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Category Archives: Liberals

The Vampyres Of New York

Clip 10

A Novel

by

R.E. Prindle

 

I sat comfortably in my chair with a glass of excellent Cabernet looking benignly at Lessing, Giusti, Barron Cammell and in the speaker’s seat, Max Savings. There was some uneasiness as the Chicago insurrection was still raging, other disturbances were taking place in cities with majority Negro populations. While cause for concern, the concentration of Negroes in urban centers localized the disturbances rather than making them general.

In many other majority Negro areas most of the Negroes had found it expedient to head for the big cities. Thus the Negro-White situation was rather cleanly divided. Of course Manhattan was a different situation. The Negro population had halved over the past three years so while seven and a half percent was still a large population on Manhattan Island their minority status quietened them somewhat while having been expelled from the Aryan areas even those are untouched directly by the gathering storm. The news today had announced the formation of a New Islamic Republic in lower Manhattan so hostilities were imminent from that part of the city.

I think it struck all of us as odd that we were to discuss events that occurred a hundred years ago having little or no reference to today. It seemed rather eerie. Nevertheless Max began:

Max: All of us are old enough for the Bolshevic Revolution to have influenced our lives. Those born in the year 2000, now turning eighteen, may not have even heard of it, or if they have, its irrelevance to them leaves the mention of it forgotten.

Those born after, say, nineteen-eighty are old enough for more to have heard of it and perhaps taken cognizance of it but except for the few more scholarly the Revolution lacks meaning. The names of the participants save Lenin and Stalin have no true meaning to the majority of Americans living. Even the term American now has little real meaning. It is good to have some company tonight who share my interest. Sometimes walking down the street I feel like a time traveler visiting the future or perhaps a transient from a parallel universe, a man from Mars.

So, the greatest heist in History has gone down the memory hole. The theft of the wealth of a great and extensive nation.

The seizure of the government of Russia by the Bolshevics was accomplished by men who had never know power, men who had no experience or notion of governing, no background in economics nor did they ever have any idea of what money is. Thus when they gained power they were astonished to find that civilization was based on money, and they had no idea where money came from. They immediately destroyed the economy, that is the taxation base so that the only liquid wealth they had was the gold reserves and they were running through those fast.

Knowing nothing of relative value they valued the accumulated wealth of centuries at face value not realizing you could flood the market on things of extrinsic value such as jewels and art works but thing of intrinsic value such furs were only used goods that sold at fire sale prices.

Nevertheless they plowed ahead. Since they were murdering the aristocracy the aristocrats grabbed whatever of value was portable and fled the country. Thus, not only were these confiscated goods a drug on the market but for decades they were a drug on the market. The emigres growing more impoverished by the year they sold their jewels and other portable wares while becoming a laughing stock.

Imagine having been the equals in the highest society then walking around in worn out outdated clothes, no money, while being mocked as ‘Count’ if you dared to say who you had been. And then as former autocrats of Russia they were despised and hated as much as the Germans have been since the last quarter of the nineteenth century.

As they walked the streets, warehouses in the new Soviet Union, the name Russia having been obliterated from the maps, were packed with long rows of stolen or ‘appropriated’ fur coats, furniture, painting and any removables of value. Not only did the Soviets steal from the aristocrats but in an anti-Christian frenzy fabulous churches were invaded, priestly vestments, irreplaceable icons, gold and silver vessels, anything, anything of value was removed. The Soviets themselves were then on the same level as the displaced aristocrats. They had miles of stolen goods but no money.

The Money Trust, both gois and Jews, was willing to make loans to them but the amount of money required to maintain the old Russian Empire couldn’t be obtained through loans; loans were just stop gap measures and since the Soviets had no income they couldn’t pay the loans back anyway let alone the interest.

In desperation they took like some Jewish old clothes peddlers to trying to hawk old fur coats, paintings, used furniture. The Soviet Union in many ways was founded on vengeance. As has been said of the Russian Revolution- Where are the Russians? In fact there were few of them. Mostly they came from the subject peoples of the Russians- Letts, Poles, Jews, Georgians, from everywhere but mostly Jews.

As Dostoyevsky sagely remarked in the nineteenth century: The Jews would kill us all if they had us in their power. Well, now the Jews had the Russians in their power and, in fact, they were killing them; those that hadn’t the opportunity or wisdom to flee.

Barron Cammell: Hold It! Hold it! This isn’t going to some anti-Semitic Jew bashing like that one’s over there is it? The Jews! The Jews! Always the Jews! The first to be blamed and last to be forgiven. Show me some proof that even one Jews was involved.

Me: Leon Trotsky.

Barron: Trotsky was a secular Jew; he wasn’t religious. An atheist.

Me: OK. So he was an unreligious, secular, atheist Jew. What does it take to be a Jew in your eyes Barron?

Lessing: Barron! Barron! Let’s not have any outbursts. This is a fraternal society. We can express ourselves freely without rancor.

Max: It’s just history. The fact are easily ascertained.

Me: Barron, it is no more clear than in Russia that the Jews work as a national unit and secondarily as an international people working together in their own interest against all other interests in battle for supremacy. Why then are you offended that Max is placing them in the place and time?

Barron: Oh, shut up, you.

Lessing: Barron, no rudeness now.

Barron: I don’t know why you brought that guy here Lessing. Everything was fine until he showed up.

Hodding Giusti: No, Barron, things were about the same. It was just that no one had investigated anything where the Jews played as prominent a role.

Barron: They certainly did in my report on the Rothschild’s yet I didn’t accuse them of any crimes. I praised their economic acumen.

Hodding: Well, you were very generous to the Rothschilds. You barely touched on how they got their money or how they bent the rules.

Barron: You mean innovated, how they changed the way things were done.

Hodding: Merely another way of saying the same thing although laudatory instead of critical; after all theft is theft and everyone at the time knew it was theft. Time and an eraser have just altered the reality in the mainstream consciousness. A legend or myth has replaced the reality. Such altering of the past was nearly a cottage industry by the time I retired. But, let Max go on.

Lessing: Yes, Barron, after all Max puts a lot of time and effort into his presentations.

Barron: So do we all. Except for him (indicating me) obviously.

Max: I may resume then? Nevertheless, the largest faction of revolutionaries was Jewish or of Jewish origin, since Barron insists that Trotsky wasn’t Jewish for various reasons, hoping to distance them from the mass, as it were. I won’t call it recent research since the obvious has been known since the Tribe arrived at the Finland Station, however only recently, that is a few years ago, have the Jews admitted publicly that they were the engine of the revolution. I hope we can consider that settled.

It can be no coincidence that while thousands of Christian churches were looted or destroyed not one synagogue was touched so that only Russians were expropriated. Needing money and having little except the accumulated things stolen from the nobility and churches, the Soviets determined to convert the stolen things to cash. This was an incredible stash. Whatever the Nazis are said to have appropriated from the Jews was miniscule in proportion while a large part of their wealth was probably fenced goods from the revolution.

I use as my main source Sean McMeekin’s History’s Greatest Heist: The Looting of Russia by the Bolsheviks published in 2009.

As the Jews primarily were responsible for accumulating these trinkets they naturally had the networks in Europe and the US to dispose of the stuff.

Barron: Stop it! Stop it!

Lessing: Barron, please! Have some respect.

Max: Of course as all the stuff was in a legal sense stolen, the Soviet Union itself was acting as the fence. There was opposition in the West to becoming receivers of this stolen merchandise. There certainly were protests from Russian emigres when they could identify items that had belonged to them.

Curiously their claims were disregarded unlike with the Jews after WWII during which claims without a shred of evidence were awarded from items appropriated from the Nazis, different in no way from the Jewish Soviets.

Barron: There is a great deal of difference, somewhere between six and ten million Jews were murdered by Nazi thugs in the Holocaust.

Me: Six to ten? It keeps going up. Let me point out though that the Jews, as a national group, atheist or religious, were complicit in the murder of millions and millions, using your method, Barron, tens of millions of Russian aristocrats and kulaks, simple folks, and whoever didn’t keep their heads down or make it to the border.

Barron: I believe we can lay the blame for that at Stalin’s feet.

Hodding: I don’t believe we can.

Barron: Well, that’s certainly as it is in the historians I read.

Lessing: There are other histories.

Max: May I go on? Thank you. The attempt, as I say, to sell the stuff ran into opposition so that it was necessary to operate underhandedly in which the main operatives were what Henry Ford called the international Jews.

Barron: Name one.

Me: Armand Hammer.

Max: Yes, he was certainly one of the biggest. And what Jews were big buyers, especially for jewels and paintings? This leads us on to wonder how many paintings Jews were reclaiming as theirs had formerly belonged to Russian aristocrats or came from the Hermitage, that is the Czar’s personal stash.

