  The non-Jew Kropotkin as leader of  the anarchists had been discredited by Marx and the anarchists disenfranchised from the Communist Movement.  The Jews then held all the leading positions.

     Thus four Jews led the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia- Lenin, Kamenev, Zinoviev and Trotsky.  All the abortive revolutions of Central Europe were led by Jews.  They actually repeated the massacres of the Roman War in Russian and were prepared to do so throughout the world as the Revolution rolled on to success.   Even today Jewish representatives are calling for the genocide of Indo-Europeans.

     In Russia slaughterhouses were established in which Jewish murderers ‘worked’ all day long slaughtering Gentiles until they stood ankle deep in blood and gore.  Were they able to do this because they knew truths about themselves that prevented them from committing immoral acts?  Were they absolved of their crimes in advance as the Jews of the Roman War were?  They must have been or they couldn’t have performed the ‘work.’  As it was, numbers of them had nervous breakdowns as a result of their labors.

     The atrocities in Hungary and the attempted genocide in the Crimea have already been mentioned.  The similarities between the Roman and European slaughters are quite pronounced in their ferocity.  Of course all the details of the former had been recorded in that epistle of ‘science’ the Talmud.

page 860

     Did the Jews go to Freud to justify and absolve them of their atrocities as they had gone to Simeon Bar Yochai two thousand years earlier?  There is the compulsion to repeat.  The Jews were very well organized before, during and after the Great War.  Agents of American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee swarmed over Central and Eastern Europe from their safe haven in the US after the war in an attempt to rehabilitate their brethren first so they could assume control.  The AJC and B’nai B’rith were the leading components of the ‘Joint.’  Freud had been a member of B’nai B’rith since 1895.  He lectured to them in Austria on a consistent basis for years.  As a psychoanalyst what was he telling them that he wasn’t telling the scientific community?  His intellect deserves closer examination for what else can ‘anyone who has succeeded in educating himself to truth about himself is permanently defended against immorality’ mean except a license to kill.  If a Jewish supremacy arose out of that evil wouldn’t good have come out of it in Jewish eyes?  Yochai, Frank, Freud; there is a succession.

     Placed in that context one must reevaluate the whole period as well as the careers of Hitler and Stain for as Freud wrote openly in a universal idiom his rationale can be appropriated by any individual for his personal morality.

     The invasion of Vienna was preceded and was coincident with the rise of Jews in France.  At the time of the Russian Revolution a document became prominent called The Protocols Of The Learned Elders Of Zion.  The document outlines a method for creating discord in society so that a junta can easily assume control.  It was said that this document was a Jewish blueprint for world dominion.  The provenance of the Protocols has never been extalished for certain.  The Jews say it is a ‘forgery’ while their opponents say it is authentic.

page 861.

     Over the years the Jews have managed to discredit the document and have its study suppressed.  This is a great disservice because whoever wrote it its precepts are currently being followed by several groups; not the least the Bush administration and his minion, Chertoff.  It behooves every person interested in current affairs to be conversant with the Protocols of Zion.

     In point of fact the Protocols are of Jewish provenance.

     One thing all disputants agree on is that the Protocols were based on an earlier document of Franco-Jewish provenance called in English:  The Dialogues Between Montesquiou And Machiavelli In Hell.  The Dialogues present much of the content of the Protocols in different form.  The Dialogues are of Jewish provenance so whether the Protocols are or are not is a moot point.

     The Dialogues were attributed to a French Jew by the name of Maurice Joly but internal evidence indicates several hands including the ‘Gibbon of Jewish Historians’ Heinrich Graetz.

     The creation of the Dialogues was coordinated by a French Jew by the name of Adolph Cremieux.  Little known outside Jewish circles but exremely important Cremieux also deserves further study.  He was a lawyer and politico deeply involved in the revolutions of 1830 and 1848.  If one takes the Jewish ‘Gibbon’ Graetz at his word both revolutions were the result of Jewish machinations.  On this point Graetz and Hitler goosestep in unison.

page 862.

     Cremieux was resp9nsible in the annexation of Algeria in 1830 under cover of that revolution for obtaining French citizenship for the Algerian Jews.  Thus with the annexation the barbarous medieval Jews of Algeria became full French citizens gaining precedence over the native Algerines.  Clever move for the Jews, bad move for France.

     As Jewish affairs were consolidating nicely in France twelve years after the 1848 Revolution a central governing body called the Alliance Israelite Universelle was founded by Cremieux in 1860.  The Dialogues appeared in 1862.  Coincidence?  The name means the International Alliance of Jewry or in a slightly different translation:  The International Jewish Conspiracy.  Actually the Alliance was the seat of the Jewish government until 1900 when the seat was transferred to the United States under the guidance of the financier Jacob Schiff.

     Thus the Protocols arose out of the Dialogues in direct succession some time during the 1880s.  It should be noted that the Dialogues was never seen in bookstores.  It is said the whole printing was confiscated by Napoleon III against whom they were supposedly directed.  It follows that the only people who could have known of the book and provided a copy as a model for the Protocols were its producers the Jews of France who may have retained the actual manuscript.

     Nevertheless, as masters of misinformation, disinformation and misdirection the Jewish government was able to shame the Liberal parties into rejecting Jewish provenance of the Protocols.  The Liberals then condemned any Gentiles who persisted in saying so as ‘anti-Semitic cranks.’  That is actually the ‘proof’ that the Protocols aren’t Jewish.  Under pressure a few academics denied their authenticity.

page 863.

     Jacob Schiff himself was a very effective Prime Minister.  He was able to engineer the First Russian Revolution of 1905 by funding the Japanese war machine from America while he directing European financiers prevented funding of the Russians.

     Schiff was able to disrupt American and Russian diplomatic connections for the benefit of the Jews from 1900 to 1913 creating an actual break in relations in the latter year.  Immediately with the Bolshevik succession he rushed huge loans of American dollars to their coffers even during the Great War to shore up the regime.

     Thus absolved by Freud of guilt and supported by the world resources of the Jews from 1917 to 1924 it looked as though the Jews were on the eve of success in their millennial pursuit.  With the possible exeptions of Mussolini and Ford it looked as though there were no fences facing.

     However Stalin and Hitler sensed the danger.  Hitler was also a product of the Vienna that produced Freud.  Hitler himself was always hostile to Freudian beliefs; it may be assumed that Hitler read at least some Freud.  He was hostile to Freud for exactly the same reason Freud was hostile to Kultur.  Living in the Vienna under the goverance of the ‘anti-Semitic’ Mayor Lueger, Hitler was self-educated.  He spent years in the libraries organizing his view of the world.

     In Freudian terms both he and Stalin certainly knew truths about themselves which prevented them from committing ‘immoral’ acts.  Freud’s dictum could be construed as also authorizing their crimes.

page 864.

     Coming to maturity in the Red Terror of 1917-24 Hitler had a good understanding of the course of events in Central and Eastern Europe.  It is silly to think that he acted solely from his own impulses.  There was a civil war going on between Reds and Whites from 1918-33 in Germany.  Judeo-Communist atrocities were daily before his eyes.  As he said, he knew his head would roll in the sand if he lost.  That was not mere rhetoric.

    Hitler’s experience in Vienna convinced him of the nature of the war between Jews and Gentiles.  The evidence is clear that the Viennese shared his view.  Once given the upper hand over their invaders the Austrians were much more obdurate than the Germans.  Never forget that an Austrian, Hitler, directed the fate of the German nation.

     Hitler’s book burning of 1933 might be construed as nothing more than a vindictive censorship of ideas he didn’t like.  But as the books burned were those of Jews, especially Freud, it should probably be seen as an attempt to eject Semitism from Kultur.  In other words, the triumph of Kultur over Semitism.  In the end the Germans chose to kill the Jews rather than discriminate against them or go under.  You may be sure the Jews would have done the same as they had or attempted numerous times before.

     As Stalin usurped power from the Jews in Russia a strange thing happened.  Psychoanalytic methods assumed great prominence.

     When Freud’s disciple Otto Rank defected from the ranks of Freudian psychoanalysts he was excommunicated.  The validity of his views was not examined;  even if true they were not the true Truth of the Faith.  Hence Rank was compelled to submit to criticism, to confess his faults and beg for acceptance back into the faith.

page 865.

     The Show Trials of 1936 were conducted in the exact same manner except that the sinners were given the death sentence.  The method surfaced again in Red China in 1966 when the Red Guards and Cultural Revolutionaries of Mao the Dong overturned that society.  The accused were criticized in mass meeting, compelled to confess their ‘faults’ and beg to be allowed to rehabilitate themselves through hard labor.

     Thus Marxist and Freudian ideas converged in an orgy of evil to destroy the oldest continuous civilization in the world.

     The notion prevails in Politically Correct circles in the US today.  Thus Freudianism has had a profound if unsuspected impact on the world.

     Freud remained confident through 1928 began to waver in 1930 and by 1938 the horror of the impending destruction of the Jews as a repeat of the Roman War was before his eyes as he fled Austria for England.  In Moses and Monotheism he pitifully whines that the Jews had give up those notions of world dominion long ago.  Or, in other words, I’m sorry.

     Like Hannibal, his attempt to avenge his father resulted in the destruction of his people.  As in the Roman War the Nazis conducted a manhunt to find every single Jew and kill him.  Not only had Bar Kochba and Sabbatai Zevi failed Jews as Messiahs, so had the Revolution.

page 866.

     The Jews failed in this third attempt to take over the world but the legacy of Sigmund Freud lives on in the ambiguous words of his corpus.  His immediate political aims failed but his undermining of Christian society was much more successful.

     Apart from his political intent Freud had uncovered a great scientific area of study.

5.

The Shirt Of Nessus

     While Freud’s short term political goals ended in disaster for his people, as did those of his role model Hannibal, Freud’s long term goal of destroying the social foundations of the Gentiles has succeeded very well.

     As an innovator Freud can not be expected to have a complete and final idea.  Much of the information that became available after 1950 was undeveloped in Freud’s time, such as the Matriarchal and Hetairic eras, so he cannot be held accountable for not employing them.  Physiology has made tremendous strides since his day.

     Freud’s errors do not so much lay in areas of knowledge but in areas of intent.  He was unable to separate his own psychology of hatred from that of his scientific discipline.  Hence his mistaken emphasis on the importance of the father figure and his misbegotten notions of the Oedipus Complex.  Then too, he projected his hatred of the Gentiles into his views of religion and sexuality.

page 867.

     The only thing of value Freud had to offer, that of the formation of the neuroses, has been rejected by the lay and medical communities alike.

     Strangely his nonsense is revered as great revelation of truth, largely because it fits in with prevailing prejudices.  In his attack on the Christian religion Freud was curiously unaware that the Scientific Consciousness had displaced the anterior consciousnesses of Hetaira, Matriarchy and Patriarchy.  Thus the people who were dependent on Religion as the basis of the mentality were people whose beliefs could not be dislodged.  On the one hand were the various esoteric religions whose beliefs  do not depend on the divinity of Jesus and the Fundamentalists whose belief is so secure nothing can shake it.  For those who need a supernatural agency in their lives New Age people using science as a tool have created alien intelligence from beyond the solar system to serve as their ‘God.’

     If Freud thought dispelling Christianity as a religious belief would bring the Gentiles down he was mistaken.  The ‘illusion’ had already been replaced by a ‘reality.’  The futility of trying to dispel religious beliefs should have been clear to Freud.  The exposure of the illusion or, even delusion, of the compact between the Jewish people and their tribal god had no effect on them; they continue to believe the compact exists and that Palestine was given to them by their tribal god inalienably.

     The most potent dissolvent in Freud’s arsenal was his sexual theory.  He was quite severely criticized for his sexual beliefs then and they should be rejected now.

page 868.

     Everything Freud believed on the subject was wrong.  Basic to his misunderstanding was the physical structure of the human organism.  He missed the relationship of the physical organism with its psychological organization.

     He quite correctly picked up the ovate and spermatic halves of the psyche but since he didn’t associate them with their physical origins he mistakenly thought that men were part woman and vice versa.  This was a critical misconception as it opened the door to much erroneus speculation on homosexuality.

     There may be rare cases of sexual ambiguity caused by birth defects in the physical apparatus or defective hormonal systems but any other expression of ambiguity is a perversion that is not natural but comes about only when the ovate is fixated and spermatic is repressed or, in other words, when the organism is mentally ill.  Psychological perversion has nothing to do with physical organization.

     Since he misunderstood the physical organism he equated sexuality not with the Power Train but with sexual intercourse.  Freud actually equated fucking with mental health.  Because psychic discomfort is reflected in sexual urges he actually believed that the more fucking one did the better person one would be.  Such nonsense has not only passed unchallenged for eighty years but is actually embraced today as the Gospel of Fuck.

     Freud did not believe in the intellect of the effectiveness of intelligence.  While he made the grandiose pronouncement:  Where Id was, Ego shall be, he failed to explain how this would come about.  For whatever reason he considered the intellect nonexistent and intelligence ineffective and unimportant.  In keeping with his times he believed in the hereditary transmission of mental traits.

page 869.

     More importantly he invented a whole category of non-existent affects called the ‘instincts.’  Like the Unconscious and Collective Unconscious instincts do not exist.  There are no instincts, not a single one, all is a matter of learning and education.

     Even eating is not an instinct but taught at the mother’s breast.  Hunger may be a physical reality but it is not an instinct.  Assuaging hunger must be learnt and that literally at the mother’s breast.  The first lesson an infant is taught is when the mother inserts the nipple in his mouth.  His mouth blocked he has no choice to resist suffocation but to begin sucking as in attempting to draw in air.  Imagine his surprise when the liquid  emitted seems delicious and when he swallows it because he can’t spit it out the physical reaction is terrific.  It feels good.  Having learnt to eat he wants more.  Being a quick learner, from that point on the infant will demand to be fed.  But without that first infusion he would die hungry not knowing what the desire to eat meant.

     Because Freud wanted to project his own psychic vision he gave instincts precedence over all other psychic functions.  He professed that the individual was incapable of resisting or controlling what the Ancients characterized as the Raging Bull and what he called the Ego.

     Both the Church and Esoteric religions have devised rigors to control and domesticate this Bull or Ego/Instincts by using intelligence.  Freud thought that to use your intelligence to control your ‘instincts’ was to incur damaging inhibitions and repressions.  Hence he was opposed to ‘morality.’  Freud imagined this did irreparable damage to the psyche especially sexual inhibitions and repressions hence the Gospel of Fuck.

page 870.

     If fucking actually made a person better, then the logical conclusion is that libertines and homosexuals are the best people in the world.  Fucking dominates the homosexual’s mind.  It is not unusual for them to commit thirty or forty acts of sex a day for as many days as they can sustain it.

     As the only thing that counts in sexual activity is the climax it follows that if machines were placed in prominent places to masturbate the individual on an hourly basis or less that society would be darn near perfect; the millennium would have arrived.  I don’t know why people are leery of buying the Brooklyn Bridge when they have bought the myth of sexual intercourse.

     The fact is that libertines and homosexuals are the worst people in the world so the basis of Freud’s argument is very limp.

     The West has generally embraced Freud’s misguided sexual theory.  The United States is actually fucked.  Freud’s sexual theory was picked up by the lame third rate novelist, Henry Miller, who actually formulated the Gospel Of Fuck during the twenties and thirties in his novels, The Tropics of Capricorn and Cancer.

     Henry Miller was gaining respectability during the fifties with psychotic fringe groups in the San Francisco Bay Area and elsewhere.  By the sixties he would have a profound impact on society with the reverence given his two volumes of the Tropics.

page 871.

     As Freud was interpreted in the common mind repression and inhibition were the causes of psychic discomfort.  The common mind had no idea how inhibitions and repressions were caused exept by not being allowed to do whatever you wanted to do.  Through the forties and fifties the children of innumerable families were encouraged to indulge their whims and fancies regardless of who they might hurt.  They were given no instruction or correction lest they become inhibited and repressed.  It was thought that when they grew up they would naturally gravitate to the intelligent choice.

     The so-called ‘Me First’ generation of the sixties and seventies lacked proper instruction in managing their ‘instincts.’  The pervading influence of past mores prevented them expressing themselves with true lack of ‘inhibition’ or ‘repression.’  The wave of high school shoot outs of the later century when the succeeding generation had moved out from the shadow of earlier mores were committed by the offspring of the ‘Me First’ generation.  They are the logical progression of Freudian sexual theory.

     Employing metal detectors and other ‘inhibitory’ or ‘repressive’ systems will not solve the problem, Freud has to be amended.

     Freud’s thesis was advanced by the Jewish monologist Lenny Bruce as well as furthered by Jewish interests in Hollywood who produced innumerable ‘action’ films in which the uninhibited and unrepressed protagonist  attempts to solve his problems from the barrel of a gun rather than reason them out.

page 872.

     The homosexual crowd aboard the Teufelsdreck, especially Kanary believed they were healthier because they thought of themselves as uninhibited and unrepressed.  They did not know that they were more inhibited and repressed not to say compulsive than the heteros aboard.

     Freud who concentrated his studies in hysteria should have known that inhibitions and repression were affects of the condition.  He should also have known that homosexuals are classic hysterics but he preferred not to see this because he was a homosexual himself and what happened on his consulting couch we may never know.

     By following the Gospel Of Fuck in accordance with Freud’s instructions the Homos may have thought they were exorcising their demons but instead they were consecrating them.

     In any event Freud even moreso than his second century predecessor, Simeon Bar Yochai, may be called the The Man Who Shook The World and continues to shake it from the grave.

Back To The Festivities

     Captain Ratches mistakenly gave these Homos carte blanche to organize the initiation as they sought fit.  Since he had contempt and abhorrence for the enlisted man he wanted no contact with them nor would he delegate a couple officers to oversee the games.