Certainly these selling activities during the twenties were well known to the Nazis so that one might say they had an immediate example perhaps making them believe they were reappropriating Aryan treasures, to use the term. In any event theirs was not a unique crime. Nazi crimes may be considered as an extenuation of Soviet crimes.

Barron: Oh my god!

Lessing: Hush!

Max: One of the main conduits to the US, if not the main conduit was the Jew Armand Hammer. He was quite notorious at the time being resented and hated on a fairly wide scale. While it was forbidden to attack him as a Jew, anti-Semitic, he could be attacked as a Communist or tool of the Communists, which he denied on both counts. Needless to say he denied he was a Communist although his fortune was made by the Soviets.

Even his name, Arm and Hammer, bespoke his father’s politics. Hammer’s fortune was made in the Soviet Union and then he was chosen as the chief conduit to dispose of the aristocrats’ treasures in the United States. Can it be any wonder then that Hammer acquired one of the great art collections in the world for himself. How many other art works were funneled into Jewish art collections such as that of the movie star Edward G. Robinson’s?

Barron: Can you prove that Robinson bought from Hammer?

Max: Not at this time but it does make sense. For instance, David Bazelon who was the Alien Properties Custodian during WWII made Chicago’s Jews, he was a Jew from Chicago, wealthy after the war when he sold whole industries confiscated from the Germans cheap thereby making fortunes, giving Chicago’s Jews great economic power.

Barron: Can you prove that?

Max: Certainly. Those sales are public knowledge and above board.   The government records exist. Hammer’s sales may have been more clandestine although Andrew Mellon’s collection can be traced to Hammer. Mellon’s paintings were eventually given to the US National Gallery where they reside today, unclaimed by any Russian although had they belonged to Jews you can believe they would have been ‘restored’ by now.

Barron: You sound embittered by that.

Max: Indeed I am for crime anywhere is a reflection on me if I hold my silence. Heard that one before Barron? Or, all that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing?

The point is that Hammer’s collection was composed of stolen merchandise of which he was both a fence and receiver that could be traced to the original Russian owners, but neither Hammer nor any of the Jewish buyers who knowingly and gloatingly bought stolen merchandise ever returned it to the rightful owners. All legal actions taken by the rightful owners were thrown out.

Yet, when artworks were taken by the Nazis the Jews demanded that such, under very tenuous evidence of the former ownership, were given to them. Many probably obtained from the Russian hoards.

Even though the Jewish population losses were horrendous, six million are claimed to have fallen in the holocaust alone while other massacres such as Babi Yar and what we might call natural wartime attrition may have claimed a million or two which should have nearly exterminated the whole European Jewish population but miraculously didn’t. Thus, perhaps, using figures wildly eight million or more Jews perished out a possible ten million yet claimants sometimes multiple claimants after 1945 were there to claim anything that might possibly have been owned by Jews.

Barron: Do you depreciate Jewish suffering to concentrate on a few dollars. How heartless.

Max: You can be exasperating Barron. I don’t denigrate anything, both Whites and Jews have been known to kill for a few dollars more. The point I’m trying to make is that the Jews are not long suffering innocents and that on the one hand they conducted according to McMeekin the greatest heist, that is theft, in history and on the other hand play innocent victims. The end I’m trying for, I suppose, is that neither the Germans nor anyone else need feel guilty for causing Jewish suffering anymore than the Jews feel guilty for causing the untold suffering of the European Holocaust endured through two world wars. If Freud and the members of the B’nai B’rith wanted to see Europeans and Europe dead then between two world wars they nearly did. They sought the destruction of Russia and achieved it when Russia was wiped off the map becoming the USSR. As a Union of Republics, the Jews being one, they on paper, at least, achieved autonomy. When it became time to murder the much despised Czar and his family Jews did it.

It seems to me the height of obtuseness to believe the Jews are a holy and innocent people.

Barron: It seems to me that you and that over there lack compassion. I think you’re being heartless and are despicable.

Me: Compassionate? Compassionate? There’s no one more compassionate than me. My heart bleeds for the whole of suffering humanity. All of it not just an infinitesimal part called Jews. I see the suffering of one as representative of the whole. How can anyone be happy knowing that some poor individual somewhere is unhappy, to quote Liberal dogma. What is going on outside our windows as we sit comfortably sipping fine wine is equal to any suffering in the history of the world. I feel their pain but, still, this is excellent wine and they will have to pry my cold dead hands from the stem of this glass before I give it up. There Barron, was that passionate enough for you?

Lessing: Hear, hear! If I feel guilt I’m sure it isn’t too obvious.

Hodding: History shows that the suffering is not evenly distributed over the entire population. Even in the worst suffering some suffer more and some suffer less. I choose to suffer less. Pass that bottle over here.

Lessing: I found your presentation interesting Max. I really wasn’t aware of the confiscation of the material wealth of Russians by the Bolsheviki.

Max: Who said I was finished, but if I am, I suppose I am. It is quite a story. I was driven off my prepared remarks to a large degree by Barron’s vociferations.

Me: You made your point anyway. I rather enjoyed the controversy but then I am a child of controversies. Barron, what’s the problem here? Since you speak of Jews you know there is a collectivity that calls itself Jewish or it would be useless to speak of Jews. If there is such a collectivity then that collectivity must have some identity, some standards of conduct that it acts on. Since the collectivity functions in the external world it must be observable. Right?

Barron: Yes, of course, but that is no reason for Jew bashing.

Me: Well, analyzing those activities, whether the analysis is correct or not doesn’t constitute bashing does it?

Barron: It’s the intent that makes the difference. You are…you are…

Me: Ok, I’ll finish for you: You are an anti-Semite. Right?

Barron: Not me, you are.

Me: Right. I was just finishing the sentence for you. But Max didn’t say anything that wasn’t true did he?

Barron: That’s not the point. The truth is irrelevant. Some things just shouldn’t be said.

Me: The truth is irrelevant? I give up then. When true things can’t be said there is no hope. Civilization falls to the ground.

Lessing: A good report none the less. Let’s call it a night.

 

We all gave as jolly or cordial a good night as possible. Barron even bent a little although avoiding me in his gaze. As I was leaving Lessing asked for a meeting. I said I had to see about my suits from James Carter. I would give him a call after talking to Goldbladder. As I was leaving, my phone rang. It was Ange.

Ange: Partly, Merivale is at the door. I can see him.

Me: How does he look, Ange? Agitated, determined, worried, what?

Ange: Sort of angry, I can’t tell.

Me: Does he have his cell phone visible?

Ange: Yes.

Me: But he’s not trying to use the door speaker?

Ange: I, I, I don’t know

Me: OK. Hold on Ange, I’m going to speak to Lessing for a moment. Don’t hang up. Lessing, Steinberg’s at the condo trying to get Angeline to come to the door. You have his cell number, right? Can you give him a call and advise him he isn’t acting in his best interests?

Lessing: I think so. Ask Angeline to report on his reaction.

Me: Ange. Lessing is calling Steinberg now, keep your eye on the monitor and tell us his reaction.

Lessing: Merivale, Lessing here. We’d appreciate it if you ceased bothering Angeline.

Steinberg: I just want to talk to her Lessing.

Lessing: That isn’t possible Merivale. Angeline is no longer under your control. She is with Perry now. They consider themselves husband and wife. You have already damaged her enough. Be a good fellow and just leave. Go home.

Steinberg: Damn it, Farquhar, I’ve got rights. I…

Lessing: Rights are exactly what you don’t have Merivale. Rights are what you don’t have and actually never have had. I shouldn’t have to tell you that there are serious criminal acts here.

Steinberg: You’re not threatening me, Farquhar, because if you are…

Lessing: Call it what you will, I’m telling you we’ve got you by the shorthairs. Whatever happens you lose.

Steinberg: This is some sort of anti-Semitic trick isn’t it Farquhar?

Lessing: Good God, Steinberg, we’re talking crime, not religion.

Steinberg: Judaism isn’t a religion.

Lessing: Who cares what Judaism is Merivale. Be wise, turn around, get on the elevator and don’t come back.

Ange: He just looked into his phone, Partly. He looked at the elevator and then back at his phone.

Me: Tell him to leave again, Lessing, he’s ambivalent.

Lessing: Angeline doesn’t want to see you Merivale. She’s thinking of calling security; avoid a ruckus and get in the elevator.

Merivale: Fuck you Farquhar. Watch your step.

Ange: Oh, good, Partly, he’s walking back to the elevator. He’s leaving.

Me: Excellent Ange. Have a relaxing cup of tea. I’ll be there within the half hour. Good job, Lessing. I’ll pass a message through Goldbladder this Monday at my fitting.

Lessing: Will Merivale get it?

Me: Oh yeah. Goldbladder will have minutes of this meeting tomorrow. Steinberg within minutes of my fitting.

Lessing: And the minutes of the meeting will come from Barron, you think?

Me: Sure of it. Alright I’ll call you Monday evening to relay what happened. Great reading from Max. See you later.

 

Things are moving very fast now. My own present life has been one of stress that almost makes me dizzy. I have to make an effort to stay calm. On the home front managing Ange is demanding all my powers so that I have to develop a second personality to deal with external matters. My greatest pleasure, reading, has been shot to hell, no time, while squeezing in writing has forced me to reorganize my time usage.

Dealing with the New York situation has me, uh, ‘rising to greatness.’ I’m learning to delegate whatever can be delegated and hope for success.   Cooperating in an unprecedented emergency has been high. The ethnic cleansing of our area goes more smoothly than might be expected. The major problem is our people who have been conditioned to sacrifice their interests to others and who resist the expulsion of Negroes, Moslems and others. In order to discourage others some of these fanatics have been excommunicated , expelled North into Negroland or South into Moslemland. Tribeca being somewhere between is a mad confusion of peoples. Obviously the American Experiment has hit the rocks.

Saturday and Sunday morning then I spent working with Ragnar and his gym crew and delegations working out governmental problems within our community, maintaining Western Civilization as best we can. It’s sort of like the frontier of the nineteenth century. This is not easy. Afternoons I spent with Ange. While we consider ourselves married we still have to get to know each other.

Central Park is now safe so we spent Saturday strolling the lanes and exchanging confidences about ourselves to each other. Ange is more lovely than I could have hoped for, beautiful in mind and body.

Sunday we combined romancing with touring community neighborhoods to get some firsthand knowledge of how things are shaping up. Unsettled to say the least but people seemed to be concerned for themselves and each other. Transitioning from one state of being to another isn’t easy. So far, so good.

Then Monday was the day for my fitting. Everything going to hell but business as usual. Have to remain centered. Amazingly, amongst the growing chaos the stock market is holding up well. Instead of losing I’ve actually gained a few points in my investments. Of course I have to be nimble. Amidst all this nonsense I find myself plotting my investments. Well, life goes on, nothing stops for tea.

Our area was well below forty-fifth street so there was no problem getting from Tribeca to forty-fifth although I did have to cross the border from Tribeca into Whitelands. Our armed troops were patrolling the streets.

Me: Any problems getting gas, Ragnar?

Ragnar: No. All deliveries are flowing through without any problems. We are getting food shipments from Jersey both through the tunnels and across the Hudson. No interference through the Bronx as yet. Our membership has been growing which we have been able to accommodate so far through expulsion of others but as we’re prepared for trouble Bronxside we’re organized to invade if necessary. It would be nice to have Columbia in our fold.

Me: What does Lessing say about Obama?

Ragnar: So far DC is in a dither. Fires burning in too many places for them to wrap their heads around. Incredibly they were so confident in their agenda that they had no clue this was coming. You’ve probably noticed the jets and copters overhead but so far they’re only making noise. Lessing says they are calling in troops from NATO and other places as our troops are depleted here in the US, or what used to be the US, but where they will deploy first we don’t know.

Me: Yeah, well, I’ve got more important fish to fry just now. I’ve got suits to fit.

Ragnar: I sure hope you can handle it, Boss.

Me: Might not be the highest assignment but I’ll be better dressed for one now.

Ragnar: Especially in hot pink.

Me: You spying on me Ragnar?

Ragnar: Word gets around. Not everyone in town wears a hot pink suit with matching hat and shoes. People do talk.

Me: Yeah? Well I’m going to have a little pink mask too. Fantomas in splendor.

I hopped out of the limo, entered and mounted the staircase. Let’s see what Abe is up to.

Abe: You’re on time as usual, I see.

Me: I’m pretty consistent Abe. Time is money and all that.

Abe: According to Freud so is shit.

Me: Ah ha, ha. Well he’d know better about that than me. However I am willing to pay in kind if you like Abe.

Abe: That was just a bad joke. We’re sticking to your card.

Me: Great. So how close are we to getting the suits?

Abe: This might be the last fitting. Here let me show you something. Check out these shoes, this hat, and these gloves.

Me: I didn’t order gloves.

Abe: No, but I knew you’d want them. Look at this matching hot pink to go with the suiting.

Me: But they’re not fluorescent Abe.

Abe: Get out of here ungrateful One. Do you have any idea how much work this has been?

Me: No, but I have an idea what it’s going to cost. Remember I don’t have a first born.

Abe: We know. By the way how did it go at the whatchamaycallit club you belong to go.

Me: Something tells me you can tell me Abe.

Abe: Do you think we have the place wired or something?

Me: Something.

Abe: What would that something be?

Me: Not what Abe, who.

Abe: Oh, I see.

Me: Sure you do. So what did you boys think of Max’s presentation.

Abe: We thought it was anti-Semitic. We’re beginning to think you guys are Nazis as well.

Me: Paranoia becomes you Abe. Max is an historical researcher he simply reported what was true. We’re true historians Abe. We don’t distort the facts to fit an agenda. You have only yourselves to blame.

Abe: Sometimes the truth doesn’t have to be revealed.

Me: The other night wasn’t one of them. So what else is bugging you Abe?

Abe: We know you’re Nazis because your goons are forcing we Jews out of Little America or whatever you call your enclave. That is anti-Semitism and it has to stop.

Me: Nobody is forcing anybody to leave Abe. Those Jews you referred to wanted to be in Brooklyn in your national colony there. You aren’t going to deny that Brooklyn is a Jewish colony are you?

Abe: How would you like it if we forced Whites out of Brooklyn?

Me: We’d love it Abe, almost pay you to do it but we’d still make a big noise about it, just to put you in a bad light. Times have changed Abe, national lines have been drawn. Anti-Semitism doesn’t have the meaning it did anymore.

Abe: A big noise hey? Wait till you see the new issue of New York magazine. By the way, I see you people have started a new magazine, the New York Beobachter, is that what it’s called?

Me: I’ve always like your sense of humor Abe. No, it’s the New York Intelligencer. We have two hundred and thirty-four subscribers already. We expect to double that shortly.

Abe: I suppose you write that crap?

Me: No, Abe. I haven’t contributed as yet. So far we’ve used stringers to report local events and analyses plus relying on letters to the editor. So far, so good. Want to take a bundle of a hundred back to Brooklyn?

Abe: I don’t live in Brooklyn; I live in Manhattan.

Me: Really? Where abouts?

Abe: Not too far from you I imagine in what we call the Tribeca Free State.

Me: Yucka, yucka, Tribeca Free State, that’s good Abe. Well then, it’s either Brooklyn or the Free State for your emigres but they will have to move; we’re not much on diversity from embedded elements, we have enough problems with our own of various backgrounds.

So, is this the last fitting before delivery Abe?

Abe: There will be a last touch up to make sure everything is true. That’s next for all your suits. Make an appointment.

 

I did. As I entered the apartment Angeline greeted me breathlessly to announce: Partly, I just got a call from Lady and they’re coming back now. All hell broke loose in Europe. They were lucky to catch the last plane out.

Me: Damn. I suppose that will bring the stock market down, at least temporarily. Well, where are they now?

Ange: She said they were a couple hours out. They should be here tonight.

Me: You’ve got everything spic and span, no problem there. Just a minute while I call Ragnar to let him know.

Ragnar, we just received news that Lady and Miles will be back in a couple hours.

Ragnar: I know, they called. I’m on my way now.

Me: Ragnar already knew. He’s on his way. We’re shipshape here. Cook something up in case they’re hungry.

Ange: Lady didn’t sound very happy I was here.

Me: I’m sure she was surprised. She had no reason to suspect I would marry.

Ange. It didn’t sound like that. There was a note of disapproval in her voice. Maybe she thinks I’m not worthy.

Me: Honey, nobody’s opinion but mine counts. I know your worth, I know the criminal acts that were committed on you. There is no better person in the world than you, however the career of Angeline II, of which you are still not totally aware is still out there; for many people that is the only Angeline Gower they know. We don’t know but perhaps Miles attended one of those parties and, well, who knows? Be prepared for the worst but we can’t let that affect us.

Ange: But Partly, I don’t want you to be hurt.

Me: Honey, nothing can hurt me. I am proof to the world. I know how things function. Let me call Lessing to see if he knows. Lessing…

Lessing: I’m on my way. Hold the fort.

Lessing is on the way Ange, everything is under control. We can only wait.

When the keys began turning in the locks Lessing, Ange and I were in our places and ready. The early return was obviously due to the eruption of the Moslems in France and the incursion from Germany to the East. We should soon have some details.

Lessing: There’s the keys. I’ll go open the inner door.

 

The Carmichaels literally burst through the door in high agitation.

Lady: You can’t believe the turmoil over there. France is in flames from Marseilles to the Belgian border; Belgium is in flames. They are looting, burning and killing on all sides. They are every where, everywhere, Notre Dame was blown sky high. Churches everywhere are being blown up or burned. The clergy are being murdered. The uprisings are in all parts of France. While the army has been mobilized to combat the invaders from Germany, the troops are ambushed from all sides.