     Thus he effectively transferred the police power to this homosexual gang placing the rest of the crew at their mercy.

page 873.

     The crew could be compared to the Jews under Hitler.  The Jews were severely and unjustly criticized for having been the passive victims of Hitler.

     In fact they had no reason to distrust the police power of the State.  The Communists in any coalition government they entered always demanded the police power and with good reason, the police power of any State is irresistible.

     Thus in the Bolshevic Revolution of Russia the Cheka was organized and run by the Jews.  The power to arrest made the slaughter of Russians child’s play.  They were no less passive in the analogous situation than the Jews.

     The assumption of police power by the Homos aboard the Teufelsdreck meant that they could commit crimes against the crew without resistance.  The crew surrendered themselves for the three days on the assumption it was required of them and trusting in the justice and self restraint of the self-appointed Shellbacks cum Homos.

     The Homos released their inhibitions and repressions in an orgy of cruelty resembling in diluted form the horrors of Auschswitz, The Russian Revolution, The Cultural Revolution and Charenton.  The inmates were in control of the asylum.

The Shame Of The Teufelsdreck

     Duber and Erect fully meant to implement their threat made against Trueman in the shower.  Fortunately for himself and due to Kanary’s malice he was always on watch when their psyches flared up.  Trueman had convinced himself that it was necessary to have a good time crossing the equator.  So for several days he had lain out during lunch time working on a tan.

page 874.

     A tan is not much work in the tropics.  The rays of the sun are intense.  Fifteen minutes on each side had been enough to turn Dewey from nut brown to sooty black in a few days.  The following day his skin cracked like a dry river bottom after which he gave up the idea of tanning.

     But on this day as he lay out on the Hedgehog deck Teal Kanary approached asking softly:  ‘Mind if I take up this space beside you?’

     ‘I’m surprised you’d want to.  I thought you didn’t like me.’

     ‘Not at all.’  Kanary cooed.  ‘Not at all.’  It was a double entendre that could be taken either way.

     He lay down beside Trueman a foot or two away while eyeing him with a vague Mona Lisa smile.  He was looking forward to his plan when they crossed the equator and as he smiled he imagined himself astride Trueman pumping his ass.

     It didn’t take mental telepathy to read his thoughts.  A number of men led by Duber also drifted up inconspicuously.  Trueman feeling uncomfortable got up and left.  He saved himself a great deal of humiliation not to mention possible pysical injury for he was the intended first victim of the initiation.  In more ways than one.

     The next day Duber, Erect and their associates began carrying four foot lengths of fire hose.  This was one heck of a weapon.   The interior of the three inch hose is heavy rubber with a woven cord covering.  As Dewey stood the afternoon watch they committed their first outrage.  One of the crew was seized and held by two men while Duber flailed his kidneys, his favorite spot, and bottom with the fire hose.  The screams of the man raged over the bridge from below as this was a serious and savage beating.  The Homos then rampaged over the ship seizing and beating any Pollywogs they found.  The screams and cries reaching Dewey on port lookout made him tremble.  He looked over at Ratches but the Captain merely shook his head as though he found enlisted men incomprehensible.  It was with some trepidation that Dewey came down from watch but by then the games were over for the day.

page 875.

     There was some grumbling as the equator was still two days away.  The Pollywogs rightly felt that the so-called Shellbacks were exceeding their authority.  But as the police power had been ceded them by Captain Ratches it was felt wrong to resist the ‘law’ although the Pollywogs should have rebelled and put the Homos in their place.  But like the Jews of Nazi Germany and the Russians of the Bolshevik Revolution they were taken by surprise.

     Dewey had the after lookout watch the next morning when he had occasion to see just how brutal these Homos could be.  Duber had taken over leadership of the so-called Shellbacks assisted by his lieutenant, Peter Erect.

     Trueman had the after watch but instead of being on the three inch gun mount he stood all the way aft between the Depth Charge racks with his phone plugged into the after connection.

page 876.

     Not only had the police power shifted to the homos but the Pollywogs were expected to take the chicanery in resignation just like the victims of the Red Guard.  Any show of resistance or ill humor was subject to condemnation and increased brutality.

     Duber and a few others were clustered around the hose reel behind the after hatch.  The man they really wanted was the after watch, Trueman.  As the watch he was immune to harassment, or so he thought.

     The Homos seized the hapless sailors who wandered aft as surrogates.  On one a bucket of slop was dumped over his head which they made another lick up while they flailed away at his back.

     ‘Hitting too hard to be just for fun.’  Dewey observed with queasiness in his stomach at their brutality.

     Then Cornell Roberts unwarily came up from First.  He was pounced on.  For some reason he seemed to excite the Shellbacks as they whooped and hollered and danced around wondering what to do with him.  Kanary came aft at this time and proffered a suggestion.  ‘Right.’  Duber hollared.  ‘Bend him over the hose reel.’

     The reel was about three feet high so Roberts’ rear end was just at the right height as he was pulled over the reel.  Trueman was already aghast at the violence of these men thanking his lucky stars he was on watch.

     While Roberts was being laid out Duber danced back about four steps then rearing back as to get full force he stepped quickly forward swinging his four foot hose as hard as he could, hard enough it was.  The smack resounded across the water as Roberts’ flesh involuntarily quivered through his jeans and water ran down the reel.  the color fled his face as he let out a strangled cry that went beyond pain.

     Then Duber backed up and did it again. 

     ‘Oh, my god.’  Trueman thought as he fought to keep his vomit down.  ‘One more time and they could kill him.’

     Then Peter Erect looked back at the real target and saw the horrified expression on Trueman’s face.  He grinned in anticipation.

     ‘There he is.  Let’s get him.’

     ‘He’s on watch.’  Duber replied.

     ‘If he complains so much the worse for him.’  Kanary said seizing the hose from Duber.

     Four of them led by Erect advanced on Trueman.  Dewey was absolutely terrified.  His glance rested on a whitened Roberts shivering with shock and realized that if they got him over the reel he would probably never be the same man again.  The mouthpiece quivered in his hand as he debated whether to call for help and blow his cool or submit to a beating that would leave psychic scars of some magnitude and possible physical injury.

     ‘Hey, I’m on watch.’  He joked seeking to preserve his dignity.

     ‘That won’t save you this time.’  Erect crowed grabbing the mouthpiece out of his hand.  Other hands seized his legs as they began carrying him to the hose reel.

page 878.

     Why someone had reminded him just that morning that the ear phones were transmitters too he would never understand.  Remembering that fresh reminder he seized the earphones from his head shouting into them in a humorous mock serious voice:  “Help. Help.  They’re abducting the watch.’

     Ratches informant Shakey Jake Brook who was standing as Bridge Talker immediately turned to the Captain.  ‘Sir, After Watch says he’s being abducted.’

     Ratches who had been observing the Shellback’s activities with the distaste due to lower orders looked back from the bridge to see Trueman being carried toward the hose reel.  At that moment Trueman believed his ruse had failed.  He was preparing himself for a numbing beating as Kanary swinging the hose glared at him with fiery eyes.  Then he heard Ratches voice blare from the squawk box:  ‘Now you men leave my watch alone.’

     Erect and the others looked up to the bridge to see Ratches looking down at them.  For the moment they acknowledged a police authority higher than their own and put Trueman down.  As it was they were within a hair of disregarding Ratches’ order which would have put the ship in an amusing situation for that would have been akin to mutiny.  There would have had to have been serious consequences.

     ‘We’ll get you later, Trueman.’

     ‘Hey, man, I was only joking in the spirit of the games.  How did I know they’d take it serious.  Can’t you guys take a joke?’

     ‘You think you’re really clever using your earpiece like that don’t you?’  Duber hissed.

 page 880

     ‘I had no idea it would work.’  Trueman laughed.  ‘Besides Duber, you know this is over tomorrow.  Beware of the backlash.’

     As Trueman put his earphones back on it was with a sense of the deepest relief.  Roberts was standing against the K-guns still drained of color, trembling from shock while the big yellow stain on the front of his pants, down his legs and over his shoes betrayed the force of the blows delivered him.

     Wearing a mask of affected gaity Trueman also reflected on the tone and content of Ratches’ plea which he wasn’t alone in apprehending.  There had been a whining exasperated plea in Ratches’ order which had been more of a request than an order.  The distance he felt between himself and the men was apparent.  The idea of ‘my’ watch was an indication of a separation between bridge and crew.

     In Trueman’s mind at that point the unity of the Teufelsdreck was lost.  Others had heard the pleas as opportunity.

     The incident soured the festivities of the Homos for the day as the ship passed Tarawa on the way to the Line.

     The Teufelsdreck had just crossed the Equater the next morning as the crew rose for the day of games.  The process would take up the whole day.  The Shellbacks were in a high state of excitement at the prospect of having the Pollywog men completely at their mercy.  The attitude was that of the inside of an asylum for the criminally insane.

     Cook Bocuse started the festivities by presenting a rainbow breakfast.

page 880.

     Time magazine had recently published a study which showed that people wouldn’t eat food if it was presented to them in unfamiliar colors.  Thus Bocuse had dyed the potatoes purple, the eggs red and the colored the butter green.

     Most were good sports declaring they could not eat the food.  Dewey had read the article in Time so his mind was prepared.  He wolfed his down without trouble to the dismay of others who considered him a spoilsport.

     Perhaps, but Dewey was genuinely concerned about what the Homos would do.  The beating of Roberts and his own narrow escape loomed large in his mind.  He didn’t intend to willingly give anyone any pleasure.  Besides he knew that very very few of the Shellbacks had any right to the name.  It especially rankled him to be hazed by Kanary.

     After breakfast the Pollywogs were ordered to assemble in First Division.  Some spilled over into Engineering.  Some like Erect herded them along like some Nazi prison guard directing Jews into the ovens.

     Once assembled they were ordered to strip naked.  The Homos wanted to feast their eyes on those flopping dicks.  Now, initiation was voluntary not compulsory; two of the crew were too terrified to participate.  They had gathered on the boat deck.  Trueman at this point decided to join them. 

     ‘No!’ He announced.  ‘I am not going to strip naked. I’ll go up on the boat deck.’

     The instruction seemed a little too outre for others also as other voices announced they would not strip.

page 881.

     There was hurried consultatation at the head of the after hatch.  Duber, the leader of the homos, was stationed to get first crack at the men as they clambered out of the hatch.

     ‘Alreight you only have to strip down to your shorts.’  He announced foregoing the pleasure of seeing all those dicks flopping around and the delicious pleasure of flogging bare ass watching the welts rise.

     There were still subdued murmurs of protest but yeas exceeded nays so the Pollywogs went along.  At the very least they feared they would have to run a true gauntlet.  Their fears were well justified.

     Baxter and Basehart, two men from operations, who were friendly with Trueman were unable to bear the anxiety; they wanted to be first out.  They implored Trueman to join them but Dewey knew better.  All his experience at the Orphanage told him to wait till the end of the line when the Shellbacks would have expended most of their energy.  He tried to get the idea over to Baxter and Basehart but their anxiety was so great that they had to get it over with.

     The gauntlet, for gauntlet it was, had been devised by Duber, Erect, Costello, Kanary and a couple others.  All the Shellbacks were armed with four foot lengths of fire hose.  These weighed over five pounds.  The course was laid out from the after hatch up the port side, around the fo’c’sle and down starboard ending at the after K-gun before the Depth Charge racks.

     Duber stood at the top of the hatch.  A few feet from him stood his stooge, Peter Erect.  Erect was demented.  He had inserted a six inch long, three inch diameter lead weight into the bottom end of the hose and the six inch weight at the head should be obvious to anyone.  Beyond him stood another four men with hoses.

page 882.

     Midships about where the Quarterdeck would have been a tribunal had been set up where Proud Costello served as Magister Ludi.  A couple of the more criminal types familiar with prison had demanded a kangaroo court to try the Pollywogs.

     As the verdict was always ‘guilty’ the men proceeded to King Neptune personated by Paul Bocuse sitting on three stacked potato sacks by the galley door.  Bocuse’s prominent belly had been smeared with a foul tasting concoction of which Tobasco sauce was the most prominent item.  The condemned was made to kiss Neptune’s belly button.

     This was evil as the concoction was repellent.  You were advised to not kiss lightly or your face would be rubbed in the mess by Neptune.  Bocuse’s fly was also open so if he rubbed your face he pushed your head down on his dick.  Some men were wise enough to shove their faces into his belly button while most tried to get by lightly.  They suffered indignity.

     After the double hatches the ship was too narrow for any hosemen but as one rounded the fo’c’sle Kanary was positioned with a live fire hose and nozzle.  This was why he smiled at Trueman as lay down beside him.  The Navy has different nozzles for different purposes.  The flood nozzle is designed to disperse as much water as possible over the widest area to quench fires.  This nozzle is perforated to spread the water.  Capable of projecting water for a hundred feet it has great force.  If you have seen pictures of civil rights demonstrations where the hoses were turned on the demostrators knocking them down and rolling them down the street this is the type of nozzle used.

     A second type of nozzle is called the suicide nozzle.  This type earns its name from the fact that this nozzle tapers down from a three inch connection to a one inch opening.  This nozzle has concentrated and devastating force.  It is used to break up the center of fires dispersing the metal core.  If the flood nozzle can knock you down the suicide nozzle can tear you apart hence its name.  Now, Kanary proposed to use the suicide nozzle from four feet or less as hazing.  Sadism is not only part of homosexuality but so is insane brutal stupidity.  Fortunately Ractches’ informers got wind of this giving him the news.  Instead of taking control of the hazing which such activity would have warranted he merely warned Kanary not to use the suicide nozzle.

     Kanary was perhaps more demented than Erect.  As a spoiled only child he was skilled in devious means to have his way.  Having been warned he changed to the flood nozzle, which was crazy enough, but carried a suicide nozzle in his back pocket to use on Trueman.  One shudders.

     Continuing on down the starboard side after emerging from the wing hatches another line of men with hoses waited.  Abreast of the after three a fifteen foot chute had been laid out that was filled with brownish ‘shit.’  The chute greatly resembled what homosexuals call the ‘Slide’ or asshole.  Queers whaled on you with their hoses as you crawled through that.

     Completing the ordeal a huge vat five feet deep of brownish garbage and actual shit collected for a week  or so sat before the Depth Charge rack.  Completing the homosexual imagery the Pollywog was to jump in up to the neck presumable how Homos wish to enter the asshole.  Charming.

     Baxter and Basehart chose not to listen to Dewey’s experience.  Baxter shouted:  ‘I’m going first anyway.  I’ve got to get this over.’

     He was first up.  No matter how quickly you raced up the ladder you still had to turn to port as you climbed over the hatch lip.  As you did so Duber laid his best across your kidneys if he was on, higher of lower if he wasn’t.  In itself this was shocking.  Fresh for the slaughter of the innocents Duber laid his best directly across Baxter’s kidneys.  Baxter went temporarily blind from the shock preventing his clearly seeing Peter Erect.  He staggered toward the fiendishly howling Erect whose face was transported with sadistic pleasure.

     Pulling back in classic golf style Erect brought the hose down and up with all his considerable force with leverage.  The heavy lead weight crashed between Baxter’s legs driving his gonads back into his body as his pelvis gave way with a loud crack.

     Unable to believe his eyes Ratches watched from the bridge as his mouth gaped.  Peter Erect emitted barking shrieks of laughter as Baxter crumpled to the steel deck blazing under the heat of the equatorial sun.

    Before Ratches could react Basehart his eyes crossed from the force of Duber’s blow across his kidneys staggered up to Erect.  With his mouth open in howling delight Peter Erect delivered another destructive swing slightly high, it caught Basehart just at the top of the penis breaking the pelvis and rupturing the lower abdominal muscles.  He too crumpled to the steel inferno howling in pain.

 page 885.

     By this time Ratches had found his voice, shouting down to the fantail:  ‘Stop the proceedings, stop the proceedings.  Bring that man to the head.’

     Erect heard none of this.  He was in another world or so to say, out of his mind.  He was uninhibited; he had so sense of immorality; he knew a few truths about himself.  As far as he was concerned all laws were suspended.  He had been given carte blanche to indulge all his repressed homosexual hatreds.

     He stood slack jawed swinging his leaded hose in front of him as though it was his own very potent penis waiting for the next one.  He was quite prepared to put the entire contingent of Pollywogs down until a heap of bodies lay before him.

     Pardon and Ratman emerged from the hatch aft of the head to approach Erect from behind with due caution.  They had reason to be wary.  Pardon crept up directly behind Erect throwing a full nelson on him with dexterity.  Erect groaned, not from pain but because he was called back from euphoria.  The bliss vanished from his mind.  His glazed eyes hooded over as his mouth seemed to close over an imagined penis as he made several sucking motions.

page 886.

     ‘Erect.  Hey, Erect, are you there?’  Ratman asked anxiously.

     ‘Uh.’  Erect grunted as painful reality once again gripped his mind.  ‘What…What’s the matter, is it over?’  He spoke from behind the mists.

     ‘It is for you.  Come with us now.’  Ratman said taking the hose from Erect’s hand.

     Erect, mystified, allowed himself to be led off to the toilet while Dieter, Oiler and couple other chiefs and Firsts hurried to get the injured Baxter and Basehart off the burning deck and into bunks.

     ‘Hey, what the hell’s going on up there?  What’s the delay?’  Some snipe yelled up at Duber.  ‘Let’s go.’

     ‘Just be quiet.’  Duber whispered.  ‘Things have been held up for a while.  Just wait.’

     The face that Duber now presented to them had lost its sexual gloss betraying the beginning of a pensive realization that as Erect was his stooge he would be indirectly accountable for Erect’s actions.

     As he watched the painfully and critically injured, injured? crippled Baxter and Basehart loaded into makeshift blanket stretchers he had good reason for pause.  He had a sick feeling in the base of his stomach.

page 887.