Good God, never in my lifetime, never in my lifetime did I believe something like this could happen.

Me: (clearing my throat) Welcome back to the Tribeca Free State Miles and Lady.

I said nothing but I had written that this exact same thing would happen. At my age I didn’t know whether it would happen in my lifetime but anyone who followed EU policies could see it coming.

Miles: Tribeca Free State? What are you talking about?

Lessing: Well, Miles, things have been happening here too. Manhattan is now several different States. You have the Moslem Caliphate in Lower Manhattan, the Tribeca Free State here, the New American Republic in mid-Island both East and West, the African Chieftanship in Upper Manhattan and the Bronx. So things are different. And then there’s the Orthodox Hebrew Theocracy in Brooklyn, Queens isn’t clear and we haven’t heard much from Staten Island but it appears it might be Whiteland.

Miles: Egad! The Tribeca Free State! Why that?

Lessing: Nobody is so dominant that it can be claimed but we’re doing our best to get it into the New American Republic.

Lady: Well, at least the lights are still on.

Me: Yes, we were able to seize control of the grid. We’re using it to try to freeze out the Moslems. They have no power at all, of course, that has raised some havoc with Wall Street but they can always go back . Once we cut off their water they will have to vacate. That adds to the woes of Staten Island and Long Island, New Jersey but it’s unavoidable.

Miles: So war is going on here too?

Lessing: Yes, Miles, you might call it a phony war as so far there hasn’t been too much shooting; we’re all still sparring with each other, waiting to see what Obama will do. So far, we assume he’s ‘assessing the situation.’

Lady: My God, is it the end of the world?

Me: It is certainly the end of civilization as we’ve known it. But then that began back at 9/11, now we’re really into it. But, you said something about Merkel inciting it.

Lady: Yes. Over there they think Merkel had the plan when she admitted all those Moslems in ’15 and ’16. The French think it’s a continuation of the Nazis. They think Merkel is rearming Germany and once the Moslems are out of Germany with France in total turmoil Germany will attack Moslem France and begin the conquest of Europe.

Me: Far out! Crazy little Mama Merkel. Who would have believed it. I suppose the Moslems are smashing the wine stores.

Lady: Yes, of course, but what a thing to mention.

Me: Damn.

Lessing: Ata boy, Perry, first things first.

Lady: Now that you mention it Perry I’m afraid that you and that woman will have to vacate the apartment. We’re sorry our agreement isn’t viable. Force majeure. You do understand, don’t you?

Me: Of course, Lady. Angeline has her own condo so we’ll move over there. We’ll pack and leave tomorrow. I can assure you I have no objection and no regrets. I can’t thank you enough for a very wonderful experience. I’m sure Lessing can fill you in after you’ve recovered from your flight and as we are all fighting the good fight I hope we can be friends and associates.

Lady: I’m sure we can Perry. But, I’d prefer you spent the night at…her…apartment and pick up your things tomorrow.

Me: Certainly. I understand fully and as I say Lessing will fill you in later. We’ll take our leave then.

Lessing: give me a minute Perry and we can go uptown together if you like.

Me: Sounds good Lessing. Alright with you Ange?

Ange: (suppressing a sob) Yes. I’m yours Partly.

 

Proceed to Vol. I, Clip 11

The Vampyres Of New York

Clip 9

A Novel

By

R.E. Prindle

 

Angeline woke up in a fine frame of mind. Just as a test I quickly flipped her in and out, the hypnosis was working as before. Now began the hard part; what to do with her second personality. With a little luck it might prove that they didn’t give her a third or fourth but I didn’t perceive any evidence of it.

I thought it might be best to try to combine Ange’s second personality replacing it with a dream world, a sort of false memory, and only a nightmare hence not real and threatening while as a dream I hoped it could be eliminated.

While a vacated second personality might still exist perhaps with time it could be forgotten or fade away. For myself my own painful early personality had become dissociated from myself existing more or less as a parallel universe that had nothing to do with me.

I will spare you the details of our work over the next couple days. While I think we made progress the work seemed far from done. There was some means to transfer the memory images from the second personality to the dream life of the first personality that had me baffled. The purification rites with Hera did seem to remove any sense of responsibility from Angeline’s mind but the memories were still there.

While in her first state she couldn’t consciously remember her activities in the second state still the mind has only one subconscious and that was affected equally by both the first and second states. The deeper I got into her mind the better I understood her catatonia. But, it was Friday and time for our luncheon date with Lessing.

As I had devised a plan to possibly foil any spy agents Ragnar had the limo ready at ten. We drove up to Lessing’s. While standing in his lobby that I thought could be bugged while Lessing should have been able to recognize strangers I explained that my idea was to take the ferry to Staten Island, rent a car and drive to the abandoned Seaview Asylum where I thought it unlikely that we could be overheard. I asked Ragnar to call for a rent-a-car as we would have to leave the limo at the Whitehall Terminal.

Me: The ride’s on me Lessing.

Ragnar: Sure. The ferry’s free.

Me: Aren’t you the spoil sport Ragnar.

Lessing: Funny. Lived here all my life and I’ve never been to Staten Island.

Ange: Me neither.

Me: I just got here and me neither. I’m looking forward to it.

Ange: Any idea how long it takes?

Me: Five miles, about half an hour. Ferries leave every half hour. It’ll be great. Love the ferries in Seattle. If you ever get the chance take the ferry through the San Juans. That’s a wonderful trip.

Lessing: What are the San Juans?

Me: They’re a group of five islands I believe, up on the Canadian border. Small islands but romantic. You can stay at Friday Harbor on San Juan Island and take the ferry back in the morning. Great fun. Plus unlike the Staten Island Ferry you can take your car.

Once aboard Lessing had a puzzling experience.

Lessing: Hello Angeline. Do you remember me?

Ange: I’m sorry, Lessing is it? I don’t think we’ve ever met.

Lessing: Strange. I thought we attended a couple parties together a few years back.

Ange: I don’t think so. I’m sure I’d remember someone like you Lessing.

Lessing: Maybe or maybe not. But I seem…

Me: Lessing, I’ll explain as soon as we’re in the car. This is going to amaze you.

 

Lessing: That was a wonderful trip. I don’t know how I could have lived here this long and not have taken it before.

Me: Bravo, Ragnar. A Mercedes. Thoughtful of you; how did you swing that on such short notice?

Ragnar: We chauffeurs have our ways.

Me: Great. Punch in Seaview Asylum and let’s get some directions. This place is supposed to be in central Staten Island. Ruins. You’ll love it if you like ruins.

Lessing: Oh, ruins, yes. Nothing like a good ruin. Do they have a ruined restaurant?

Me: Naw. We’ll have to stop on the way. Get something to take along. If you see a MacDonald’s pull over Ragnar.

Ange: MacDonald’s? Don’t you really like Burger King better Partly?

Me: Not really. Actually I prefer Jack-In-The-Box but I didn’t think you’d have them out here. If that’s what you prefer, it’s all right with me.

Lessing: If I have to, it doesn’t matter one way or the other to me. I’m not sure that this will be a first with me but close to it.

Ange: Ooh, a snob.

Lessing: A man of distinction and taste.

Me: Oh, come on Lessing, a little plebeianism won’t hurt you any. We’ll do some fine dining later.

Lessing: I believe you said that you and uh…Mrs. Wright ware married Perry. May I ask how you met and hooked so quickly?

Me: Why not? It’s one of those matches made in heaven, Lessing, so far at least. I was at the Nordstrom’s opening as was Ange, our eyes locked and that was it.

Lessing: Ha! I’ve heard of it before but I’ve never seen it.

Ange: It’s true. Partly rescued me from a world of desolation and loneliness. Why do you call Partly Perry?

Lessing: Because Partly told me to call him Perry.

Ange: Well, you do have multiple personalities Partly, or is it Perry?

Me: I’ve only got one, at least only one I use or use consistently, not that I’m trying to be confusing Ange, but I have many facets to the one personality. For people that don’t know me I adopted Perry because Partly always mystifies people. For you Ange, I prefer you call me Partly. I hope we can all keep our identities straight.

Lessing: But, Angeline, you did work at Barton, Dustbin didn’t you? You were a pretty good real estate lawyer there.

Ange: I was a top real estate lawyer there. Top. I wrote some of the biggest deals on the East Coast and as far West as Chicago.

Me: Ooh, that far West?

Lessing: And you don’t remember me Angeline?

Me: I’ll have to explain Lessing. This bears directly on our ability to manage the police and courts. Now listen carefully Lessing because you might have difficulty believing what you are about to hear. You are a lawyer and I’m sure you believe the best of your legal fraternity while probably considering Merivale Adelstein to be a good lawyer and a fine man. You are about to learn differently. Did you ever hear of a Dr. Wormowitz?