     Erect was led into the head where Ratches awaited him in the washroom.  Ratches was trembling with rage and indignation.

     ‘What in the hell is wrong with you, man?’  He fairly shouted in unofficerial fashion.

    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about Captian.’  Erect said sincerely and defensively.

     ‘You don’t know what I’m talking about?’  Ratches roared indignantly.  ‘My god, man, you almost killed those two men.  You would have crippled half my crew.’

     Erect put his hands on his hips belligerently:  ‘I didn’t do nothing wrong, Captain.  This is the Line.  Paul said this is where we get ours, there is no Law South of the Line.’

     ‘What?’  Ratches bellowed.

     ‘This is initiation.  I was within my rights.  Paul said this is where we get our justice.’

     ‘Keep him in the mess hall under watch until this is over.’  Ratches ordered Pardon and Ratman.  ‘Try to find out what he’s talking about and warn these men against a repetition of this.  Check the rest of those hoses to see if they’re leaded.’

     Going to the bridge he instructed Morford to check on Kanary.  Kanary had surreptitiously slipped the suicide nozzle on the hose.

     ‘Kanary, for Christ’s sake get that nozzle off there.  You’ll kill somebody.’  Somebody?  He would have killed anyone who got by Peter Erect.  He should have been removed but he reluctantly changed back to the flood nozzle putting the suicide nozzle in his pack pocket still hoping to use it on Trueman.

page 888.

     After two hour’s delay initiation began again.  By this time the rumor of Erect and his leaded hose had made the rounds although it was not made clear that he had been removed from the gauntlet.  Dewey sat on his locker in his underwear with his hand on his face wondering whether to risk the opprobrium of chickening out or submitting to the ordeal.  By the time a couple hours later that it got down to him and two others he decided to risk it.

     As he came up the ladder he heard someone say to Duber:  ‘Here he comes.’  But Duber had had several hours to think things over.  The meaning of the shattered lives of Baxter and Basehart was clear to him.  The plan of the initiation had been his; Erect was his bosom buddy.  His imagination dwelt on legal repercussions so he had lost much of his enthusiasm.

     As Trueman came up he turned away pretending to be preoccupied with some other matter.  As Trueman skipped over the edge of the hold Duber uttered a ‘damn’ pretending to have missed his opportunity but in reality sparing Trueman as he feared his testimony in any Court Martial.

     Out of range Trueman put his hands up to parry the leaded hose as he searched for Erect.  Realizing he was no longer there Trueman walked up to ‘Judge’ Proud Costello.  The men with hoses on the way to the tribunal were no longer swinging them.

     Sure that Erect and his leaded hose was no longer a danger Dewey relaxed enough to look around to get his bearings.  Conscious of his near nudity he was offended by the full dress of the so-called Shellbacks.  With the psychological insight of Nazis and Commies Duber had stripped the Pollywogs of parity and dignity.

page 890.

     Casting a glance at the two dark spots on the deck where Baxter and Basehart had fallen Dewey approached Costello with a certain amount of anger and hostility.  Trueman knew Costello had never been over the Line.  None of these guys had, hence they had no legal rights.  It was simply a case of favoritism; a favoritism which the Captain with his disdain of the enlisted man had sanctioned.

     Costello was no less transported than Erect.  Giddy with the power to insult the Pollywogs with impunity he was literally out of his mind, beside himself, as they say.

     ‘What do we have here, Bailiff?’  He exulted.

     ‘This is the criminal Dewey Trueman, Judge.’

     ‘Well, Trueman, you are accused of being generally offensive and of low character.  You are charged with having a big mouth and no respect for your betters.  In short, you are a asshole.  How do you plead?’

     Trueman looked at Costello with mingled contempt and distaste.

    ‘You haven’t ever been over the line, Costello.  You’re a cheat.’

     It was as though Costello was impervious to outside influence.

     ‘How do you plead?’

     Dewey was very reluctant to say guilty.  He scowled around.  His eyes were met by a smiling pair.  ‘If you don’t plead guilty you have to come over here and we beat you with our hoses until you do.  Dewey should have braved it because with two men down Ratches was in no mood for more brutality.  But Dewey gave in.  ‘Guilty’ he mumbled.

page 890

     ‘Yes, you are.  Proceed to Neptune and kiss his belly.’

     With a lingering wrathful glance at Costello Trueman stepped over to where Mike Deasy, one of the Radarmen, was kneeling before Bocuse trying to overcome his revulsion at the odious sentence.

     Deasy made the mistake of trying to lightly brush the belly button with the tips of fully extended lips.  With a laughing roar Bocuse grabbed his ears pulling his head forward as he rolled Deasy’s face from side to side in the ugly mess.  Then he slid Deasy’s face down to a very suggestive position just above his dick.

     Deasy in his turn let out a roar tearing away to the general merriment of the crowd.  Cursing Bocuse cum Neptune he nearly tripped on the lip of the first of the double hatches to the merriment of all, although if he fallen across the opposite lip there might have been a third seriously injured man to add to Baxter and Basehart.

     With Deasy’s example before him Trueman gritted his teeth, knelt down and rammed his nose into Bocuse’s belly button without pursing his lips.  Either his ruse worked or Bocuse took pity on him, at any rate Trueman pulled away without further indignity.

     When Ratches saw Trueman walk up to Costello he turned to Morford:  ‘Get down on the gun mount above your crazy Yeoman and make sure he doesn’t put on that suicide nozzle he’s got in his back pocket.  I’ve already got two injured men I won’t be able to explain.  I don’t want to have to add a dead one.’

page 891.

     Morford moved down to the three inch tub.  Kanary had been advised that Trueman would be right behind Deasy.  If Erect had been joyful in releasing his subconscious desires Kanary was morbid, angry and insane.  If Costello was beside himself, Kanary was calculatedly cruel.  Erect’s and Costello’s pleasure was internal; Kanary’s was external.  He wanted to see blood and gore.  He wanted to finish off his victims as they lay writhing in pain.

     He completely ignored Deasy as he hurried to unscrew the flood to get the suicide nozzle on.  He was in the process of screwing it on when Morford stepped to the front of the gun tub.  Bifrons didn’t care whether Kanary murdered Trueman but he didn’t want the resulting onus of having been on the ship where this had been allowed to happen.  He already shared the Captain’s discomfiture over the injured Operations men.

     ‘Put the flood nozzle back on, Kanary.  Did you hear me?  If you use that suicide nozzle you’ll turn twenty-one in prison, life without parole.’

     Morford’s argument had no effect on Kanary’s mind.  These fags thought they had a license to kill.  Fortunately he had the mind of the true subordinate.  Disciplined by the Party and respecting rank he reluctantly hurriedly began to change back to the flood nozzle.  Deasy skipped past him.  So would have Trueman if he hadn’t been so cautious.  Instead of racing by he walked up slowly not knowing what to expect.

page 892.

     Kanary got the flood nozzle on just as Trueman began to round the fo’c’sle.  With a cry of rage, his face distorted in a hatred that was justified by no act of Trueman’s he opened the nozzle leaping forward to get as close as he could.

    If you watched the newsreels the demonstrators were knocked off their feet and rolled down the street.  As the water hit Trueman he was pinned against the bulkhead by the force of the flood.  The water thudded against his body and face with bruising force.  Immobilized he felt as though he was drowning as indeed he was.  The water displaced all air around his head.

     He tried to push forward but the force of the water prevented him from moving.  Realizing he was drowning a feeling of desperation came over him.  Thinking quickly he realized that since he couldn’t go forward his only chance was to slide along the bulkhead to get free.  Fortunately this proved relatively easy to do as the bulkhead was lubricated by the flood.  Once he got the force of the water to his left side it pushed him along.

     He emerged from the flood to the sight of Kanary’s distorted face, jaw down, lips curved toward his chin Kanary was screaming obscenities.  Only the alertness of Ratches had prevented his murdering Trueman.

     This was the same man who in twenty years or so would be tramping through the streets of San Francisco tracking down ‘Homophobes’ with charges of discrimination.  This despicable master hater would sublimate his bitter anger into ‘hating people who hate.’

page 894.

     Trueman cast a backward glance at this demonically possessed little homosexual then continued on his way.  Bifrons Morford with a waondering shake of the head returned to the bridge.

     Pausing at the starboard double hatches Dewey caught his breath while surveying the remaining gauntlet.  What remained ahead was a row of twelve hose swinging maniacs, the Slide and the tub.  With a skip and a hesitation step Dewey eluded the first six ‘swingers’ who had lost much of their enthusiasm anyway.

     The other half dozen men were gathered around the Slide where they could belabor the backs of the men as they crawled through the sludge.  Entering the ‘Slide’ was like crawling up an asshole.  Coming out the other end Dewey was told that he had to get into the huge tub of refuse up to his neck which he did.

     As he got out the last two men followed along behind him. 

     Now the consequences would begin.

     Trueman snarled over at Duber who had been in a state of shock for some time fearful of the consequences of the criminal acts of his buddy, Peter Erect.  The stains left by the two crippled bodies were still visible.

     The crew would divide in halves along the lines of Pollywogs and so-called Shellbacks.  Trueman would continue loud in his anger at being beaten by men who had no right to be beating him.  Others too would press their inquiries to find they had been defrauded.  The onrushing course of events would obliterate or dull much of the animosity but resentments would be playing out months later.

page 894.

     Life requries one to quell one’s resentments or go mad or criminal so Dewey did not dwell on the injustice after a couple weeks but the incident left a deep dark impression on his subconscious.  In later years he would have dreams in which this incident formed a part.  The complete image was far too complex to go into here but immediate components can.  One sequence of dreams involved his appearing naked or in his underpants in critical situations.  Another was simply of a barren field with a house on the left and a quivering brown spot in the earth beside it.

     The house was of course a symbol of Trueman while part of the image of the brown spot was formed by the intent of the ‘Slide’ and the well of garbage.  The psychology implied by them was quite profound.

     Kanary and his fire hose recurred in a variety of urination dreams in which Trueman had to urinate badly but the toilets were all stopped up and overflowing.  And Trueman’s contempt for homosexuals never lost its intensity.

     Trueman’s reactions were trifling compared to the two men Erect had crippled for life.  They were seriously injured.  Gotten to their bunks they were sedated with what morphine was aboard ship.  the pitching and rolling of the ship was excruciatingly painful  as their shattered pelvic bones rubbed together.

     These were not the days when ships had helicopter pads so that men could be lifted off and taken to hospital.

pagfe 895.

     It was hoped that they would be able to be doctored at Pago Pago but their injuries were so severe that the medical facilities there were not adequate.

      The squadron was originally to have proceeded from Pago Pago to Fiji but that would be abandoned to take a straight run into Brisbane where the men could get medical attention.  Thus for two weeks they lay in their bunks writhing in pain.

     The incident did the Teufelsdreck no honor in the eyes of the Commodore aboard the Desade.  The Teuf was already the black sheep of the squadron.  The Commodore began to look at Ratches and his first command askance.

     Ratches himself was in a quandary.  As a fair man the only person he was unfair to was himself.  He should have court-martialed Erect and Duber plus Kanary but partially because little more could be expected of them as ‘men’ and sub-humans and partially because by men’s rules the initiation had been part of the hazing and partially so as not to embarrass himself and his ship he let it slide officially.  But Ratches was a canny man with a sense of ‘justice.’

     He was still brooding in his cabin when Samoa hove into view. 

     The South Seas.  How may they be described?  Pago Pago was a beautiful place; real Paul Cezanne stuff.  At the time the islands still looked as paradisical as they did in nineteenth century missionary times, real Sadie Thompson.  Not far from the equator the island is perpetually unbearably hot.  The water in the lagoon was over 70 degrees.  The entry was up a long cloaca into a belly that formed the central valley of the island.  At this season of the year a perpetual breeze blew down the mountains behind the bay over the depression making the heat not only bearable but delightful.

page 896.

     At the time there was only a Standard Oil refueling station and some official buildings.  The Samoans lived in huts doing God only knows what.  Taking life easy perhaps.  The Captain prepped the crew about maintaining good relations with the Samoans.  In an attempt to keep the sailors away from the women they were advised of the danger of elephantiasis which all the women supposedly carried.  Elephantiasis, of course, is when the gonads swell up to a size requiring a wheelbarrow for transport.  All of the local men were apparently abstinent since wheelbarrows were not conspicuous.  Ratches threw in a couple other hideous diseases and let it go at that.

     Ratches first need was to find hospitalization for his two crippled men.  The facilities of Pago Pago were inadequate to treat their injuries.  This was before the age of the big jetliners that could fly nonstop from sea to sea so there were no commercial flights into Pago Pago,  at least on a scheduled basis.  The only other flights were run by Standard and they were not only infrequent but the company was unwilling to take responsibility for the two men.

     Thus the squadron’s visit in this tropical paradise was cut from three days to one while the Figi visit was skipped and the squadron was to make a high speed run to Australia.

page 897.

     Needless to say the Commodore blamed and privately cursed Ratches.  The Captain in turn privately cursed Duber, Erect and Kanary.  He was even indiscreet enough to mutter terms like ‘criminally insane’ where they were heard and reported.  As Kanary was included he was alarmed and took it ill.  Convinced of his own purity Kanary could only transfer the blame for his actions to Trueman.  Kanary reasoned quite inaccurately that had Trueman not been there he would not have acted as he did.  But Trueman was there and Kanary’s potential for insane criminal violence did exist.  While consciously he could not admit to this evil side of himself it gnawed away at him from his subconscious.

     Except that Ratches had prevented him, he and Erect in civilian circumstances would have been guilty of criminally insane crimes.  Only the environment of men aboard ship prevented their legal condemnation.

     Devoting himself to explaining to the Commodore and trying to help his injured sailors Ratches granted the ship liberty prior to sailing the next morning.

     One would think  that Duber, Erect and Kanary had enough troubles without plotting further to dispose of Trueman.  Kanary’s hatred was unreasoning.  His sense of responsibility was so weak that he must have been willing to go to prison in order to satisfy his hatred of Trueman.

     Duber had somehow developed the opinion that there was no law below the Line.  Perhaps he had seen one too many John Wayne movies.  But he seriously thought that any act was permissable to him in the South Seas.  His intelligence was so feeble that he thought that if he eliminated Trueman the Captain would let matters drop.

page 898.

     The Japanese had fortified Samoa.  As they usually did they excavated mazes of tunnels in the hills to hide from the shelling.  These caves were amazingly effective and still in existence.  It was rumored that one could still find war memorabilia in them.  Trueman was interested in visiting them.  They were on the other side of the lagoon which necessited a long walk to the head of the lagoon and around.  That posed no problem for Trueman.  He didn’t even do much more than a double take when Duber, Erect and Kanary invited him to accompany them.  The plan was to get him over there, kill him and leave the body.  They reasoned that by the time he was missed they would be far at sea and the matter would be allowed to drop, he would just be AWOL.

     While Trueman was doing his double take he was approached by Shakey Jake Brook who advised him that he wouldn’t go anywhere with those guys.  Something in Shaky Jake’s earnestness raised images of the crossing of the Line which tipped Dewey into saying no.  He was suprised at the hostility his No raised in Duber and Erect.  As soon as Kanary heard that he wasn’t going he hurriedly dressed to go ashore to poison Trueman’s reception.

     Thus by the time Trueman found his way to the open air market where the Samoans sold their foodstuffs he was given a very hostile reception by the natives as Kanary stood by grinning.

page 899.

     It takes only a few obvious words to groups sensitive to criticism such as Jews, the various colored folks, homosexuals, feminists and the like to prejudice them against anyone.  Kanary had simply said:  ‘See that guy coming?  He thinks Samoans are ignorant savages.’  Such slanderers are always taken at their word so no questions were asked.

     So Trueman was confronted with the inexplicable hostility of people he had never seen but who seemed to know him and dislike him.  The obvious question to put to oneself is ‘What’s wrong with me?’  What’s wrong with you is that your slanderer doesn’t like you.  You’re a lucky man if you can externalize this pressure.  By far more people internalize it searching for a shortcoming rather than looking for a slanderer.

     Trueman noticed Kanary standing by glowering with a vengeful smile.  He moved off only to be followed by Kanary.

     Kanary was queer to the bone, he had no shame, all chutzpah.

     ‘Why don’t you go off by yourself, Kanary?  Stop following me around.’

     ‘Following you around!  Don’t flatter yourself, Trueman.  Nobody’s following you around.’

     ‘Well, then just go ahead.  I’ll let you get out of sight.’

     ‘I don’t do what you tell me.’

     There’s nothing legal you can do with a queer with no shame.

     Trueman wandered around looking at the buildings with Kanary dogging his steps.  One would say that Kanary had no life of his own but as a homosexual men were his life.  Part of his frustration was a sexual desire for Trueman.  Having no legitimate way to court another man he had turned his lust into hatred.  By making a persistent nuisance of himself he hoped to break Trueman down so that he would let Kanary screw him just to get rid of him.  That’s the homosexual’s central problem; if you can’t screw ’em one way, screw ’em another.

page 900

End Of Clip V-2.  Proceed to Clip V-3.

 

    

Complete and entire in one clip. Approx. 50 pages.

The Hole In Black Mountain

A Novelette

by

R.E. Prindle

You can’t trust your eyes

When your imagination is out of focus.

–Mark Twain

     On the West Coast of the United States lying between the Coast Range and the Cascade Mountains in the State of Oregon is the Willamette Valley. (Pronounced Will-am-ette) The Valley is about a hundred miles long, twenty to thirty miles wide.  The bulk of Oregon’s population lies in this big valley.  To the north along the once mighty Columbia River, now ‘tamed’ by man’s ingenuity, is Portland, the metropolis of the State.  Sprinkled throughout the Willamette Valley are numerous small towns.  The most important are Salem, which is the State capitol, Albany-Corvallis, the home of Oregon State University and Eugene at the extreme southern end where the mountain chains join and rise.