Lessing: No, I don’t think I know the name.

Me: Fine. Now, the period we’re talking about is the late seventies and the eighties here in New York. Things were Satanic, violent, druggy and sexually insane. Women’s liberation essentially meant that men could fuck any and all at will. But sexual relations still had consequences. The problem for men was how to avoid the consequences.

Merivale and his colleagues at BAAD worked out what has ‘till now the perfect plan seemingly negating any consequences. The plan was simple. The women could be hypnotized, indoctrinated and conditioned to be perfect sexual objects. Party girls. The girls could be told to remember nothing they did under hypnosis. Thus BAAD had a cadre of partly girls handy for an afternoon delight when things got frustrating or they were emasculated in a courtroom brawl.

Of course once trained one didn’t want them drifting away so they were given exorbitant salaries to keep them at BAAD. They were thus getting good workers and party girls for what was really a particularly good price as if they had to hire working girls for their sexual wants the price for those alone would have been far more than their ‘employees’ were being paid. Thus, the women were actual monarch slaves although not chattel or even obvious slaves as I think you can figure out.

Wormowitz who was Jewish may or may not have been a doctor as he came over from Germany in the thirties and probably lacked any degree nevertheless was an accomplished hypnotist and from practice a fairly knowledgeable psycho-analyst. BAAD billed him an MD and sent the girls to him as a condition of employment for a physical. It was he who hypnotized them and began their indoctrination and conditioning.

Ange was one of those monarch slaves. When she says she doesn’t remember you it is because Angeline I was never at one of those parties; it was as Angeline II. I hope that clears that up.

Lessing: I’m sorry Angeline.

Ange: It was a different time and different place and it didn’t involve me.

Me: No. One might say she wasn’t there. Now Lessing, we have a list of several dozen women who were exploited by the men of BAAD. We have a list of a couple hundred men, mostly lawyers from BAAD and some few others who might surprise you, including actually, yourself.

There is a whole litany of crimes committed by BAAD here, crimes punishable by good long spells in prison not to mention the destruction of careers and lives, nearly all of them are still alive.

This should get us enough leverage to prevent any of our people not only out of jail but not arrested in the first place. As police everywhere have been told to stand down when Negroes, Mexicans and whatever have rioted assaulting Whites our own people have now been re-enfranchised and can do what they deem with impunity.

Ragnar: Bravo, bravo. We now have no worries.

Me: Yes, Ragnar, you can turn the troops loose.

Ange: Boy, this is one spooky place.

Me: What? What? Spookier than you think. This place was used for conclaves of the Son of Sam conspirators, the Final Judgment people. Amazing that buildings like this are allowed to go to ruins. Acres and Acres of what were fine grounds allowed to be overgrown.

Ragnar: Not overgrown, returned to nature.

Lessing: Yes, of course. This is good news Perry. I can certainly turn it to good effect.

Me: I hope so. But we’ll have to be alert for the reaction. I’m sure Adelstein is a resourceful guy and certainly keen on the self-defense. I’ve been set-up several times back in Oregon so I know what to look out for. I don’t know all the tricks but they always use the same ones. At least this time I know who I’m dealing with and have ample resources.

So, Lessing, how soon can you set them up?

Lessing: Right away. I’ll set up a meeting with you, Angeline and myself with Merivale so that he knows that he’s up against the wall. I’ve got it, Perry, now can we get out of this used up asylum? Angeline is right the place is too spooky. I expect to be assaulted by the ghosts of lunatics all the time.

Me: Yeah, well, the ghosts of lunatics can’t hurt you like the lunatics were going to be dealing with.

 

The conversation continued as we walked back to the car for the return trip to the ferry slip. Lessing changed the topic as we set out.

Lessing: There’s a meeting of the Serapion Brethren this Friday Perry, are you coming?

Me: Yes. Am I to pick up where I left off?

Lessing: We prefer to have a different reader at each session, if that’s alright with you.

Me: Perfect as a matter of fact. Who’s up?

Lessing: Max Savings is going to present an essay on the confiscation of the Russian art treasure by the Soviets.

Me: Sounds great.

Ange: What is the Serapion Brethren?

Lessing: It’s a study group Perry and I belong to Angeline. We meet and discuss any submerged aspect of history.

Ange: Where did you get the name Lessing?

Lessing: We borrowed it from a fictional group of the same name created by ETA Hoffman. Have you read any Hoffman, Angeline?

Ange: In college we had to read a story by Hoffman I think. Something about an eccentric jeweler or even crazy, he hated to part with his creations so much he burgled the buyers houses and stole them back. Creepy.

Lessing: That one’s called Mademoiselle Scudery.

Ange: Oh yes. I remember now. Are you going to leave me alone Friday night Partly?

Me: I’ll have to Ange but as Frankie told Johnnie: I won’t be gone very long.

Ange: You better come back.

Me: You and I are one Ange. You need have no fears. Don’t be insecure.

Ragnar: Are you going to help us out establishing our turf Partly?

Me: Yes. I’ll start a magazine so we can all keep in touch and stay informed. I’ll come down tomorrow morning to see where things stand. But, listen Ragnar and Lessing, remember that Angeline is an accomplished lawyer and she is the key for controlling the legal end so she deserves a full share of respect. She has things to contribute.

Where do matters rest now?

Ragnar: We are roughed out in Aryan areas on the East Side from ninety-second down to the Bowery and across town from fifty-second to about seventieth but maybe a little higher and lower. Madison, Park and Fifth are free passageways we have to allow. We avoid the subways.

There have been some serious clashes and some of our guys are in the jug. We want them out.

Me: How is it going on the legal end Lessing?

Lessing: With our present organization we’ve been able to keep them in Manhattan but we haven’t been able to get them out. Angeline’s info will strengthen us greatly. Adelstein himself is powerful and his connections can get things done.

Me: Hmm. Angeline can call him and have him meet her- that is at her apartment. The rest will fall out. You don’t have anything important doing tomorrow night do you Lessing?

Lessing: No, I’m free.

 

By now, we were back aboard the ferry for the return trip. Passing a newsstand I grabbed a paper. I hadn’t been able to keep up for the last several days while tending Ange. The news was eye popping.

Me: My goodness. Look at the pictures of Chicago in flames. Is this 1871 revisted?

Lessing: Where have you been Perry? That mess started three days ago.

Me: I was otherwise employed.

Ange: Let me see that Partly.

Me: So a major revolt has begun in Chicago? Is this just a riot or what?

Ragnar: More than a riot; it’s fighting for real. Our guys are on the alert.

Lessing: the papers only give a hint as to what is going down. It’s really bad. The carnage is going to be terrible.

It started on the South side when some Blacks attacked a police station. When reinforcements were sent the whole place erupted. The West Side and all areas joined in. Lines of citizens have formed around Black areas where possible. Constant shooting across lines but apparently infra-Black areas are wars of Blacks against Blacks. The killing is intense.

As you know there are no grocery stores across the lines so food is already short. ‘Humanitarian’ White groups are gathering food but the problem is how to get it through the lines. The ‘humanitarians’ are shot down as soon as they come within range….

Me: Started three days ago! Lordy, bodies must really be hitting the ground . Which reminds me, has anyone thought of securing our food supplies?

Ragnar: How’s that?

Me? Land deliveries can be cut off easily since the Bronx is controlled by the Negroes. So we should secure water routes across the Hudson and East Rivers, barges or something; and also exit routes if needed.

We should block deliveries into the Moslem area to starve them out. Turn off the gas, water and electricity. This could get serious. We should also raid a military base or two, Ragnar, for fire arms, ammo, grenades and grenade launchers and anti-tank devices. Machine guns.

Obama hasn’t called out the army to suppress the Chicago insurrection but he will do it against we Whites so it’s best to best to be prepared.

There’s a bright spot here though– the Stock Market is up a hundred twenty points, we can still pay the rent.

Lessing: How long is that going to last, I wonder.

Me: Quite a while I suspect, Lessing. The Negro concentrations are all in our major cities fairly tightly confined. Of all we useless feeders the Negroes are the most useless of all. There is no economy in those areas to disrupt. So life can function fairly normally outside those areas.

Even during WWII people fought desperately to go on normally. You would think something like publishing would stop but, I more or less collect books published during WWII, publishing went on close to normal. Almost hadn’t skipped a beat as things resumed immediately right after the war.

So, there may not be a serious reduction of means outside the Negro cities.

Lessing: You may be right. I’ll have to consider things in that light.

Me: Accentuate the positive, Lessing, accentuate the positive.

Ange: I had no idea you had such a grim sense of humor, Partly.

Me: You should have been in the orphanage with us Angelina. I had my early training for this there. I’ve been ready for the worst all my life.

Ah well, here we are, Keep your cell phone on Lessing. I’m going to try to set something up for tomorrow.

Drop us off on the way to Lessing’s, Ragnar. We’ll need you tomorrow.

 

I won’t say Chicago was a surprise. First the collection of the Rebbes and then an insurrection in Chicago.   I suppose Obama was surprised at it as we’ve fought back. Well, you know you can only push so hard and then the hot heads take over. We were into it now. Things should really escalate rapidly. I hope we can keep order within our areas here in New York City. We can’t let law deteriorate but from now on it is our law, not Negro law, Shariia or Jewish law, but our law.

 

Me: Sweetheart, it’s time we put our plan in action.

Ange: I’m ready Dearest Partly.

Me: Alright. Call Adelstein and invite him over to your condo tomorrow night, seven o’ clock. I’ll call Lessing to be present and I think it would be wise to have Ragnar along. I have conditioned your other mind upon the signal to attack Adelstein with all your fury. I have instructed Ange II to desist at a voice command. You, as Ange I, know it too.

I will allow you to punish him as severely as possible but as we need him for our plans you’ll stop short of murder. Besides dead he wouldn’t suffer the humiliation he will have to. The difference between your unearned humiliation and his is that he’ll be conscious of it. So, tomorrow is The Day.

I’m going to go cook something to eat while you call Adelstein.

 

Our preparations are in place. The morrow will find us waiting for the appearance of Adelstein at Angeline’s.

Lessing, Ragnar and myself waited in the kitchen as the doorbell sounded. This was a big moment for Angeline while curiously it was a big moment for me. As Ange represented my own Anima in Ange’s getting her revenge, through her I was getting a little of mine back too. Along with a very large minority of the country’s population I hated lawyers. I saw them as the very scum of the earth.

I knew the type from high school. Nearly everyone I detested had become a lawyer. Curiously enough the detestation was mutual, they scorned me as I loathed them. Peculiar circumstances from my childhood prevented me from hating anyone but if I had been able to hate I would have hated them heartily.

I was able to avoid contact with lawyers until I got into business in Oregon. When you’re in business you’re a target; it becomes unavoidable that you will become very familiar with lawyers, the extortionate bastards.

It was then when I was drawn into the system that I became aware of what kind of men- and women- lawyers are. I would say a full half of them are full blown psychotics of which Adelstein was a prime example, they and the rest of them look upon law as a racket in which you extort money from simpletons who they make sure have no defense.

If it is thought I think of lawyers as criminals that is correct. They are the third part of the criminal system, sometimes erroneously referred to as the justice system. They are base men and women armed to the teeth. Way off back at the beginning of the nineteenth century, when a group of working men called the IWW, Industrial Workers of the World, nicknamed the Wobblies, were resisting the inhumane working conditions in the woods, logging that is, they naturally clashed with the police and law. The lawyers of Portland Oregon all swore a mighty oath never to give legal assistance to a Wobbly. This was of course in violation of the Constitution of the United States or, in fact, the Law. Nevertheless no Portland lawyer ever defended a Wobbly in Court.

Now, a mid-century counterpart of the Wobblies were the people called Hippies. As latter day Wobblies we were placed outside the law. No hippy was ever given a defense although hypocritical lawyers took the money and then negotiated the lowest sentence the accused would get. This isn’t the place to get into it but let’s just say a lot of people who should have been in jail were immune to charges if you get me.

I had started a record store and I did very well. At that time in the late Sixties marijuana, the chief offender in the popular mind, was spreading into the middle classes. Marijuana and drugs were associated with record stores ipso facto. As a store owner I was also characterized as a drug dealer and much worse. As such I was denied any services such as insurance while I was barely able to get electricity and was able to clear the streets as people moved aside to avoid possible contact.

I survived all efforts to shut me down, was forced to move the store several times as agreements were broken, with no recourse. I was forced to walk a very narrow line as any deviation from the very straightest and narrowest would have landed me in court where lawyers were sworn to not represent me unless to turn the trial into a kangaroo court.

This violated everything about America I had been conditioned to believe. Many ridiculous petty charges were brought against me, some of which no lawyer would handle but some of which landed me in court where I was compelled to pay a lawyer for essentially lynching me. In one case I had merely opened my mouth to protest when the judge looked at me sternly and bawled: One more word out of you and I’ll have you for contempt of court. And he would have too. I had to sit quietly while my fate was pronounced. It only involved a trifling fine in the case but my hatred for lawyers and judges was set in stone. Now, not only would Judge Adelstein pay a big ‘fine’ to Angeline but I was going to get mine back in a big way.

As may be imagined when Lessing, Ragnar and I emerged from the kitchen area into the living room Adelstein was non-plussed. Looking first at Lessing, who he knew very well, then at Ragnar, then at me he exclaimed: ‘You’re the fellow I challenged outside the door a week or so ago. What’s going on here Lessing? What do you have to with him? Who is he?’

Lessing: He’s an acquaintance Merivale. As you know recent political developments have been quite startling. There are racial disturbances all across the country while here in the city racial territories have formed with our Whites staking our claim for mid-island. So far the authorities haven’t understood. They are disputing our claims while Negro and Moslem claims have been accepted.

Our people are being arrested while theirs haven’t. We’re asking you to balance equity. We want our boys released and to remain unmolested. As a believer in fairness and justice may we count on you to act in our interests?

Adelstein: Why those people to whom you refer are White Supremacists. There will never be peace until Whiteness is removed from the face of the earth. Why those White Supremacists are even expelling Jews from mid-city.

Ragnar: They aren’t being expelled; they’re leaving on their own. We don’t have anything to do with it.

Adelstein: Nonsense, there will never be peace until Whiteness is removed from the earth.

 

Here Ange, Ragnar, Lessing and myself made scoffing noises.

 

Lessing: I was hoping you wouldn’t force our hand Merivale.

Adelstein: I will absolutely not release any White Supremacists. What do you mean by force my hand?

Seeing the futility of arguing with Adelstein at that point I gave my ear a tug.

It is difficult for me to describe this but Ange caught my signal only from the corner of her eye as she was staring fixedly at Adelstein. It seemed like the air exploded with the fury of her response. I don’t know if I actually was but I felt like I was knocked back on my heels.

Adelstein had no time to anticipate Ange’s assault. She leaped like a tigress with a piercing shriek on him simultaneously raking both sides of his face with her nails from temple to chin while knocking him to the floor. She leaped on his chest in the most undignified manner on her knees pummeling with triple strength at his face. I’m sure his nose went at the first blow.

Hitting and scratching the white carpet began turning red beneath his head as the blood flowed copiously. Damn, I thought, we probably will never get the rug clean, have to buy a new carpet.

Just then Adelstein shrieked: My eye, my eye. Ange had only caught him by the corner so no real damage but as his nose was wobbling right left and back again I thought it best to call Ange off before she killed the bastard. Not that I objected but dead he would be no use to us while a murder trial might make us look bad.

‘Enough’ Ange’ I cried hoping she would remember to respond to my voice command while I was trying to maneuver to where she could see me tugging at my left ear. Fortunately she responded to voice command backing away spitting and snarling, shouting epithets at the bastard. She was terrific; how I loved her.

Having been abused by Adelstein and his band since she was twenty-five you may be sure she had pent up resentments probably conscious in both identities. How I admired her but how ashamed I was that I had to make her appear so unladylike. Still for her mental comfort she needed that revenge.

Merivale was rolling around on the floor screaming ‘My eye, my eye’ when there was really nothing very much wrong with it, just a small tear at the corner of the lid. He should have been shouting my nose, my nose; he was going to have a hell of a time explaining those shiners.

I asked Ragnar to set him on his feet so we could get on with it. Ragnar grabbed him at the shirt front and like a feather pulled him up and stood him on his brogans. Boy, I hated those shoes. What evil memories of guys walking around in those shoes I had from my young manhood. I’d always been the loafer type.

Me: Calm down, calm down Adelstein, it’s not that bad and we have business to discuss

Adelstein: (ignoring or not hearing me) What the fuck’s the matter with you bitch?

Me: Now, now Adelstein I can’t tolerate being called a bitch.

Adelstein: Not you ass, her.

In her own persona, the violence of her acts must have melded both personas. Ange actually spit in his face calling him a eunuch and bastard. Eunuch? Hmm, well maybe that was the ultimate insult in Ange’s situation. I hate spitting and I really hate to see women spit especially Ange as she was such an integral part of me. It was as though I spit.

Between the two then the air resonated lightning with seeming thunder rolls for several minutes. I became aware of myself breathing hard when Lessing made a pass with his hand in the air between Ange and Merivale that seemed to calm the storm. Until as coming from afar could be heard his voice soothing: ‘Calm down, Merivale, calm down. We have to explain our terms to you. Listen, listen.’

I had to laugh to myself when he told Adelstein to calm down while Ange was still fuming at him, making threatening moves at him even in her own persona. I moved over, put my arms around her and tried to comfort her. A little petting and she sank into my arms against me suddenly exhausted, relieved, but exhausted.