     Eugene is a fair city.  Luxuriantly green in summer and mild and wet during the winter.  The lordly Willamette River bisects the town as it does all the important towns of the Valley.  Eugene is dominated by two buttes; Skinner’s to the East and Spencer’s to the West.  The soul of Eugeneans is bisected by the dichotomy of good and evil just as the river divides the town and the buttes are its poles.

     Eugene, much to the chagrin of some of its citizens purports to be a Christian town.  It is the intolerant Christianity of the fundamentalist sects.  The town’s more ardent Christian devotees wished to have a symbol of their Christianity above them.  They longed to erect a cross on Skinner’s Butte plainly visible to all the residents on the West Side of the river.  Those Christians less ardent and the non-Christians opposed such a monument.  Whether a heritage of the frontier past or merely an expression innate to their souls, or whether they were possessed by Satan, the ardent Christians in the still of the night erected a huge concrete cross in despite of their neighbors and possibly the law.  This created a furor.  The other citizens demanded the cross be removed.  The fundamentalist Christians defied them to take it down.  Armed patrols paraded the site at night prepared to gun down their neighbors if necessary to protect their cross.  Over the years attempts were made or talk was bruited to dynamite the cross but all efforts were detected and foiled or never came to fruition.

     Thus it was never clear whether the ardent fundamentalists represented God or Satan.  They professed to be one but acted the other.  They believed that evil could be perpetrated for the sake of good.

     In addition to their souls being bisected the souls were also consumed by envy, an unChristian attribute.  They knew how unhappy they were.  They therefore desired that none others should be happier than they.  At about the same time the cross was erected a pop singer by the name of Connie Francis was reachig the apex of an unparalled career.  She had gone from peak to peak of a record of unblemished success.  She was a symbol of wholesomeness and purity.  Too wholesome and pure thought some Eugeneans; no one can be that good.

      Now, at about this time Connie Francis was appearing in New York.  Just prior to going on she was brutally raped.  The consequence was that she was psychologically unable to recover. Her mental equilibrium was destroyed.  She never performed again.  Her brilliant career was turned to dust.  Envy had triumphed.

      A number of young Eugeneans took great pleasure in this sad occurrence.  They were pleased that that symbol of success had been destroyed.  They went so far in their minds as to transpose the situation to Eugene believing that Miss Francis was about to go on stage in Eugene and that one of them had committed the atrocity.  They could point out the motel she stayed at and everything.  The story was confidently and intimately told to others.

     Dewey Trueman drove into town with high academic hopes.  He hoped for a brilliant post-graduate career.  Dewey came up from California where he had lived for the previous six years.  Those six years coincided with the first six years of the fabulous sixties.  Years of unparalleled prosperity; years of maturation of world popular music; years of cultural changes that moved too fast for hide bound minds to contemplate.  The Beat movement of post-war years had developed into the Hippie counter-culture.  Inexplicably men had begun to grow long hair.  Complex ethnic problems had created student unrest on the college campuses.  The storm had centered on the campus of the University of California at Berkeley.

     Envy caused Eugeneans to profess to despise California.  Cars carried bumper stickers that read:  Don’t Californicate Oregon.  The very thought of Berkeley terrified Oregonians both on and off campus.  The fear was that those damned radicals might come up to Oregon.  Dewey had not attended U.C. Berkeley but had gone through the State college system in Hayward just to the South of Berkeley.  He had formerly had long hair but informed of the narrow attitude in Oregon he had trimmed it to above the collar in back and just touching the ears.  This was not good enough;  Oregon was whitewall country.  Trueman did not respond well to the bullying he received to show whitewalls.  He defied them.  He let his hair grow back.  The locks fell not only down over his collar but over his ears.  His situation deteriorated further.  He soon realized that his college career was going to be cut short shorn of brilliance.  He had better create a new dream.  At the end of his second year the axe fell.  He recieved a letter advising him that he was not of an academic disposition.

     This was probably not untrue although not reason for dismissal.  But then Trueman was not of a corporate disposition either or, indeed, any other.  He was a lone carrot growing in a potato patch.  A very good carrot and worth cultivating but not a potato.  Dewey took the news more sullenly.  He thought, and this was not incorrect either, that the reason for his dismissal was that he wouldn’t get down on his knees for the professors.  In fact the history department was studded with homosexuals.  These gentlemen did have the casting couch mentality.  As all power corrupts they had determined to break Dewey down to his knees.  But there is no changing history; Dewey was out.

     He had anticipated this development.  He was neither a stupid nor obtuse man.  He also knew from experience that he had little hope of success in a corporate environment.  He was now thirty; there was no reason to look for a job.  Consequently he had opened a record store at the beginning of his second year.  His store was now prospering.  He gave up his dream and took up a hope.

     Dewey’s store was downtown on Eleventh Street, actually in the shadow of the famous cross upon the hill.  Not Calvary, but Skinner’s Butte.  Selling records meant selling Rock n’ Roll.  Fundamentalist Christians saw Rock n’ Roll as the Devil’s music.  One who sold the Devil’s music must be a Son of Satan.  A few years on the Fundamentalists would invent the concept and seriously propound it on TV that by playing records backward one could hear Satan talking to you.

     Well, this is more serious than an intelligent person might think.  I don’t want to laugh when I tell you this although it is sublimely ridiculous.  Every store must have a name.  Dewey’s Records was out.  Dewey was a fan of an astonishing rock group named The Doors.  He especially adimired two songs off the first album.  Soul Kitchen and Crystal Ship.  He inclined toward Soul Kitchen, if you’re hip chuckle, but his wife persuaded him, wisely one believes, to call it The Crystal Ship.  This was too simple and straightforward for Trueman who inclined toward the religious or mystical.  Also it was the fashion of the day to change the spelling of common words as the rock groups had changed Beetles to Beatles and birds to Byrds.  Dewey dropped the article and changed the spelling to Chrystalship.  The similarity to Christ was intentional but ill-advised.  Music to Dewey had that connotation of salvation.  Indeed, if Chrystalship was successful it would carry him to salvation.

     It was not his intention to offend the Boxtop Clergy but they construed the spelling as an intentional insult.  And this by a Son of Satan selling the Devil’s music in the Shadow of the Cross.  Not only did Trueman offend the Boxtoppers (Very few of these guys who called themselves Ministers had ever seen the inside of a seminary or had theological training or even elementary education.  For ten dollars or less you could answer advertisements in newspapers for ordination in some bizarre church.  Hence for a cereal boxtop and a few dollars you could wear a collar.)  with Chrystalship but he astounded the Hippies with his daring.  Unknown to Trueman crystal was a term to designate the drug speed, or, by its proper name, amphetamines.  They thought the store was a cover to sell speed.  The Boxtoppers and citizens got wind of this definition before Trueman and converted the term to mean heroin.  You can see Trueman’s predicament.

     Thus exalted by their cross combined with their natural malignancy and envy they immediately outlawed Trueman and made him a non-person.  No one was to acknowledge his existence.  They also loaded him with all their sins which were so numerous he could only carry a portion at a time.  He was confirmed in their minds as a degenerate and pervert not only capable of anything but actually doing everything they wanted to and enjoying it.

     These were stressful times.  Even educated people set aside their critical faculties and believed their worst fears.  Because Trueman had come up from California and because he was first on campus with long hair and because student unrest reached Oregon with Dewey the faculty had cast Trueman in the role of mastermind.  This was absurd.  There was absolutely no evidence to confirm the opinion, but then when one wants to see what one wants to see none is needed.  This reputation on campus was converted into the notion that Trueman was certainly masterminding the drug trade of Eugene, probably Oregon and possibly the whole world.  A twenty-four hour a day watch was set on him.

     All Hippies were deemed stupid.  It was thought that none could succeed in business.  Indeed, a few Hippie businessmen had come and gone before Trueman.  He had been given what was thought to be an impossible location.  In ordinary circumstances it may have been but for a counter culture business the location was perfect.  The store prospered.  Trueman extended his store into an adjacent space in the deserted building.  This made the town fathers uneasy.  They expected him to close up not expand.  Then Trueman approached the landlord to rent the large vacant space formerly occupied by the town’s leading men’s clothier.  That space fronted the main street.  Willamette was the main drag,  the street down which every Friday and Saturday night the town’s teenagers drove their cars.  The street was a dragster’s dream.  Twenty-four blocks, nearly, from Butte to Butte. 

     Urban renewal was ubiquitous during the sixties.  Even little Eugene had such a thing.  There was little to renew but it was fashionable and provided jobs for dependents.  Urban renewal bought the building the month after Dewey’s inquiry.  Dewey was given thirty days to vacate, even before the deal was out of escrow.  He was told there was no room downtown for the likes of him.  The building was immediately demolished leaving a huge gaping hole in the ground that filled with water and existed for years in that manner.  There was no room in Eugene for Dewey.  Very likely it was hoped there was no room in Oregon for him.

     Trueman was in a desperate frame of mind.  In the two years at the location he had gone from a deficit of one month to an income by which his wife could quit working for what he called ‘the slugs of the Oregon Department of Employment.’  It was true that it was a very good thing for those boys that sexual harassment was not yet an issue for they were an evil crew.

     The thought that his independence was to be taken away from him drove him into a frenzy of activity.  There was only one suitable space available downtown.  That was a dilapidated building on the edge of respectability next to the main branch of the Universal National Bank of Oregon.  A mighty triple contradictions of terms that typified the mentality we are dealing with.

     The employees of UNB would have done anything to keep Dewey out.  The building was owned by a Mrs. Winsome.  She would have honored UNB’s request but for the fact that in their lawless disregard of other people’s rights they had trampled on hers.  While digging the foundations for their bank they had undermined the foundations of Mrs. Winsome’s building.  The brick wall had begun to buckle.  The repairs cost a vast amount not to correct but merely to arrest the collapse.  The wall now bulged inward noticeably.  Her recourse to law had been futile and expensive.  According to her the bank had said:  Stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.  She may have been exaggerating nevertheless it was with a fair amount of pleasure that she installed Dewey next to her enemies at the Universal National Bank Of Oregon.

     The new space was twice as big as the former store.  Trueman’s sales more than doubled.  It soon became apparent to the town fathers that Trueman might survive the move and actually expansion.  In the meantime they lost a golden opportunity to destroy him through their own shortsightedness.  Urban Renewal had decided to make a mall of downtown.  Thus three blocks each of Willamette and Broadway were torn up to make a pedestrian mall.  To spite Trueman the mall was stopped short of his building ostensibly leaving him outside the blessing.  Thus his business was not disturbed by construction and the parking spaces in front of his store were left intact.  Had they included his space they could have heaped an eight foot mound of earth in front of his door as they had done to one or two others who were also in disfavor.

      Realizing their mistake too late, after the mall was completed Urban Renewal condemned the building, gave Mrs. Winsome nothing for it as punishment for having rented to Trueman and gave Dewey thirty days notice.  Now, at this time there were no suitable vacant spaces downtown.  The faces of the town fathers tilted back and looked down their noses at Trueman with a warm smile of spite.

     Dewey’s brow knitted with care.  He no longer had just independence but an income which gave him some enjoyment of life.  He didn’t want it taken from him.  As he assayed the situation he noted that a women’s clothing store called the Orange Garden had just opened a new large store on Willamette and retained an original store two block away on Broadway.  They were at an impasse with the landlord over rent.  Dewey reasoned that Eugene was too small to support two stores two blocks apart, especially as a shopping mall was on the books for across town,  and that he would be doing them a favor if he could get the space.  As it turned out he was as the Orange Garden shut down two years later.

     Dewey approached the landlord.  He agreed to the landlord’s terms.  The landlord, in what he called fairness to the Orange Garden gave them a last offer which they refused.  The landlord then rented to Dewey.  The new location was twice as large as the former location.  Dewey had taken the lease with some trepidation but his sales immediately doubled and continued to rise.  Dewey tried to be cool but he was ecstatic.  The towns people looked on sourly.  As Dogie Doudous put it:  No one should look that prosperous.

     For the first time in Trueman’s life everything seemed to be going his way.   The town fathers turned their backs to him and grew pensive.  There was little they could do to his business now.  His building was up to code.  He was in the new mall across from the prestigious department store called the Bonne Chance.  They still tried a few things.  Dead rabbits were stowed in the power tunnel beneath the front of his store which gave off a fetid odor across the front of the store but Trueman’s business still flourished.  It was after all the heyday of the record industry.  People who had never bought records before now did and lots of them.  Trueman had avoided giving the store a head shop image.  Everyone could shop in comfort in his store.  It had an ecumenical atmosphere.

1o pages.

     The town fathers now knitted their brows sitting around in deep concentration.  It was decided unanimously and without a word of discussion,  Dewey Trueman must die.  This was no joke.

     Plans were made; the delivery of the ‘Death Warrant’ was entrusted to Teddy Tetou.  Teddy was on the staff of KGEN radio.  He had his own time slot from 8:00 to 12:00 AM as well as serving as a salesman.  KGEN was the official radio station of the town fathers.  No Rock n’ Roll disgraced its wavelength.  Neither did many listeners tune in except for the very old and cantankerous.  This rankled the town fathers who deplored the degradation of youth.  KGEN served as call letters for both the radio and TV stations.  The company had petitioned the FCC for the call letters KEUGENE.  This would have made them the only seven letter station in America.  The FCC refused.  The refusal was met indignantly by the station owners.  They didn’t see how it would hurt the FCC to change their entire system just for them.  As they were wont to say:  Where is it written in stone that call letters could only number four?  They were correct.  It wasn’t written in stone anywhere, but the FCC still maintained it was the rule and the FCC made the rule.  The FCC was a hated arbitrary authority figure in Eugene.

     Tueman’s success had not been accidental.  He had applied intelligence.  He had taken chances.  In his way he had overturned the way of doing business in Eugene.  He had proven that their rules weren’t written in stone either.  They took offence because they had meant to do that but just hadn’t gotten around to actually chiseling the letters.  In Dewey’s case it was noted that he was a disturber of the peace and an unwholesome presence.

     The merchants of Eugene believed they were dependent upon the University Of Oregon for most of their business.  Thus in the summer months when school was out of session they reduced their inventories to bare bones and waited for September.  In Trueman’s first year he was just beginning to do well when June rolled around.  He was cordially advised to reduce his inventory.   But in the record industry new releases come out continually.  Keeping up with them financially is the most difficult part of the business.  It doesn’t take long to lose your rhythm and fall behind.  Besides Dewey was too inexperienced to know how to reduce his inventory.  The hits would sell off and slow moving catalog would remain.

     Dewey plowed ahead amidst the laughter of more knowing heads.  But his business didn’t decrease, it expanded at an incredible rate.  At the end of the first August Dewey’s head was reaching for the clouds.  When the U of O returned his business shot into what he then thought was the stratosphere.  Dewey Trueman followed along.  He bought and sold, sold and bought.  His second summer was just as successful.  By the third summer the other merchants had learned their lesson from him, but they didn’t like him any the more for their increased prosperity.  They learned their lesson from him painfully.  They hated him for it.  Quite innocently and without intention he had proved them wrong.

     Dewey wanted to do big business in a bad way.  Perhaps as a joke they sent the towns top Rock n’ Roll, or rather Top Forty DJ, Bob Deal, ‘Your Fifth Wheel’ as he styled himself, to sell Dewey radio time.  Dewey hadn’t inquired because he thought advertising on the radio would be too expensive.  This was in 1968, but he found from Bob Deal that thirty second spots only cost three dollars each.  For a hundred dollars a week he could, as the saying goes, own the station.  As he was rapt in thought Deal laughingly excused himself thinking he had played a good joke.  He was out the door when Trueman recovered himself shouting:  ‘No, no, Bob.  Don’t leave.  Come back.  I’ll take a hundred dollars a week.’

     The Fifth Wheel stopped on a dime.  There were few, heck there were no, merchants buying a hundred dollars a week. 

     ‘The first week’s in advance.’  He blurted.

     Trueman did his own copy and on air delivery.  The advertising was instrumental in his success.  But the Son Of Satan in the Shadow Of The Cross drove his enemies mad with his ‘constant bleating’ on the air.

     The success of his radio advertising made Trueman want to try TV.  It was thought that TV was prohibitively expensive.  This was 1971.  As Trueman saw it ten dollars for thirty seconds could be made to pay.  As soon as he opened on Broadway he began a TV campaign.  He did his own spots on the tube also.  Thus not only had he succeeded despite all efforts to eliminate him but he now appeared nightly in the living rooms of the very people who hated him the most.  Compared to what had happened to Connie Francis, Trueman, they thought, would not be treated so tenderly.

     On February 14, St. Valentine’s Day, Teddy Tetou showed up at Chrystalship at closing time with Trueman’s ‘Death Warrant’ in his pocket.  He entered with an air of hostility and undertones of viciousness which characterized the heralds sent to deal with Dewey.  The general rule was that only the lowest of the low were to communicate directly with Trueman.  He had been slandered to such an extent as a sexual pervert, whatever that might have meant in Eugene,  and drug addict that no one except those of such a mind would try to talk to him.  Since he was not a drug addict or a sexual pervert he ignored any attempts of this sort to communicate with him.  As a radio time salesman Tetou had reason to talk to him, but Tetou had made himself so obnoxious toTrueman by his denunciation of Rock n’ Roll that he was no longer welcome even as a salesman.

     Accordingly as he truculently burst the swinging doors open he was greeted with an equally truculent:  ‘What do you want here in the House of Rock n’ Roll, Tetou?’