I suppose Adelstein must have been almost in shock as he was bleeding from deep scratches all over his face. Ragnar grabbed a roll of toilet paper and threw it to him. The paper brought him around some as he dabbed his face wincing as he brushed his nose. I don’t know how much pleasure Ange got from his agony oh, but it did my heart good as I silently laughed deep within my breast.

Agonized needless to say Adelstein dabbed until recovering his wits sufficiently he turned his face toward Lessing and asked: ‘What the fuck arrangements are you talking about Farquhar?’ This was my cue.

Me: We want your cooperation and assistance Judge in the freeing of any of our men arrested at the first hearing and your cooperation in preventing charges from being brought.

Adelstein: Never. Those men you refer to are White Supremacists and deserve the worst they can get. White Supremacism has to be wiped out.

Lessing: Take a moment Merivale. Take a moment and think. The list of charges that can be brought against your firm, your colleagues and yourself will likely fill pages. These women have been treated criminally; they were essentially slaves without a will of their own. They couldn’t say no. As you know Merivale the prejudice of the Court is always in the woman’s favor; you don’t have a chance.

From the moment of filing charges, that I have already written up, the reputation of you and your firm will be destroyed. You personally will be thrown out of your clubs. Restaurants will refuse to serve you. You’ll never eat lunch in this town again. The charges are heavy charges in multiple counts. White slavery charges alone could get net you two or three life sentences. I could list more but do you really want to risk the penalties by refusing our very reasonable requests.

 

Adelstein was still dabbing at his bloody face while in real agony over his nose and eye. Now Lessing threw real fear into him; we had irrefutable evidence, damning evidence. We waited patiently as Adelstein dabbed.

Adelstein: Alright. I’ll apply whatever influence I can.

Me: Not good enough we don’t want you to apply pressure, we want results now.

Adelstein: I’m only a judge, Federal not State or City. I have jurisdictional limits.

Lessing: Stop it, Merivale. You know your influence is distributed throughout the system. Your word alone can advance or stop any career. Perry is right. Either you do it or we file. I already have the papers drawn up. We have pages and pages of offenses; don’t be a fool Merivale. You’ve a wife and kids.

Adelstein: I never thought you…oh, alright I’ll issue instructions not to book your people too.

Me: Today. We want our men out.

Adelstein: My G-d man, can’t you see I’m in agony. For G-d’s sake get me to a hospital.

Ange: Your god doesn’t exist. No, you bastard. You get your own self to the hospital. Suffer, suffer, suffer. I hate you, you bastard. I hate every time you touched me. I hat the very sight of you. Get out of my condo! Now!

 

Adelstein was suffering but I couldn’t feel sorry for him. I was almost sorry I called Angeline off but I couldn’t let her kill him. He staggered out the door.

 

Ragnar: Nice work, Miss Gower. Do you think he will get our boys out Mr. Farquhar?

Lessing: Yes I do. He’ll have to have his injuries doctored today but I’ll call him in the morning to prompt him. You can tell your men they’re safe from the Courts; I won’t call it the law. We’re into this new phase of warfare where words are being redefined.

Me: I have an appointment at James Carter in a couple days so I should have an account from Goldbladder.

There should be a renewed attempt to penetrate our ranks Ragnar. Keep a sharp lookout. Adelstein may have to comply but he won’t take this lying down. They’re wily fellows; remember the Amalekites.

All three: Remember the Amalekites? What’s that supposed to mean?

Me: Oh, when the Hebrews were on their way to the Promised Land from Egypt they asked the Amalekites for permission to cross their territory rather than take the long way around. The Amalekites refused. The Hebrews took the refusal as an injury and didn’t forget so decades later after they had consolidated their power they returned to exterminate the Amalekites root and branch as the Bible tells it.

Today was a declaration of war between the Jews and us. They will come at us any way they can, they won’t let up, they won’t forget. It will be and already is a war of extermination; I don’t know how long things will take to develop but don’t forget the Amalekites.

Ange: You know this and you’re still going to James Carter?

Me: They won’t do anything direct at this time Ange. They’ll want to shift the guilt to us. Meanwhile hopefully we’ll get more info from them than they get from me. Abe and I are almost buddies anyway.

Ragnar: I don’t think so.

Me: That was joke, Ragnar, that was a joke. Don’t be so literal.

 

Ange and I were talking over soup and a glass of white wine, a Riesling.

Me: Well, Ange, you have had your revenge, how was it?

Ange: Good but not as good as I expected but now I’m having hallucinations.

Me: Yes. What kind.

Ange: It’s like I can see over a wall or maybe through those glass blocks. Terrifying visions. I’m afraid.

Me: Don’t be afraid; you can’t be hurt. I’ve been trying to break down the division between your two identities and unify them into one so that you have your whole life and no dark spaces. Maybe your encounter with Adelstein opened the way a little. Don’t fight it but let the barriers fall. The first rush may overwhelm your senses but just remember they are only memories.

Ange: Oh, but, Partly, what must you think of me? I’m afraid you won’t love me anymore.

Me: Of course I’ll always love you Ange, you are half of me. Hera will welcome you as redeemed; you are her cherished daughter. As her priest I rejoice in your recovery.

You must understand Ange that you are innocent of any guilt and as such you need have no shame although possibly regrets. And I am here to truly love you.

I am familiar with your situation myself. It has taken me decades Ange to realize I was under a post hypnotic suggestion, a hypnotic spell from the second grade to perhaps seventy years of age although to a weakening degree. The reasons for my behavior have only been known to me for a few years. It was only when I came to understand hypnosis and hypnotic suggestion that I understood.

In kindergarten, 1943, some Negro kids were let in school to the great resentment of parents and hence their kids. On the first day, at recess, they were told to sit on the sandbox and not move. I was already an outcast because of things that happened in my neighborhood so I objected to their treatment and offered to help them fight for their rights. They refused and that left me hanging out. It was late in the year so I was told that they would get me next year.

They had to wait for the second grade as I was transferred to a different school in the first grade. At recess they were waiting for me. About twelve boys and girls of the elite formed a semi-circle around me and glared hatred at me while Morford berated me on my sin. Then I was told to stand on one foot for the duration of recess which I did. Then I was told to put my foot down and that I was their nigger now.

In a state of terror with all defenses down I was actually hypnotized although they may or may not have been aware of it, their parents that is, and the post-hypnotic suggestion that I was their nigger mirroring the Negro kids sitting on the sand box, was implanted so that in similar situations I had no resistance and did what nearly anyone told me to do mirroring standing on one foot.

This went on all my life even after integrating my personality at forty-two until I could recognize and reject my post-hypnotic suggestion in my early seventies. So, Honey, I understand completely. My Anima was destroyed at that time also but now that I have found you, I’m complete. You are me; I am you. I rejoice that you’re recovering.

But now you must be especially wary. When Adelstein recovers he will come to avenge your assault. His kind never acknowledge their crimes but only resent the revenges. So tomorrow night I have to attend the New Serapions and under no circumstances are you to answer the door. If the fire alarm goes off ignore it there will be no fire. I will call a couple times to reassure you and will call from the lobby on the way up. Is that clear?

Ange: Yes, darling Partly. I won’t open the door no matter what. I will call you if anything happens.

Me: Exactly, Ange, my darling girl.

And so, here I am sitting in Lessing’s living room.

 

Clip 10 follows

 

 

The Vampyres Of New York

Vol. I, Clip 8

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Story continues:

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

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

Me: So you became aware somewhen around nineteen sixty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Yes, relatives there.

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

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

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

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

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

Ange: Where did you go?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ange: Oh, we all worked at BAAD.

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

Ange: Yes, either natural or peroxide.

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

Ange: Gorden, Oils, Oswald and Dustbin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ange: No-o-o.

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

Ange: You mean catalepsy?

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

Ange: Of course. What do you mean?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ange: Not that I remember.

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

Ange: Hm, no, not even the name.

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

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

Ange: I, well, I suppose so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ange: Yes, that’s right.

Me: What do you remember about the physical Ange:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: What twitch was that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ange: Nothing would give me greater satisfaction.

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

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

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

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

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

You are once again purified. Hera bless you.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lessing: Our lifetime president ordered them all rounded up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lessing: How did you do that?

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

Lessing: Adelstein? Sure.

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

Lessing: Hard to believe. When can we meet?

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

Lessing: Sounds good.

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

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

Me: Yes. Do you know her?

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

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

Lessing: You’re sure about that?

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

 

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

Continued on Clip 9.

A Novel

Our Lady Of The Blues

Book VII

The Heart Of The Matter

by

R.E. Prindle

Clip 15 and End.

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

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

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

page 1961.

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

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

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

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

page 1962.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 1965.

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

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

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

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

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

page 1966.

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

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

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

page 1967.

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

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

     Judge Guy Pascal quietly raised his eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 1969.