     As the townsfolk invariably mispronounced his own name in a variety of ways such as Divi Traubman, Dewey who fought to be cool under pressure, but despised the principle of mispronunciation, nevertheless broke down from time to time and imitated his enemies.  Even then it was difficult to distinguish whether he had said Teddy or Titty.  Tetou winced but as he had been through it before and now anticipated it he said nothing.

     ‘I just came down here as someone in the same industry to talk music.’  Tetou offered as the cash register noisily closed out another day.

     ‘What’s to talk about, Titty?  You reject the culture of your day for an atavistic attachment to the tunes of yesteryear.  You want to live in your Daddy’s world rather than your own.  Why don’t you go back to KEUGENE?  I live in a different world.’

     Tetou disregarded everything Trueman had said.

     ‘Yeah, well, you know, just because Creedence Clearwater Revival has had five hits in a row doesn’t mean they’re going to go on forever.’  Tetou foamed.  ‘Nobody has more than five hits before they miss.  Even your Rock n’ Rollers.  Just watch, Clarence Clangwater Removal if going to fall on their ass next time out.’

     Tetou who shared the prejudices of his fellow Eugeneans despised the notion of continued success.  He hated prosperity in others.  CCR could have been Johnny Mathis or Andy Willians for all that matter.  Tetou didn’t really care.  The important thing was that any success fade away.

     ‘I wouldn’t be surprised, Titty.  No one has ever gone on forever.  Even your hero Bing Crosby told Pat Boone of the white bucks that he would only be popular for seven years.  That’s how Crosby who knew a hell of a lot more about the cycle than you do appraised it.  Besides Titty, future failure does not wipe out past success.’  Trueman went on misunderstanding Tetou’s real objection.  Tetou on his part was hoping Trueman would affirm his point of view.

     Tetou glared at Trueman.  His kind was only successful in their dreams.  Even then it was only a petty kind of success equal to their abilities.  Brows knit, hands in pockets, legs spread Tetou abusively changed the subject without admitting his defeat.

     ‘Yeah?  If you’re finished here Trueman, come with me.  I want to show you something.’  Tetou ordered.  He tried to cover his lack of manhood by bullying.

     ‘Oh, you want to show me something.  I’m sure anything you’ve got to show me shouldn’t be seen by mortal man…or woman.’  Trueman chuckled, insultingly, laughing appreciatively at his own joke.

     ‘Close this place up and come with me.’  Tetou ordered roughly.  They had created such an image of their own virtue and Trueman’s vice in their minds that they were quite unable to distinguish between fiction and reality.

     ‘Who the hell do you think you are to order me around, Tetou?  You’re nothing but a time salesman for the crummiest radio station in town.  Nobody advertises with you but your stooges.  I’m not going to, so take your schedule and get out of here.  Leave.’

     Tetou realized his error and now cajoled and implored Trueman to come lest he fail in his mission.  Trueman perceived the reason for the urgency behind his voice.  Something’s up.  Trueman thought,  I think I’ll see what.

     ‘Lead on, MacDuff.’  He said in his most contemptuous tone.  ‘Let’s see what you know, Tetou.’

     Trueman turned the key in the lock as Tetou pointed vaguely in the direction of what turned out to be Railroad Avenue.  Tetou led the way to a house that has since been demolished, as though that could destroy a bad memory, for freeway construction.  They stood on the corner beneath a stree light.  The corner lot was vacant.  They looked across the vacant lot at a two story rectangular house.  The house had been divided into apartments above and below.  The upstairs apartment was reached by a staircase along the side of the house.

     What Trueman saw was a long line of people stretching from the top of the stairs along the side of the house and turning down the sidewalk to the end of the block.  Occasionally the line turned the corner.  Those who entered the door at the top of the stairs quickly emerged and raced down the stairs and away.  As quickly as the line moved forward others took a place at the end of the line.

     Tetou gave Trueman a malevolent look of satisfaction as though Trueman were responsible.

     ‘You know what’s going on there, Trueman?’  He said smugly, expecting a guilty reaction from him.

     ‘No, Titty, what’s going on there?’  Trueman replied his derision overcome by wonder.

     Tetou gave him a look that implied:  Coy to the end.

     ‘Do you know lives upstairs there, Trueman?’

     ‘Aw skip it, Tetou, just get to the point.  How can I ever know what you people are talking about?’

     ‘Jim James lives up there.  Do you know what he does for a living, Trueman?’

     Trueman turned to leave.  ‘Aw, for Christ’s sake Tetou, can’t you people ever get to the point?’

     Tetou grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.

     ‘I’ll tell you what he’s doing, Trueman.  He’s selling marijuana.  What do you think of that?’

     Trueman’s jaw unhinged as he stopped in his tracks.  He perceived in a flash the entire situation.  He gave Tetou an incredulous look.  Tetou gave Trueman a vicious nod of affirmation.  Trueman realized that Tetou was ignorant of who his masters were.

     ‘What do you think is going on there, Titty?’  Trueman asked with malicious satisfaction.

     Tetou responded with a knowing look at Trueman.

     ‘Someone’s making a lot of money and it’s not just Jimmy James.’

     ‘Who do you think it is, Tetou?’

     Tetou just sneered and gazed at Trueman knowingly.

     ‘Me?  Oh no, Titty, oh no.  I don’t have anything to do with drugs, regardless of what you think.  Do you really think I would be walking around free if I were involved in that?  Do you really think I have contacts to get away with that?’  Tetou blinked.  ‘No, Titty, no, of course not.  Look at that line.  Does this go on every night?  Night in and night out?’  Tetou blinked yes.  ‘Then you aren’t going to tell me that the DA and the police don’t know about this are you?’

      Tetou thought a minute.  ‘They must not or they’d arrest him.’  He said lamely.

     ‘How do you know about it, Tetou?’

     ‘The guys down at the station talk about it all the time.’

     ‘So the owners of the station know about it?’

     Tetou assented. 

     ‘The owners of the station know about and they’re big men in town.  A word from them to the police…hell, it wouldn’t even take a word to the police, all it would take is a TV camera down here and all those people would scatter.  It doesn’t happen.  Doesn’t that tell you something, Tetou?’

     Tetou had realized the truth but had gone into a state of panicked denial.  He was busy rearranging reality to fit his prejudices.  Trueman on his part realized why Tetou had been directed to show him this scene.  Drugs was big business.  At certain points in the distribution line big money was to be made.  The town fathers thought that Trueman was surreptitiously making a fortune from drugs.  They now wished to show him their power to make fortunes without fear of arrest.  As Trueman understood it they were telling him to stick that up his nose.

     ‘You know why the cops don’t bust this guy, Tetou?’  Tetou was sweating from the shock, he weakly nodded no.  ‘Because they’re in on it.  Because they’re getting their share of the Big Money.  Look at that line, Tetou.  How many lids do you think that guy sells every night?  Three, five, ten kilos worth?  You know what that means Tetou?  No, huh?  In business terms that means that there are probably three hundred kilos in transit every month just for him.  He must have ten, twenty or thirty kilos in the house at all times.  There must be a warehouse with at least a hundred kilos in storage.  That’s enough to fill a semi or maybe the trunks of hundred cars.  The cops can’t break this?

     Have you ever read any history, Titty?  I wouldn’t think so.  There is no illegal or subversive organization that has ever existed at any time in the world that wasn’t half spies.  There was no labor union that wasn’t half labor spies.  The Communist Party was always half government agents.  They always shoot for secretary of the organization and they always get it.  Do you believe that half the dope dealers in the country aren’t government agents?  Are you people really so stupid Tetou that you don’t think that I don’t know that half my employees are your own spies?  I don’t know anyone who talks to me that isn’t spying, present company not excepted.  You guys are sick; you never get evidence but you never give up your fantasy.  Now I see why.  You need me as a cover for this.

     A couple of years ago I was taken to see some yo-yos who were conspiring to ‘overthrow the government.’  Do you know how many of his ‘organization’ weren’t spies?  Spies were the only ones involved.

     So the cops can bust this guy anytime they want.  You could bust me anytime if I were doing anything.  So why don’t they bust him?  You got any idea how much money they’re making at fifteen dollars a lid, Titty?  Probably somewhere between two or three million a year.  Who’s making it?  I don’t know many people in town Titty, but you can be sure that several shares are distributed to the DA and cops.  Harry Grabstein and Natty Segal who run downtown are getting theirs.  The TV and radio stations are silent so they must be getting theirs.  You don’t see any ‘crusading’ newspaper reporters trying to expose this, so what do you think that means?  Who the others are I don’t know but you can be sure that at least a couple hundred people are involved.  So you guys control the cops and judges.  I’m impressed, Tetou.  Bye bye.’

20 pages.

     Tetou’s mind was swimming as he dogged Trueman’s footsteps.  For a brief moment before denial secured his mind he realized the truth.  He also remembered the ‘death warrant’ he was to deliver.

     ‘Yeha, well, hey, Trueman,’ he said padding after the rapidly striding figure before him, ‘they want your business at KGEN-TV so they told me to give you this.’  He said holding out a folded paper at Trueman’s back.  Trueman didn’t pause.  Tetou ran after him, catching up he thrust the paper in front of Dewey.  Trueman grabbed it and threw it on the ground in disgust.  Tetou quickly snatched it up running after Trueman.  this time he stuffed it in Trueman’s jacket pocket.  Trueman turned with raised fist in the dark.  ‘Get away from me, Tetou, you scumbag, or I’ll deck you with one punch, so help me God.’

     ‘That’s a certificate for a free weekend at the Hole In Black Mountain, Trueman.  Use it.’  Tetou said, scurrying away into the black having gotten the certificate onto Trueman’s person.  He was able to say that he had accomplished his mission.

     Trueman stormed home to pur himself a drink, dangerous habit, to calm himself so as not to offend his wife Angie by his violent mental agitation.  He had no intention of using his ‘death warrant’; the ‘free’ weekend at the Hole In Black Mountain.  He should have thrown the certificate into the trash but some plebian trait of mind ascribed value to the thing.  He couldn’t bring himself to throw something of value away.  He stuffed it into a drawer of papers.

     He knew that some humiliation had been devised for him at the Black Mountain Resort.  He feared assassination attempts but the notion was unreal in his mind, more a premonition of paranoia then anything else.  Yet he was right to be apprehensive, there was no paranoia involved.

     It had been supposed that Trueman would jump at the offer; use it that very same weekend.  All the preparations for his murder had been made.  When no reservation was made the whole plan remained in suspended animation in the minds of the conspirators.

     They had met some weeks before when it became apparent to them that Trueman had evaded their snares.  When they saw his very apparent increased success they knew then that something positive would have to be done.

     Half by election and half by self-selection a band of four evolved who were entrusted by their community to execute its wishes.  They in turn by a series of chance meetings in restaurants and on streets came to recognize and accept each other as co-conspirators.

     Once they recognized each other a series of meetings was held in the law offices of Joshua L. Babycakes to determine a course of action.  The final decision had been reached the week before the unconsciously held deadline of St. Valentine’s Day on which Trueman had been shown their money machine on Railroad Avenue.

     The four were not of the first water, that is that they were not of the inner circle of the inner circle, but they were of the circle.  They had the same walk and knew the same talk.  There would be no questioning of their decision; it would not require consent.  They were trustworthy fellows.

     Joshua Babycakes had achieved his pre-eminence despite very limited material success.  He was a native of Eugene.  This placed his father and grandfather before the turn of the century.  Oregon towns only developed in the latter quarter of the nineteenth century so that seventy-five to a hundred years of residence gave a family antiquity.

    Babycakes’ family had been in on the landgrab.  They had had a couple thousand acres of high timber which they had sold to the Western Timberlands Corp. before it had become practicable to clearcut the land.  Joshua had gone to the U of O law school where he had somehow found the discipline, or, at least, he had the contacts, to graduate.

     Babycakes was not of a settled or subtle mind.  In one of those incredible twists of the human mind his stumbled over the question of small distinctions.  He couldn’t bring his mind to accept small distinctions.  His character had formed around the nucleus of an incident when he was twelve years old just as puberty shot its growth hormones throughout his body and mind.

     Joshua’s father was a stamp collector.  He had an extensive collection of US stamps.  Not a philatelist’s dream necessarily but enough to knock your socks off.  Joshua had one day needed postage to mail a small package.  Since he couldn’t find stamps in the drawer he got out his father’s stamp collection and sent his addressee a very valuable collection of rare postage stamps.  Well, you can imagine his father’s reaction when he discovered his loss.  It wasn’t visceral, it was genetic.  His A! gene became detached.  His rage was communicated to Joshua as a disease.

     Joshua had never been able to comprehend his father’s reaction.  To him, a stamp was a stamp.  Three cents printed on one was the same as three cents printed on another.  Except that the pictures were different they all looked the same.  Joshua in his turn became chronically enraged; nor did his understanding improve.  He failed to understand why one bottle of wine should cost fifty dollars while another bottle of wine should sell for three.  ‘There, look at the label,’ he would say to himself or anyone chancing to stand by him in a store, ‘They both have the same alcoholic content.  One bottles gets you as drunk as the other.  What kind of fool would take the one for fifty dollars?’

    He therefore concluded that only big fools would pay more than three dollars and he despised ‘fools’ of any quality.  If Joshua Babycakes thought you were a fool he thought you were fair game.  As Babycakes set his own ignorance as the standard of conduct you may be sure that he had yet to find a man who wasn’t a fool.  Therefore in his rage he lashed out at everyone.

     The fact is that most people weren’t fools except in the sense of Puck’s:  Oh, what fools ye mortals be.  People accordingly gave Babycakes a wide berth.

     Notwithstanding his graduation, the fine points of the law eluded Babycake’s grasp.  He was therefore so unreasonable before judges, all of whom he knew well, that he was really not welcome in court.  As he treated his clients in the same way his success as an attorney was very limited.

     He was slowly ruining the estate his father had passed down.  He was soon to use Urban Renewal to buy the properties downtown his father had left him.  They sat vacant and rundown because no one would deal with him after they had met him.

     In his rage however he was dangerous so nobody ever called him.  He was treated with kid gloves.  He was able to use his rage to maintain his position.  He was, in fact, a dangerous man.  His second floor office facing Willamette was enshrouded in perpetual gloom as he never allowed light to enter.  Even his lamp was of the dimmest so that, actually without business, he sat in the dark and brooded.  The room hadn’t been cleaned for years.  Papers dating back perhaps two decades were scattered about.

     Seated with him in this depressing setting was the owner of KGEN Radio and TV, Jeremiah (Jerry) Durkin.  His ownership of KGEN must be qualified.  He had been a salesman when the station was under its former management.  It had been bought by a general partnership headquartered in Seattle about three hundred miles to the North.  Jerry had been offered a ten per cent share in the ownership if he would manage the channel at a salary well below the industry norm.  Jerry jumped at the chance.  He mortgaged himself to the hilt to buy his share.  He was in fact now worth less than nothing.  It was a pleasure to him to be in the company of, associated with the big men.  He honestly had no idea he was a stooge.  He had been in his position for over a year now having realized no material advantages.  By the end of the year he would be on the street with nothing but a load of debt.

     There was a rumor that General Motors would build an assembly plant in Eugene as well as the entry of a couple of other large concerns.  The resultant growth of Eugene would make KGEN-TV a relatively valuable property.  It was decided by the Seattle big men to snap up Jerry’s ten per cent and get him out so as not to have to share the bonanza.  A series of losses were then manufactured for the partnership.  Jerry was not able to meet the levy and thus went to work tending bar.

     If the Seattle people had known the strength of the Little Eugene Party they would have let Jerry alone.  The Little Eugene Party was against change or growth of any kind.  They controlled the town.  Thus neither GM nor any one else was permitted to locate in Eugene.  Even aggressive local concerns were driven out.  The Seattle big men outmaneuvered themselves at fair cost.

     But that was in the future.  For the present Jerry Durkin reveled in his new found position of authority.  His life was a salesman’s dream.  Jerry didn’t realize he was a stooge in this instance either.  He was only included as a fall guy.  He was the expendable one in case anything misfired.  If it all came down, it would come down on him.  But there was actually no chance of that.

     He was a physical contrast to Joshua Babycakes.  the latter was a rough uncouth unkempt man given to wearing his clothes as though he crawled into them.  Durkin was a very precise dresser.  Small and thin he might have been seen as prissy.  He wore a double knit leisure suit in such a manner that the jacket resembled a Nehru jacket.  Even while sitting the opening was only about two inches wide.  The collar was high.  To show an unconventionality that no one would question he knotted his tie four-in-hand rather than Windsor, which latter style was de rigeur.

     Babycakes on the other hand wore a pinkish maroon pair of double knit pants topped by a garishly loud giant houndstooth pattern in the same tones.  His tie may have been knotted in some way or not, it may have been of a color that could be associated with a palette, who could tell.

     Next to Durkin was the Reverend Jim Jones.  I would call Jones a Fundamentalist but the boxtop he sent in for ordination may not even have been affiliated with religion of any kind.  His certificate just made him a generic religious type.  He did use the Bible however.  At any rate the Old Testament which he ostentatiously carried with him had the cover conspicuously torn off so that his Bible, like himself, had one cover missing.  Jones was virtually illiterate like all his kind.  He hadn’t even graduated from high school.  Still, as he said, when he received the call he knew he had to answer it.  His message was vengeance and hate disguised as patriotism and conservatism.  He didn’t lack an audience.

     The fourth member of the party was the Patriarch of Downtown, Harry Grabstein.  Harry was the Jewish member.  He was there to listen and observe for the Community lest anything happen that wasn’t good for the Jews.

     There was no point in describing Jones’ dress; beyond the absurdity of the clerical collar one would be hard put to say he was dressed.  The others were dressed in varying degrees of bad taste.  Harry was the exception.  He was a very meticulous dresser from his carefully combed and parted hair to the glowing polished wingtips encasing his feet.  Wingtips look bad after a lot of wear.  Harry never wore his more than thirty times before they were discarded.

     He wore a pair of charcoal grey pants of the finest wool lined in real silk.  His white shirt was of the finest sea island cotton.  His tie cost thirty dollars, a lot at the time.  It was of a woven tiny latticework design which viewed in one light seemed of one color but with a small shift in posture the recessed areas changed through one or two other tones while the original color always dominated.  It was a masterpiece of deviousness.  The knot was an impeccable Windsor.  The jacket was a magnificent plaid symphony of grays in kashmere.  Harry’s clothes always looked like they had just come back from the cleaners.  An impossibly precise trimmed mustache resided beneath his nose.  His face was stolid, grave and composed but betrayed un undertone of anxiety beneath the facade which indicated a deeply seated insecurity.  His knees were crossed, over which lay his right arm, the hand of which lightly held an unlighted straight stemmed polished briar pipe.  His was a carefully structured appearance to instill confidence.  Harry was, in fact, a confidence man.  Harry, as he smilingly observed the others was quite content with himself.

     Grabstein owned a furniture store downtown, since out of business.  He had helped his father build it.  He was not a good buyer.  His retailing methods, if ever sound, were antiquated.  Still, he was one of only two shows in town.  The other was the House of Segal owned by Nachman, Nahum to any Hebraists reading, Segal.  He was known as Natty.  The two of them regulated the Jewish community, which was of some size in Eugene, as well as controlling affairs downtown.

     The Jewish world at the time was being revolutionized by a crazy Rabbi by the name of Meir Kahane.  Kahane could really talk and write convincingly.  Even if crazy he expressed his ideas clearly and forcibly.  The Jewish establishment disclaimed him and, I think, truly despised him but his impact was immense.  He forced the Jewish establishment to go his way.  He had formed an organization called the Jewish Defense League, or JDL.  Its avowed purpose was to assassinate ‘anti-Semites.’  The extermination of the Jews was a bleeding wound to Kahane and the JDL.  The notion was that if Hitler had been assassinated in the twenties millions of Jews would be alive today.  It therefore behooved the JDL to assassinate any incipient ‘Hitlers’ before these ‘Hitlers’ had a chance to contrive to exterminate the Jews again.  Kahane had no historical perspective.

     Well, of course, several attempts had been made on Hitler’s life but they all had failed.  The attempts hadn’t even been made by Jews so far as we know.  Even then one couldn’t be sure that Hitler would do what he did or even imagine it.  Hind sight is always twenty-twenty.  But, you know,  Hitler was not only one in a billion but he lived in a historical milieu which made his actions possible.  That milieu had been created largely by Jews.  Both Hitler and the milieu vanished into Trotsky’s famous ashcan.  Hitler was no longer possible.  There was nothing for rational man to fear.

     Even though the Jewish Establishment disavowed Kahane the fear of another Hitler pervaded the Jewish mind.  Witness the movies from ‘Hitler’s Brain’ to ‘The Boys From Brazil’ to ‘The Exterminator.’

     Harry Grabstein was afflicted with this paranoid fear.  He and Natty Segal were constantly on the lookout for…’The anti-Semite.’  Now every goi in town had to come to Harry to submit their manhood to him to pledge their troth that they would not become the next Hitler.

     Dewey Trueman hadn’t.  He couldn’t.  He had been outlawed, made a non-person from the outset.  Grabstein had actually expressed his displeasure of the little hippie boy.  He had refused to even discuss renting one of his properties to him.  As a transplant from California Dewey had had only the vaguest notion of who Harry Grabstein was.  He had been pushed in Harry’s direction.  He had been advised of the power of the ‘Jewish Mafia.’  But a non-person has no obligations.  Thus he had never pledged his submission to the Jewish people.  Harry could draw only one conclusion.

30 pages.

     ‘He is an anti-Semite.’  Harry said in a calm voice just above a whisper.  ‘We can’t take any chances of another Hitler developing.’

     You should be laughing but you’re not.  Harry didn’t mean it as a joke but it is funny, even ludicrous.  Dewey Trueman had no political ambitions.  Another Hitler?

     No one of the conspirators even smiled.  They looked at Harry, swallowed and blinked.  To have offered an objection would have been to confess anti-Semitism.  They didn’t even know what an anti-Semite was.  Nobody does.  It has never been defined, legally or otherwise.  The term has no, or had, things have changed since this was first written, no legal status nor should it.  Nevertheless it has immense social status; it is the kiss of death in American society.  ‘He is an anti-Semite.’  He is beyond the pale of society.  No proof is necessary, none is asked for.  Send a torpedo at him.  Sink him.  Does anyone here remember the McCarthy era?

     Thus the decision to kill Trueman had been reached.  The code word placing Trueman beyond the Pale had been uttered.  ‘Anti-Semite.’  Prior to 1950 the gois had placed Jews beyond the pale when the word ‘Jew’ showed up as the religion of the applicant.  Since 1950 Jewish bigotry had replaced goi bigotry.  With the simple utterance of the word ‘anti-Semite’ an American could be excommunicated in his own land by his own people in favor of a foreign and enemy nation.

     The three looked again at Harry Grabstein, blinked again in acquiescence then began to order their minds to justify their action.  It wasn’t hard to do.  Morality had been corrupted by the notion that you have to fight fire with fire.  Dirty Harrys roamed the streets enforcing their personal brand of ‘justice.’  Trueman stood as a symbol of their frustrations.  There was little to do but load them on him and drive him to the slaughter.

     The only one present who knew who he was, where he had come from, where he wanted to be and how to get there was Harry Grabstein.  He could do a fair job of recounting the four thousand year record of the Jews.  He knew the pitfalls and the goals.  His one little candle was burning bright.

     The others were beset by vague fears and apprehensions.  None of them had ever cogitated on anything but ‘beer.’  The American history of the last seventy years was closed to them.  O, they knew heroes and villains.  The knew enough to applaud Roosevelt and hiss McCarthy but beyond that they were out of their depth.

     They were incapable of analyzing the effect of immigration or race on themselves.  All they knew was that White guys were bad and everyone else was good.  White guys had dropped the Atom Bomb hadn’t they?  They knew so little that they thought Werner Von Braun had developed the A-Bomb.  The fact the the A-Bomb was a Jewish development would have been vigorously denied by them.  They didn’t know that Von Braun was a rocket scientist.  Their thinking was so shabby they couldn’t even connect the fact that Von Braun had come to the United States after the Bomb had been dropped.  They thought the jet plane just happened.  Much in the way an egg yolk appears when you crack the shell.

     Communism which was linked to the A-Bomb in their minds was merely a visceral reaction.  A troubling one but an us versus them situation.  It was a matter of moral systems.  We had refrigerators and they didn’t. 

     The emergence of pharmaceutical drugs disturbed them.  Which brings us to the physical manifestation of their fears.  The Hippies.  They had no idea of how the Hippies ‘happened.’  The evolution from post-war Bohos to Beats to Hippies was beyond them.  Those people were all ‘weirdos.’  They did know that boys with long hair disgusted them.  Trueman was a Hippie with hair all the way down to here.

     This fact alone made him a kingpin in the drug trade.  Drugs!  One of the most amusing topics of an amusing period.  The major herbals- marijuana, hashish, opium, cocaine had been around from time immemorial.  I know, Iknow, but heroin is refined opium.  They had all been used in modern times by the well-to-do and Bohemians.  In the sixties they were democratized.  They were disseminated not only among the less and least affluent but sent into middle class neighborhoods.  The herbals would not have been a real problem.  The real problem was the man made stuff, the pharmaceuticals.  Industry had created a whole new class of potent drugs after 1950.  Barbituates and amphetamines had come into existence.  Whew!  The Peyote button and its derivative mescaline had come into prominence to confuse the issue.  Philosophies had even arisen about their use.  Sacred stuff, if you believed all that BS.

     The pharmaceuticals were prescription drugs.  All the men in Babycakes office had used or were using pharmaceuticals.  They had all used barbituates to one degree or another.  Jerry Durkin used Valium to ‘help’ him deal with the stresses of his new position.  In the early sixties when men such as John Kennedy, the President of the United States, were receiving regular injections of amphetamines, Joshua Babycakes had even received a series.  You may imagine the effect of that combination.

     But those uses were prescribed by a doctor and were therefore ‘medicine’ not ‘drugs.’  The kids used drugs.  Nor did one have to go to a doctor to obtain drugs.  With a few chemicals anyone could manufacture any of the pharmaceuticals.  ‘Better Living Through Chemistry’ as the Hippie wags put it.  The best illicit LSD was produced by a guy from Berkeley name Owsley.  Got started when LSD was legal and just didn’t quit after the deadline.

     The Bomb, Communists, Hippies, drugs.  They weighed heavily, misunderstood on their minds.  The worst was LSD.  The drug, or more properly, Hallucinatory, was a fearful entity to them.

     At the time the Hippie war cry was ‘Don’t trust anyone over thirty.’  Many saw the humor in it and had a good laugh.  Many others tooke the slogan very seriously.  Their fears were given a visible form by the movie ‘Wild In The Streets.’  In the argument whether movies are pure entertainment or whether they have an effect on society, this one had an effect on society.  A society which was completely devoid of a sense of humor.  Seven words that could no longer be mentioned in polite company.

     In the movie a Rock n’ Roll singer who it was believed was based on Jim Morrison of the Doors is elected President at an age below thirty.  Already the movie is a farce.  He then proceeds to round up the entire population of the United States over thirty and puts them in a concentration, or perhaps, retirement camp, in which they are kept perpetually doped up from LSD in their drinking water.  On any Sunday afternoon you could visit the camp where they could be seen walking around like zombies.  In fact, their children did just that oblivious to the fact that they would joining their parents in just a few years.

     How hysterical would you have to be to take this movie literally?  Well, listen.  A rumor developed that the hippies would soon pour LSD into the reservoir supplying Eugene’s water.  A watch was established on the reservoir to prevent such an occurence.  Young men were recruited to patrol the shores.  No one came to pour LSD into the reservoir.

     But, it was reasoned, if anyone would do it, Dewey Trueman would.  But Trueman closely watched never went near the reservoir, probably didn’t even know it was there.  Accordingly Trueman was lured out to Dexter Lake where the crystal waters come tumbling down from the mountains.  It was only with a great deal of effort that he was persuaded to leave the car to walk along the shore.  As he approached the shore a hurtling form came from nowhere to throw him to the ground.  As he gathered his senses he perceived six men, or ‘youths’ standing over him.

     One was holding up what he called a ‘vial’ but looked more like a gallon jug which he said held pure LSD that Trueman was going to pour into the water supply.  He said that Trueman was under arrest.  At the sight of the gallon jug of ‘LSD’ Dewey Trueman began laughing uproariously which was unexpected.  The thought of all the fish in Dexter Lake under the influence of that much LSD seemed so comical to him that he couldn’t stop laughing.  It was an incongruous thought but the laughter was misinterpreted by the young vigilantes cum lynchers.

     The transparency of their ruse embarrassed even them.

     ‘Well, we’re not going to press charges this time, but if you try anything like this again, it’s jail for you.’

     Yes, these were strange and wonderful times.  There were marvels and portents in the air.  You didn’t even need LSD or the DTs to see them.  the jug sat on a shelf in Babycakes office as a reminder of how close the city had come.

     Reality had indeed become a blurry vision to their overloaded imaginations.  Unable to relate facts to their existences they attempted to use bluster to balance the scales in their favor.  Politeness, manners and fairness which had never been overly conspicuous in American mores had been completely eliminated in their consciousnesses by the interfaces between the other immigrants and competing ideological systems.  On the one hand they bullied each other in an attempt to maintain their positions while groveling before the various ‘minorities’ who built this great land of ours.

     The Communist and Criminal belief systems had demonstrated the incapacityof law and order in their minds.  The Constitution perverted by hostile elements had become a tool to be used against the very ideals it expressed.  Without any real moral fibre they adopted the criminal methods of their opponents.  As they put it:  They fought fire with fire.

     Thus American society was becoming completely criminalized.  Criminal ethics were the order of the day.

     Trueman had succeeded in spite of all their efforts to foil him.  Thus in their eyes he had blunted their manhood, emasculated them.  They were only capable of functioning within the support of a group.  They all needed the permission or assent of the others to do what they did.  In a metaphorical mixing of vital body fluids, they all had shares in each other.

     The group assigned places and opportunities.  Legion were the number who were waiting pateintly for a chance at their shot which would never come.  In their minds Trueman had overleaped all those waiting.

     Trueman had not only succeeded against their wishes as a retailer, in their eyes he was making it big.  He thus made them feel less virile, less manly in relation to him.  His individual manhood transcended their collective manhood.  They had to bring that Hippie down.

     In a society in which the once dominant caste had been compelled to outlaw ‘bigotry’, or in other words its own innate beliefs, they were left with no class against which it was legitimate to discriminate.  All the other ‘minorities’  could discriminate against them and they were defenceless.  ‘Bigotry’ prevented their retaliation.  The Hippies were a godsend.  They could be hated without fear of reprisals.  They could be discriminated against.  The word creed was quickly eliminated from the litany race, religion or creed.  The Hippies could be cast as inferiors, their creed was not allowed.

     The Hippies took the lowest rung on the social ladder.  Even the Negroes who had prviously been on the bottom could look down on the Hippies who, in addition, were White.  As the Black rhythm and blues singer Bobby Womack sang it:  ‘I’d like to help you Harry Hippie; but how can I when you’re laying on the ground.’  Thanks Bobby but, no thanks.

     Trueman represented all their fears and woes; all their shortcomings and failings.  They loaded him up to be driven into the desert to die for their sins.

     Grabstein had said Trueman must die.  Having made his contribution, played his part, he now sat back to wait for the others to plan and execute the deed.  As with Christ and the Rosenberg’s, he and his fellow Jews would be innocent of Trueman’s killing.

     Jerry provided the method to lure Trueman out of town with the free weekend at the Hole In Black Mountain.

     Babycakes provided the method.  They never allowed facts to interfere with their fantasies.  They thought Trueman must be dealing drugs, therefore he was.

     ‘He named his store after heroin.’  Babycakes mused.  ‘So he’s gotta die by heroin.’

     Jones noted that God sanctioned such a solution as He Himself had said an eye for an eye.  The others looked at Boxtop Jim and nodded.

     It was decided to give one of Trueman’s tires a slow leak which would leave him with a flat somewhere, they envisioned, between the lava flows and the turn at Highway 20 down to Bend.  The Hell’s Angels Motorcycle Club was much feared in Oregon.  Sometime after the Angels trashed Hollister, California they had tried to move into Oregon but had been successfully driven out.  It was decided that Trueman was the kind that would hang out with ‘those guys.’  Durkin had read Tom Wolfe, being a progressive sort of guy, and had been astounded at the gangbangs Wolfe had described.  Therefore a group riding motorcycles and wearing Angel-like colors would abduct Trueman and his wife from the road.  To make sure that he couldn’t change his tire before they got there his tire iron was removed from his car.  As a joke a useless four lug iron would be substituted.  Trueman and his wife would be taken into the woods where all would rape his wife while Trueman struggled helplessly.  Then both would be given hot shots.  Their dead bodies would be left to be discovered by whoever might at whatever time that might be.

     During the discussion Babycakes had unconsciously written Connie Francis several times and triple underlined each.

     Boxtop Jim murmured:  ‘He who lives by the needle dies by the needle.’

     Harry took a suck or two on his dry pipe as he contemplated the end of another ‘incipient Hitler.’  The Jews would be safe for another little while.

     Accordingly the ‘death warrant’ had been delivered to Trueman by Tetou.  The conspirators naively believed that their plan would be promptly executed.  But as has been wisely said:  Man proposes, God disposes.  Trueman was suspicious; he didn’t make any reservations.

     Thus the contingent of faux Hell’s Angels wheeled aimlessly about the highway on that Friday afternoon.  The matter remained open in their minds; there was no closure.

     Trueman was a hard worker.  Running his store took all his time.  Wives are seldom understanding of what they construe as neglect.  Angie Trueman was no exception.  She liked the material advantages of success but she didn’t want to pay the fare.  She pressured Dewey to take some time off.  Dewey realized that they had only just begun to make it.  He was fully aware of the precariousness of the situation.  He had his enemies, natural external forces had to be dealt with, internal company forces had to be balanced, he had his own intense personal reactions to contend with.

     Angie nevertheless had to be placated.  Along about early May Dewey bethought himself of the certificate to the Hole In Black Mountain which he had thrown in the drawer rather than the waste basket.  He thought he could be away for the weekend.

     He was still apprehensive but he thought that since he hadn’t used the certificate when intended that their guard might be down.  Still he wanted as complete a surprise as possible.  Thus he called for reservations on the Wednesday previous to his Friday departure.  Word was immediately flashed back.  The conspirators only had time to improvise.

     There were two ways over the Cascades from Eugene.  One was the regular route along the spine of on 126 then down 20 to Bend; the other was a rough seldom used road across the lava beds at the top of the McKenzie Highway.  The Cascades are of volcanic origin.  A large lava flow exists at the junction of 126 and the McKenzie Highway.

     It was decided to lure Trueman onto this road by the lava beds where he would be despatched.  In this case a band of local toughs would be used to beat him to death.  Not artistic, but in administrative murders no inquiry will ever be made.

     As there had been no mental closure a couple of details from the earlier plan were performed automatically.  The tire iron had never been replaced so Trueman was still without a jack.  The right front tire was doctored to produce a slow leak.

40 pages.

     The suggestion of the lava bed route had been made to Trueman.  He had shown interest and said he would take the route.  Indeed, the idea appealed to him a great deal.  He did intend to go that way.

     He and Angie left at noon on that Friday.  His way had been prepared for him.  He was already a TV personality in the area so that there was no trouble identifying him.  His streaming hair would justify any hostility in the rural population who were still years away from adopting long hair in what would be their stringy unwashed fashion.  Folks on the rural routes are the last to adopt a fashion and the last to give it up.

     From the McKenzie Bridge in Eugene’s twin city of Springfield all along the river to the ridge road Trueman was met by unremitting hostility.  People actually lined the road to glare at him.  At the juncture of the McKenzie Highway and 126 the road, really almost a path, across the lava beds was plainly visible.

     Also visible was a row of thugs ranged along the crest at the first flow like a band of indians in a cowboy movie.  As he approached he could see a car parked across the roadway at the far crest of the flow.  He could see the car waiting to be driven across the road to block his retreat.

     ‘How stupid do they think I am.’  Dewey thought.  He knew the answer and dismissed it.

     Trueman saw the handwriting on the wall.  He knew he should turn back.  He also knew that Angie wouldn’t understand nor would he be able to explain it to her.  His enemies always had the advantage because there are few who understand and fewer still who acknowledge the structure of society.  Few are they who have the nerve to look beneath the surface.  Dewey had been born there so he always knew the score.  His rejection of the lava bed route would be construed by his enemies as that he had told a lie.  He had said he would take the road but now he hadn’t.  In their minds he had labeled himself a liar.  They so thought of him and this is the reason why.

     He had many misgivings but plowed ahead along the ridge.  The question is always how far will they go.  Trueman hadn’t yet the experience to be absolutely sure of his interpretation of the details nor could he understand how people who had never met him would do such things.

     The highway was virtually deserted.  The road was his until the turn down to Bend.  He was astounded that there was absolutely no traffic.  On the descent there were no cars before or behind.  A car or two passed on the other side of the road.   The drivers seemed to glare hatred.  In fact they were.  When word was received that the lava bed plan had misfired a couple of people had set out from Sisters and Bend to snarl at him on the highway.

     Trueman and Angie passed Hoodoo Ski Bowl.  Three Fingered Jack conveniently faced the Three Sisters across the highway.  They rolled by the road leading down to the springs of the Metolius River.  The Metolius is one of the wonders of the West.  The river emerges from the mountain side in huge springs which form a significant river in just a couple hundred yards.  It is a sight worth seeing.

     As they descended Trueman’s defective tire began to assert itself.  Trueman had a new Volvo.  The front tire on the driver’s side began to pound, bouncing and hammering.  Trueman had no idea what was happening.  Before he was able to slow down the tire burst as it slammed into the pavement.

     Trueman immediately divined that he had been had.  The fact that it was the left front immediately made his suspicious.  He could see himself on the highway butt out into the roadway to be run down by a passing car.  He kept driving slowly down the road.  He was still some way from Sisters, the first town.  He didn’t think the tire would even stay on the rim that far.  The rim probably wouldn’t stay on the hub.  He’d really been had when as if by a miracle a sign reading:  Jack’s U-Auto Stop appeared by a driveway by the side of the road.  ‘I auto stop.’ said Dewey

     The way was down an embankment a little way from the road.  Trueman thought it dangerous to leave the highway but the lesser of two evils.  He entered the ruts to slide to a stop before a little shack.  Some guy, hopefully a mechanic, was leaning over the fender of an old wreck to the left.  He straigtened up, eyed the Volvo, then bent over the fender again.

     Dewey blew out a breath, opened the door, got out and walked over to the wreck.

     ‘Hi!’ He said announcing his presence.

     He was ignored.

     ‘Hi!’ Dewey repeated.  ‘You work here?’

     The guy straigtened up looking at Dewey uncomprehendingly with his face half averted.

     ‘You Jack?’  Dewey asked.

     The guy twitched once, then said:  ‘No, Bill.’

     ‘Where’s Jack?’

     ‘There ain’t no Jack.  I’m Bill.  I just call it Jack’s because I’m shy.’

     Dewey thought better than to make any jokes.  He thought it better to play it straight and get out of there.

     ‘Can you fix tires, Bill?’ Dewey asked.

     ‘There ain’t nothin’ wrong with these tires.’  Bill replied mystified.

     ‘No. No, Bill, I don’t mean on that car.  I mean on my car over there.’

     Bill looked over at the Volvo and nodded:  ‘Oh sure. Yeah.  Easy.’

     ‘Well, how about fixing that tire?’

     ‘Can’t.’

     ‘Why not?’

     ‘Well, looka here.  See how it’s blown.  That’s one dead tire.  Can’t be fixed.’  He said looking at Dewey as though he were stupid.

     ‘Well, then, how about putting on the spare?’

     ‘Won’t do no good.’

     ‘Why not?’

     ‘This here Volvo’s got one of those new temporary spares.  You know, they only inflate halfway up.  Soft.  You’d never make it into town.’

     ‘Well, here’s an idea.  Can you sell me a tire?’

     ‘Sure.’  Said Bill without stirring.

     ‘O.K.  I’ll buy a tire from you.’

     ‘Well, I don’t have any tires.’

     ‘Uh huh. But you said you could sell me one.’

    ‘Of course I can.’  Bill said indignantly.  ‘But I have to go into town to buy it.’

     ‘Well, OK Bill.  I can’t go anywhere without a tire.  Do you think you could to into town to get one to sell to me?’

     ‘Sure, I could do that.  It’ll take a couple hours, maybe more.’

     ‘OK Bill.  As the saying goes:  I’ve got nothing but time.  I don’t have any choice but to wait.’

     ‘You want me to then?’

     ‘Yes, I do.’

     Bill got on the phone.  ‘Hi, this is Bill from Jack’s Jim.  I’m gonna need a tire.’

     A conversation ensued during which Bill was questioned as to who wanted the tire.  He described Dewey.  Words were spoken.  Bill looked at Dewey around the door with an extra shy grin.

     ‘I’ll be back.’ He said sheepishly.

     Dewey grinned and waved goodbye.  ‘Don’t take your time.’  He jokingly laughed.

     But Bill did take his time.  While he did a car left its garage in Eugene to speed to Jack’s U-Auto Stop.

     The day was nice, even delicious.  A warm sun beamed out of a sky with fluffy clouds lazing across it.  Jack’s was on a little level shelf of land against the hillside with a delightful valley below.  The shelf abutted the hillside about fifteen feet below the roadway.  As Dewey looked at the sharp descent he was uncertain whether the Volvo could even make it up it. 

     Dewey instructed Angie to stay in the car, keeping the door locked.  He was conversing with her through the window when he heard a car slowing down.  He looked up to see a bumper and under carriage as the car lurched into Jack’s U-Auto Stop.  It wasn’t Bill.  Dewey’s fears were confirmed.  He got the keys from Angie to open the trunk to get his tire iron out for a weapon.  He was somewhat dismayed to find the four pronged lug wrench but the not the appropriate tire iron.  The lug wrench was not an ideal weapon.  While he was studying the wrench in a quandary the car slid to a stop fifteen feet from him.

     Autry Outrey got out.  Autry had been given the crash assignment of despatching Trueman and Angie.  Autry stood six-three, trim and athletic.  His black wingtips were immaculate.  He wore his suit pants with precision.  The cuffs just touched his shoes.  The crease was a razor edge.  The pleatless pants rested smoothly and snugly across his hips and waist.  His belt was evenly spaced between the tops and bottoms of the loops.  The buckle was in the exact center of his body.  The waist of his pants formed a perfect circle around him.  They were not higher in the back and lower in the front.  His white shirt, even after just getting out of the car did not billow at the waistline.  His grey shaded rep stripe matching his pants and socks had a perfect Windsor knot.  the collar ends were not starched but didn’t curl.

     Autry was Arrow shirt ad handsome.  He could have modeled for a German postage stamp of the thirties.  His thick, luxuriant mustache which projected beyond his lip about a quarter inch exuded manliness.  It was impeccably trimmed, so fastidiously as to arouse your admiration and suspicion.

     Autry Outry stood eyeing Trueman who stood there looking stupid with the lug wrench in his hands.  Outrey’s gaze went to Trueman’s soft loafers.  He lifted his toes slightly as a sign that hard wingtips were more manly than soft loafers.

     He unconsciously hoped to emasculate Trueman with his shoes.  As Autry eyed the lug wrench he realized that his assignment wouldn’t be that easy.  While others described Trueman as a paranoid they apparently didn’t know what paranoia meant.  Trueman had had his finger on them since being shown the pot shack.  The image that was held by the townspeople of Trueman was, of course, erroneous.  the image that he was an abject coward who would never fight but cravenly beg for mercy was merely a projection of their fantasy.  Thus the notion had been that Autry would put his arm around Trueman’s shoulder and strangle him to death.  Why not?

     Autry had been chosen for the assignment because he had put it about that he had known Trueman well at the U of O.  This was a figment of Outrey’s imagination.  Outrey was a homosexual.  He had formed an intense mental fixation on Trueman, had railed at him but never actually met him.

     Outrey had been turned by a retired army officer who lived on his block.  Autry at eight had been a beautiful boy.  He had been befriended by his neighbor who had seduced him.  His seducer had been a model of military deportment.  The liaison had lasted two years until Autry had been discarded for another eight year old.  Autry had loved and respected his seducer.  It was from him that Autry learned to wear his clothes, trim his hair and mustache.  It was from that man Autry learned his lessons in manhood.  From the day of his seduction his father had ceased to have an influence on him.  His exterior would have been a model for a Marine advertisement.  His interior had been corrupted by his rejection which Autry had never been able to understand.  The pain of it haunted him night and day.

     Autry was still young enough to be seeking another older man as a companion and lover.  That was why he attached himself to the big men of Eugene and was willing, even overjoyed, to do their dirty work.  Within a few years a relationship with an older man would no longer please him, he would seek to duplicate his experience by finding eight year old boys.

     When Autry had seen Trueman in college he was both enraged and in love.  Trueman violated every concept of manhood that Autry cherished.  Dewey had had long hair, wore love beads, shaved clean and worn his clothes in an ambiguous manner with loafers that infuriated Autry.  At the same time he represented the internal Autry to himself.  Autry had thought him beautiful.  He also believed Trueman was a homosexual and ought to respond to him.

     But Trueman was not a homosexual.  He even spoke disparagingly of homos.  Trueman didn’t hesitate to call them fags.  Thus Outrey was faced with the perennial homosexual problem: unrequited love.  He knew he could never have Trueman.  Autry, as a frustrated lover, had taken to hurling abuse at Trueman, as a substitute for affection.  First from around the corners of hallways, then from behind trees, finally from a distance of five or ten feet.  For various reasons Trueman had ignored him.  He didn’t recognize Outrey now.  Autry was dumbfounded.  their relationship was real in his mind.

     Autry’s classically chiseled features that looked so good at rest dissolved into the marshmallow of his interior when he spoke.  His head reared back while in some strange fashion his features turned globular moving up and to the side of his face leaving the center with the appearance of being hollow.

     As they studied each other, Trueman moved to put his back to the far drop off with the shack on his left.  He held the lug wrench tommy gun style, grasping the lower and rear prongs.  As a child he had been floored with a punch to the solar plexus that he had never forgotten.  Unconsciously he intended now to avenge this incident.  It was his intention to thrust the lead prong under the ribs up into Autry’s heart.

     Autry looked at him baffled by the intended resistance.  This wasn’t in the script of his movie; he didn’t know what to do.  He feared the wrench.  His head reared back, his features dissolved as he began to articulate a phrase.  He changed his mind.  The classic Arrow, German postage stamp face appeared again.  Autry looked denyingly at Trueman for a few moments then turned to walk back to his car.

     Unsure of Autry’s intent Trueman dogged his steps with the wrench at the ready.  Without turning his head Autry sensed Trueman behind him.  Autry couldn’t be sure Trueman wouldn’t club him from behind.  He did a fatal thing.  His fear made him take a half skip into a run before he checked himself.  At the signal of submission Trueman stopped following him.  Autry immediately broke out into a copious perspiration.  He had confessed weakness.  There was now no chance he could go through with it.  He had failed the men he respected and loved, expecially his seducer.  He hadn’t been able to perform as a man.

     Within the next few steps his shirt darkened between his shoulder blades.  The sweat poured down the small of his back soaking the top of his pants and down between the cheeks to his sphincter.  Autry Outrey choked back a sob.  He couldn’t face his men in Eugene again.  Unseeing, blind he got behind the wheel, backed up in a roaring cloud of dust to speed East down the highway.  He roared through Sisters in blind panic onto 395.  He lost five pounds in a fast and furious drive from Bend to Boise.

     Shortly thereafter Bill returned to Jack’s U-Auto Stop with a tire.  Trueman stared at the tire in disbelief.

50 pages.

     ‘Why didn’t you get a new one?’  He asked.

     As in the Hank William’s song:  The tire was doing fine but the air was showing through.  The tire was three rotations past bald.

     ‘This was all they had.’  Bill said lamely.

     ‘What do you mean?  In all of Bend they only had this one lousy tire?’  Dewey said indignantly.

     ‘I didn’t go to Bend.  I only went to Sisters.  You either take this tire or you get nothing.  If you get nasty I won’t even sell you this one and can get your broken down car off my property.’

     Dewey saw his bind but he wasn’t going to give in easily.  Bill had already paid for the tire.

     ‘God, from the looks of that tire I would think you would give it to me.  How much are you going to charge me for it?’

     ‘Thirty dollars.’

     ‘Thirty dollars?  I can get new ones cheaper than that.’

     ‘Well, don’t buy it then.’

     ‘No. No.  I’ll take it.’  Necessity is the mother of surrender.

     ‘I know it’s bald and it probably won’t last till Bend.  But as you enter Sisters there’s a gas station on the left hand side of the road.  Go in there.  They’ll fix you up.’

     ‘I’m sure they will.’  Dewey said to Bill, adding to himself:  In more ways than one.

     Angie was not a fearless rider.  She hated the road.  She saw problems when none existed.  She had seen how bald the tire was, which was at least something to worry about.  Thus as they approached Sisters she was anxiously scanning the other side of the road for the gas station.

     ‘There it is.’  She excitedly exclaimed.

     ‘Nooo.  Nooo.’  Dewey said looking back to see the gang shaking their fists at him.

     ‘What if this tire explodes too.?’

     ‘We go into Bend on the rim, the hub.  I know where we are now.’

     He’d also picked up his tail who he noticed in the rear view mirror.  He wasn’t too worried about things in Bend, he didn’t think they would hit him in town.  But he did still need a new tire.

     He pulled into a tire shop off the highway onto the road through Bend to Mt. Bachelor.  He was met with overt hostility.

     ‘I don’t have that size tire.’  He was curtly told.

     ‘Well, can’t you call around.  Someone in Bend must have one.  If not, we’ll be in town a couple days, have one sent from the warehouse in Eugene.’

     The attendant’s boss who was watching with compressed lips heard Dewey and called the attendant over.

     The attendant returned.  ‘I can’t sell you a radial like you’ve got but I got a regular tire that will fit pretty well.’

     Trueman had already spent thrity with Bill at Jack’s and he’d have to replace the tire when he got back to Eugene.  Also he would look stupid with three radials and this oversized tire.  He considered the difficulty of his situation then consented.

     While the tire was being changed Dewey looked down the road toward Bachelor trying to figure out his enemies next move.  He decided it could only be to get him into an accident.  Dewey was learning his way around.  As he passed thrugh the center of town he could see he was being eyed.  He was good on the road.  There was no way to surprise him without hurting themselves.  Of course it was always possible that someone could be found who might not mind hurting themselves or might be too stupid to be aware of the consequences of their actions.

     Dewey made it safely through the core.  He had sped up as he approached the edge of town.  Suddenly a car flahsed out of an intersection in front of him.  He slammed on the brakes.  They don’t if they get hurt, he thought, because if his reflexes had been less quick he would have rammed the car between the wheels killing the driver.

     A car was waiting at the next intersectdion too but Dewey was prepared.  He had slowed in anticipation.  the earlier cars had flashed out and then turned toward town.  At the third intersection the car wheeled out in front of him and stepped on its brakes then floored it.  Billows of acrid black smoke blew out the exhaust.  The driver then immediately screeched to a halt forcing Dewey to do the same.  Dewey knew the game and he knew he couldn’t win but he had to play.  He crossed the center line to pass.  The driver gunned ahead across the line blocking Dewey’s passage still emitting billows of smoke which drifted through the clear air across the blue sky above the neighborhood.  Dewey drew back across the line slowing in anticipation of the driver’s screeching stop.  This time dewey was a few car lengths back.  The drive, thoroughly enjoying himself was laughing insanely.  He was unable to bee Trueman through the smoke.  He imagined that he was right behind him.

     Trueman anticipated the next move also.  A stream of cars was now passing slowly in the opposite direction so passing was out of the question.  His effort would only be frustrated anyway which was the intention.  Trueman had begun some time before to adjust his mentality to their methods.  The thought they were criminal or insane so that whatever they did was characteristic of their mentality.  Their acts were no reflection on himself.  In fact he was developing the attitude of a doctor in an insane asylum.  The attitude infuriated them more.  Dewey hadn’t flown onver the cuckoo’s nest he had landed in it.

     The driver before him now made several false starts.  Dewey remained motionless as the lead car now several blocks ahead of him rocked bac and forth in isolation after each stop.  The driver finally had the sence to use his side mirror.  He was humiliated to find himself alone out there.  He now drove slowly forward.  Trueman had no choice but to follow.  There was no chance to pass as a car came by at thousand foot intervals.   Dewey knew any attempt to pass would be foiled.  All he would do would be to get himself worked up to the point where he might do something stupid.  No car came upbehind Dewey as he drove into the smoke at ten miles an hour.

     Then to his left he saw the sign of The Hole In Black Mountain.  As he drew abreast his escort emitted a horse laugh which he could hear and sped off toward Mt. Bachelor.  The driver turned off the gimmick he had used to create the smoke screen.  His exhaust cleared as he sped away.

     It was quite clear to Dewey that none of this was coincidence.  But, if he told the story everyone would say so.  He resolved to keep the whole trip to himself.  He marveled that these people had no more life to lead than to spend ours, use dozens of cars and spend money in their attempt to torment him.  In its own way it was a supreme compliment to his superior manhood but one which he didn’t appreciate.  He was lost in this reverie as a car edged across the entrance of the lot in front of him.  The car had started too late.  Dewey kept going forcing the other driver to an abrupt stop a hair from the side of Dewey’s car.

      Dewey would have won that one except that Angie began to berate him for placing her in jeopardy.  There was merit in her argument.  It had been a long trip but Dewey kept his temper.  He ignored the obscenity hurled at him as the other car raced through the lot.

     He now looked at the building before him.  It was a conventional two story wooden inn streching some two or three hundred feet along the road.  He’d taken the bag from the trunk before he saw the entrance.  A large black structure closely resembling a cowl had been built over the doorway apparently in imitation of a cave.  Its black constrasted sharply with the natural finish of the building while blending into the asphalt of the parking lot.

     ‘This must be the actual hole in Black Mountain.’  Dewey said with a laugh as the smile on Angie’s face erupted into a matching laugh.

     ‘Business must have been so bad they tried to Disney the place up.’  She said.

     Still laughing they passed through the black hole into the lobby.

     ‘Hmmm.’  Said Angie.

     ‘Yeah.’  Dewey replied.  ‘And this place has a great reputation too.  It doesn’t look like they clean up in between seasons.  I guess they’re trying to save money by not turning the lights on too.’

     There was no clerk in sight.  Dewey rang the bell.  Minutes later he rang the bell again to no avail.

     ‘Hey, hello.  Anybody here?’  He called out some time later. 

     Still no one showed.

     About half an hour later he picked up the bag.  He told Angie that they might as well leave.  As though picking up his bag was a signal a slovenly, surly young woman appeared fromt he office.  She looked at him blankly.

     ‘We’d like to check in.’  Dewey said with mock suavity.

     ‘Do you have a reservation?’  The clerk asked in stilted tones as though she might have failed in finishing school.

     The game was clear to Dewey but he had enough experience to be patient.  He was a long way from home base.

     ‘Oh yes.’  He replied.  ‘Trueman?  We’re here on a certificate from KGEN.’

     ‘KGEN?’  She said blankly.

     ‘Yes, KGEN.  It’s a TV station in Eugene.  I’m sure you’ve heard of it.  Here’s the certificate.  Trueman.  They said to be sure to mention them and who I was.’

     ‘I’m not sure this is any good.’  She said stiffly.

     ‘Sure it is.’  Dewey said grimly.  ‘Just check it out.  We’ll be here till Sunday.  You’ve got time.’

    The clerk looked at him, blinked, then gave up the masquerade.

     ‘You’ll have to carry your own baggage.’  She said.  ‘We don’t have nayone to help you.’

     ‘Or clean up.’  Dewey said snidely, unaware of what was before him.

     The Hole was vacant May not being high season in the skiing industry.  Black Mountain was seriously mis-managed.  It didn’t even do well in the high season except on overflow weekends.  They were led to the most distant room.

     ‘This room hasn’t even been cleaned.’  Angie said indignantly.

     ‘Truly.’  Added Dewey.  ‘The ash trays, look at them,  at least six, they’re heaped with butts.  This room reeks of cigarette and cigar smoke.  The bed clothes haven’t even been changed.’

     Dewey and Angie were astonished to see splotches of semen stains on the sheets.  The floor was gritty as though dirt had been brought in for the occasion.

     ‘Very untidy.’  Dewey said, feigning urbanitywhile being deeply offended at the insult.  ‘Why don’t you give us another room?’

     ‘The resort is full.  This is the only room we have available.’

     ‘Well, clean it up and we’ll be back in an hour.’

     ‘No.  This is good enough for the likes of you.’

     ‘We’ll go elsewhere.’  Angie sniffed.

     ‘Go ahead and try.’  The girl said spitefuly.  ‘There isn’t a available room in Bend for you.  When youcome back this one won’t be here either.’

     Dewey sensed that this was true.  As the sun was setting he didn’t dare attempt the drive back to Eugene in the dark.  He could easily be forced from the road.  He and Angie were stuck.

     ‘Well, loot at those ashtrays and that bed.’  Dewey said tensely.  ‘They’re filthy.

 

     ‘All right.’  She said.  ‘We’ll empty the ash trays and make the bed.  But that’s all.’

     ‘We’ll come back after you’ve changed the bed.’

     ‘No.  I said make the bed, not change it.  You’ve got to take it the way it is.’

     So saying she dumped the contents of the ashtrays into the wastebasket and threw the blanket and bedspread up covering the sheets.

     ‘There.’  She said.  ‘That’s good enough for you.’

     So saying she slammed the door and left them.

     Joshua Babycakes had occupied the room the night before.  As he had anticipated Trueman’s death in the lava beds he had occupied the the bed intended for him the night before.  It was a macabre joke.  In his ecstasy at Trueman’s anticipated demise he had spent the morning masturbating into the empty bed as though he had Trueman before him.  When word had been flashed that the plan had misfired he ordered that the room and bed be left so that Trueman as he imagined would have to sleep in Babycake’s own filth.

     Dewey didn’t know hwo but he intuited the intent.  Angie was so disturbed that she became ill.  Thus Dewey went to dinner alone.  He was the sole diner in the restaurant.  As there was no one in sight he selected a table and took a seat.  Immediately a waiter appeared to tell him that section was closed.  He was led to a table in front of the men’s restroom.

     ‘Oh, come now.’  Dewey said as diplomatically as possible.  ‘I’m not going to sit her.  I’ll go back to where I was.’

     ‘I told you, buddy, that section is closed.’  The waiter lisped severely.

    Well, listen, pal, there’s no one else in the restaurant.  Either all sections are closed or any one I choose to open.  Only one waiter is required.  Do you follow my logic or do you follow any logic?’

      ‘Read my lips.  The section you want is closed.  This is your table.  Take it or leave it.’

     ‘I’ll sit here.’  Dewey said moving over two tables.  The waiter capitulated.

     ‘We get all kinds of boors in here.’  The waiter groaned.

     Dewey never got into arguments with stupid people so he let the comment pass with a snort and a contemptuous dismissal.  The waiter had no shame so he did a corn cob walk into the kitchen as though he had scored a great triumph.

     Dewey ordered without hope.  His dinner was served accordingly.  The food was improperly cooked.  It had just been thrown unappetizingly on the plaate.  Dewey could only imagine what adulteration had been done to it.  It  had been spit in.  Dewey sat looking at it dumbly for some few minutes, the he threw his napkin on the table in disgust and got up to leave.

     ‘You didn’t eat your dinner.’  The waiter said as though offended.

     ‘Not hungry.’  Dewey said.  ‘You can have it.’

     ‘I’m not going to eat that.’  The waiter said with evident disgust.

     ‘See.’  Dewey said ironically, which was, of course, wasted on the waiter.

     He went back to the room to find Angie sitting disconsolately in the chair.

     ‘How are we going to sleep?’  She asked.  ‘I’n not going to get into that filthy bed.’

     Dewey thought for a moment.  ‘They probably forgot to remove the extra blanket, I’ll bet.’  He said going to the closet.  ‘We’ll just have to lay on top of the bedspread.  Oh look, two extra blankets.  One under us, one over us.  Perfect solution to a bad situation.’

     And so they spent the night at The Hole In Black Mountain.  The inn certainly deserved its name.

60 pages.

     They didn’t bother to check out the next morning; they just got in the car and drove off.

     ‘If they’ve got anything to say they can say it to KGEN.’  Trueman said as they drove back through town.  He pulled into a gas station to fill it up.  While the attendant was checking the oill he punctured the radiator.

     Dewey had turned unto the ridge road before he noticed that the car was running hot.  He pulled over to take a look.  He quickly spotted the puncture.  The attendant had made it near the top of the radiator so that while the engine overheated it wouldn’t burn up.  Satisfied that there would be no trouble getting back Dewey lowered the hood to see a car pulling to a stop behind him.  In all his life no had ever volunteered to help him so Dewey realized that his enemies were still behind him.  He hurriedly got back in the car and drove off.

     The rhododendrons were blooming cheerily in the dappled sunlight of the forest as they turned down the McKenzie Highway.  As they crossed the McKenzie Bridge Dewey began to feel secure again.

     It was only Saturday but he decided to stay home until Monday to as not to give the impression that he had been had.  Everyone knew, of course, but Trueman didn’t know they knew.  He was not yet that familiar with the system.

     The ‘free’ weekend had been an expensive one.  Between the tires, the radiator and other repair work he paid out several hundreds of dollars.  He also lost several hundred dollars of merchandise.  Harry Grabstein had had a small collection of classical records delivered to his house.  The employees had helped themselves to merchandise and cash.  Generous discounts had been given to their friends.

     As Dewey walked in Monday they were all in their places which was such a rarity that Dewey immediately guessed the truth.

     ‘How was your weekend?’  They chirped knowingly.

     ‘Hey, it was terrific.’  Dewey said breezily, unwilling to give anyone a triumph.

     ‘It was?  No kidding?  Nothing happened?’  They said incredulously.

     ‘Yeah!  Why not?  You know anything I don’t?’  Dewey replied.

   Dewey didn’t wait for a reply as he mounted the stairs to the office.

     He had just begun to open drawers when Jim James who ran the marijuana operation on Railroad Ave. came in to request to see him.  Dewey had never met James but he came down to see what he wanted.  James had formed a serious relationship with Trueman from television, from the fact that Trueman was prominent in the conversation of the people he knew, because he owned the record store and because James also considered himself a successful businessman.

     ‘Hey, Dewey,’  James said grabbing his hand in both of his as though he really was an old dear friend,  ‘I just came in to say good-bye.  I’ve got to leave town now.’

    ‘Oh, sorry to hear that.’  Dewey said only vaguely aware of who he was talking to.  ‘How come?’

     ‘Oh, they told me it’s getting to hot for the business.  If we keep it up much longer the police will have to act; they won’t be able to hold them back any longer.  So I gotta get outta town.  Well, Buddy, it’s been fun.  See you around.’

     ‘Uh, yeah, take care, see you around.’  Dewey replied amicably waving good-bye.

    With an affectionate wave good-bye to everyone in the store who all seemed to know him, James left.  Astonished at his openness and amazed that James thought him a buddy, Trueman trailed outside behind him.  James went down the street shaking hands with everyone he met, addressing them all by name and telling them it was too hot to continue.  The house would be dark from now on.

     ‘How does he get away with it?’  Trueman muttered to himself.  ‘That’s way too open.  There’s no way to conceal that, not even under the cover of darkness.’

     The citizenry had been aroused over the last few months, not so much by James’ operation as to the outrageous doings in the so-called massage parlors.  Prostitution had began to flourish in Oregon under the guise of massage parlors.  The parlors were owned by combines of various big men in town.  The men they employed to run them were real wild cowboys.  Rivalries had developed.  Parlors were raided by shot gun toting competitiors.  Parlor after parlor had been burst into and shot up.  A couple of cowboys had died.  The last straw had been when one of the managers, as the newspaper had reported, had fallen asleep at the wheel, missed the McKenzie Bridge, gone down a steep embankment, which should have arrested the progress of the car, careened across a hundred feet of sandbank, which was clearly impossible, to drown in three feet of water, which was incredible.  The case was closed as accidental death.   Perhaps his murder was not intended.

     James’ operation had been a casualty of the massage parlor warfare and the accidental death.  James was only a very naive eighteen.  Had he been wiser he would have taken his cash and run for his life.  Instead he became the sacrificial lamb.  After completing his all too obvious farewell tour, his friends gave him a little party, put a thousand dollars in his hand, ten kilos of grass in his trunk to help him get started in California and waved a fond farewell.

     A crime had been committed;  It was necessary to expiate the sin.  Someone had to pay.  The punishment of James would serve for all.  James heart was agow with fellowship and he sped past Roseburg, through Medford and Grant’s Pass to the Oregon border just beyond Ashland.  He was simple enough to think he was going to repeat his performance in Sacramento.  As he crossed the border he didn’t see the Highway Patrol car that whelled off the sideroad behind him.

     He did see the red light in his rear view mirror as it flashed behind him.  The Patrolman didn’t even ask to see his license he just said:  ‘Open the trunk.’  You can hear the train whistle blow in Folsom Prison on the American River just outside Sacramento.  That’s where Jimmy James spent the next twenty years of his life.

     Back in Eugene the conspirators gathered once again in Joshua Babycakes’ office.  There had been great satisfaction in the rape of Connie Francis that had gone off without a hitch.  Trueman had foiled their hopes and dreams.  Babycakes hand fondled his groin as he considered the failure.  A frown crowded the humanity out of his face as he subconsiously acknowledged his defeated manhood.  He cleared his throat as all looked up in anticipation.  But Babycakes was just clearing his throat, he had nothing to say.  Their minds flailed about in the seim-darkness in the Shadow Of The Cross as they sought the next move.

     Is it our imaginations or was the Cross actually installed upside down?

The End Of The Hole In Black Mountain

    

 

 

 

    

 

    

Disco Donn Demands Deliverance

by

R.E. Prindle

Part II-4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 151.

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

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

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

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

     ‘Yes. Yes, they are.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 153. 

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

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

page 154.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 156.

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

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

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

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

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

page 157.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 159.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 160.

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

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

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

page 161.

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

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

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

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

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

page 162.

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

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

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

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

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

page 163.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 164.

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

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

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

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

page 165.

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

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

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

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

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

page 166.

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

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

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

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

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

page 167.

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

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

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

page 169.

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

     ‘Why me?

      What did I do?

      What did I do?

      What did I do?’

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

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

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

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

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

     ‘What?’  Said the birdwatcher in amazement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 170.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 171.

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

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

page 172.

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

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

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

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

page 173.

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

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

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

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

page 174.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 175.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 176.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 177.

V.

Somebody Shoot Out The Jukebox

I don’t want you under my roof

with your eighty-six proof

Watered down till it tastes like tea;

If you’re going to pull my string

Make it the real thing

for me.

-Chip Taylor

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

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

     ‘Get off me.’   Donn demanded.

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

page 178.

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

     ‘Back off.’

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

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

     ‘What band?’

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

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

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

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

page 179.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 180.

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

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

page 181.

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

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

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

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

page 182.

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

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

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

page 183.

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

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

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

 page 184.

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

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

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

page 185.

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

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

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

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

page 186.

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

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

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

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

page 187.

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

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

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

page 188.

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

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

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

page 189.

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

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

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

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

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

page 190.

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

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

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

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

 page 191.

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

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

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

page 192.

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

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

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

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

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

page 193.

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

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

page 194.

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

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

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

page 195.

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

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

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

page 196.

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

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

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

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

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

page 197.

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

page 197.

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

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

     So you know from one side they’re tellin’ us about freedom of speech and from the other side they’re tellin’ if we don’t say what they want they’ll make us hurt.  Who cares, when you get old you lose, I wanta live fast, die young and leave a beautiful corpse.  (Daddy would get two out of three and two out of three ain’t bad.)  So they used to stage these mock debates, everything’s mock in America, there ain’t nothin’ real, over whether Blacks are naturally inferior or not, then they wouldn’t invite the Blacks so as not to hurt their feelins.  White only affair.  Why they did I don’t know because nobody was goin’ around sayin’ Blacks was inferior.  Wouldn’t dare, they’d expel anyone who did.  So they tap me to take the side about Blacks are naturally inferior.

     Oh yeah, but I forgot.  First I’m in this political science class where they tell you what to think, you know, party line, why call it education for chrissakes, and I’m next to this old buck, Black guy about forty, so we get this test back, I got a C and this black guy gets a B, but I look over at his paper and see I’ve got a higher score.  Well, you know, I can’t take that without a squawk so I point out that if this guy should have a B I should have a A, don’t want to take nothin’ away from the old blood, so this guy, this so-called prof, looks me right in the eye and says that because of the bell curve he’s only got so many As and Bs to hand out, that because this Black guy’s had it tougher than a White guy like me who’s had all this ‘White skin privilege’ he gets a B and I gotta take a C.  Bull Shit!  I’ve had it plenty tough.  If you wanta compare tough with tough I’ve probably had it tougher.  I mean, I don’t know whether I’m comin’ or goin’.  So this so-called prof says shut up or I’m out of the class.  Boy, I am plenty burned, but so what?  What can I do about it?  Nothin’.

page 199.

     So, then they tap me for this debate, probably because this asshole tells ’em I’m a bigot or something, and I’m told to lay down, take a fall , you know.  Fuck that shit!  If I’m in it I’m in it to win.  So I give ’em holy hell, used statistics and everything, so  they order me off the dais right in mid debate and call me in for a chat.  I defend myself because, man, I mean, I’ve had enough.  They tapped me I didn’t go to them.  But then I notice the administration is pretty cool to me and I can’t get good grades no longer.  Guys are always challenging me in class, provoking me.

     So I wrote this prayer for racial harmony.  The only problem was I started out ‘Oh Lord…’   Not only did they bar my poem on religious grounds but when the hailed me before the board as a trouble maker, get this, some Black guy who was a Muslim objected on the grounds that I was talking about a Christian god, he assumes because I’m White I’m a Christian, which discriminated against Allah, and this Jewish guy nods his head in agreement because my prayer might be taken as anti-Semitic on the same grounds.

page 200.

 End of clip Part II-4.  Go to clip Part II-5 which is the last clip.

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,