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

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

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

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

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

page 1970.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 1971.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 1972.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TOBACCO ROAD.

The Man Who Had Life Made At Twenty

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

page 1974

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

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

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

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

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

page 1975.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 1976.

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

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

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

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

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

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

     ‘Yeah.  All three of us were there.’

     ‘Must have been it, then.’

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

page 1977.

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

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

     ‘Oh yeah?’

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

     ‘Ya?  Anybody I know?’

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

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

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

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

page 1978.

     ‘Sure.’

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

     ‘What do you think happened?’

     ‘Mel got on that train bound for Glory?’

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

     ‘Mel died.’

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

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

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

     Buzz’s wife Melanie opened the door.

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

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

page 1979.

     ‘I guess you heard the news, Dewey?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 1981.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 1892.

     ‘You making me walk home alone?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 1983.

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

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

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

That Sad Old Wintry Feeling

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

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

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

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

page 1894.

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

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

     ‘I turned you in.’  She repeated.

     ‘Turned me in for what, Susan?’

     ‘For those rapes.’

     Dewey looked at her closely.  He was mystified.

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

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

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

page 1986.

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

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

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

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

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

page 1986.

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

     ‘What did the police say, Susan?’

     ‘They said they thought it was impossible.’

     ‘I should think so.’

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

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

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

page 1988.

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

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

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

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

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

If they gave gold statuettes

for tears and regrets,

I’d be a legend

in

my

own

time.

-Don Gibson.

 

A Novel

Our Lady Of The Blues

Book VII

The Heart Of The Matter

by

R.E. Prindle

Clip 13

     Now, Leda gave birth to two eggs.  The other egg contained the female twins, Clytemnestra and Helen, she of Troy.  Thus the two women represent Spring and Autumn, or the Equinoxes, while the males  represent Winter and Summer or the Solstices.  Helen, of course, is Spring the ever beautiful while Clytemnestra is the hag at the end of the year.

     These four  divisions were obvious facts.  The cross in the circle represents the four turning points of the year. The problem was to know exactly where you were in the year so you could regulate farming or take advantage of the migrations of animals.

     The answer is really quite simple. All you need to do is establish a starting point and begin counting. Of course, you have to learn to count first.  The easiest point is to determine the shortest day of the year on December 21st.  Once you have determined that then all you have to do is count the days till it returns.  So, except for the puzzling phenomenon of Leap Year you know exactly how long the year is and where each day will fall.  So mankind had located itself in relation to a complete cycle of days.  Yes, there were competing systems. 

     I believe that the Atlanteans discovered the principle of the solar year over one hundred thousand years ago.  It is also impossible that language for transmission of the idea should have been very advanced that long ago.

     The next question is how do you retain the knowledge or, in other words, pass the information from generation to generation when language is so primitive.  First you need a group of scholars or priests whose function is to keep the archives.  They pass the information on as a story in pictographs.  Hence the story of the year was created; it was entitled the Zodiac, at least by the Greeks, the ancient title or titles we cannot know.

page 1861.

     But we do know that the story had been fully developed for tens of thousands of years simply because the celestial Zodiac which must have developed after the terrestrial was established when the disruption in civilization occurred during the Age of Leo as is proven by the Egyptian and Mesopotamian evidence as well as the modern scientific evidence of the ending of the ice age.  All at the same time.

     The Greek Zodiac divides the signs into quarters of three related signs as well as symbols outside of, but related to, the Zodiac such as Castor and Polydeukes and the Hydra.

     The Dioscuri represented each half of the solar year while the twin girls represented the Equinoxes.  We will disregard the Equinoxes.  The two most important signs of the Zodiac are hence Sagittarius and Cancer.  Each sign concerns itself with a solstice or turning of the year.

     Sagittarius the Archer of December twenty-first is shooting an arrow.  It is not obvious where the target is but it must be the heel of Cancer in the person of Polydeukes the Sun King, who begins his boxing exploits on June twenty-first.  The arrow is as fleet as the horses of which Castor is the master.

     The next sign, Capricorn, represents the return of hope as the waters of northern rivers begin their rise.  In the Olympian Zodiac Capricorn is ruled by Hestia, the goddess of the hearth as families cluster around the central fires for warmth.

page 1862.

     Half goat, half fish the meaning is probably that the goat represents life as he is often seen in Mesopotamian mythology nibbling the leaves of the tree of life.  The fish no doubt represents the repletion of the finny denizens which provide a food supplement through the lean months.

     After Capricorn Aquarius the water bearer brings back the purifying and fructifying waters of life that irrigate the fields preparing them for virgin growth.  Thus it is that Hera can be matron and virgin at the same time.Thus Mary bears Jesus in virgin birth.  In the Olympian Zodiac Aquarius is ruled by the Earth goddess Hera.

     The water bearer is thought by many to be Ganymede the cupbearer of Zeus.  Why Ganymede isn’t clear.  Other than the most peautiful youth on Earth who so appealed to Zeus that he was  translated to Heaven on the wings of an eagle, as the sign is ruled by the Earth goddess Hera it would make sense to associate him with Attis, Adonis or any other of the Great Mother’s annual consorts.  Ganymede’s ascension is associated with Troy.  That war was fought between the Matriarchal and Patriarchal points of view.  Aphrodite, as Great Mother, was the patroness of the Trojans so with the defeat of the Matriarchy at Troy the Eternal Youth may have been abducted into the Patriarchal scheme to emasculate the Matriarchy, so to speak.   Without a male consort the Great Goddess must wither away.

     At any rate Ganymede is obviusly fertilizing the Great Mother for another annual cycle.

     Next Pisces reprented by twin fish swimming in opposite directions, male and female represents the fecundity of the coming Spring season.  The symbolism of the Male and Female going in opposite directions but still connected may represent the fact that while men and women are very different they are still phyiologically connected.  Christian mythology should be considered seriously in this context as Pisces is the sixth ‘king’ since the deluge.

page 1863.

     Aries the Ram butts the budding plants from the ground.  First growth seems very slow so it needs encouragement.  Another Greek image is that of Persephone rising from the underworld while gods with hammers and tongs crack away the crusted earth to bring her forth.

     Taurus who is ruled by Aphrodite in the Olympian Zodiac is nearly as self-explanatory as Leo.  The Great Mother and her greatest consort, the immense raging bull.  Having been released by Aries the crops burst forth with wild energy.  Compare the lusty look of the Rose as it shoots.

     Gemini, the next sign which includes the end of May and the first two thirds of June, is a very orderly sign.  Placed after the wild excesses of Aries and Taurus it is followed by the torrid destructive signs of Cancer and Leo.  Gemini is appropriately governed by Apollo whose mottoes are:  Everything in measure and Nothing in excess.

     Castor and Polydeukes reappear as the twins or Dioscouri passing the year from one of dearth to one of plenty.

     Cancer, which follows, is one of the two important axes of the year.  The Unconquerable Sun reaches the apex of its power on the first day of Cancer but then begins its slow decline.  the mythology of Cancer the Crab is especially rich.

     The arrow shot by Castor or Sagittarius now comes to Earth lodging in the heel of the valiant Sun King, Polydeukes.

     In the earlier traditions in all probability the Sun King was not able to cut off the immortal head of the Hydra.  The Greeks in mortal combat with the Matriarchy implausibly have Heracles, who they substitute for the Sun King, succeed in killing the immortal head of the Hydra.

     The Greeks added a lot of complications to the story but I will attempt to eliminate them with Heracles only in his role as the Sun King.

     The Hydra, which dwelt in the Lernean swamps near Argos in Greec, was a monster with seven heads.  Six were mortal while the seventh was immortal.  The battle had to be fought anew each year.  Heracles, in legend, was said to have killed the immortal head of the Hydra but this is not borne out by the subsequent history of the world nor, indeed, was it possible.

     The six mortal heads are quite obviously the six months between the two solstices which the Sun King destroys one by one until he victoriously passes the torch to Castor on December 21st.

     Like the axis of the Unconquerable Sun in the December position the seventh head of the Hydra represents the opposite axis of the solar year and cannot be destroyed.  Indeed, no sooner does the Sun King cut off the mortal heads than the Hydra grows six more.

page 1865.

     The meaning of the Crab isn’t entirely clear but the Crab is thought to walk backwards or sideways which it does.  Thus by seizing the Sun King by the heel it drags him slowly back into the swamp causing the days to shorten.  Probably it was felt necessary to cause  the Sun King to be drawn back as he destroyed the six monthly heads.

     Thus Sagittarius and Cancer fully explain the two halves of the year.

     The sign of Leo is self-explanatory.  The raging lionof the heat of mid-summer lays waste the fields returning them to their virgin condition.

     Hence Leo is followed by Virgo the Virgin to lie fallow until Aquarius reimpregnates the Earth.  The myth was told of Hera that she knew of a secret spring in which she bathed once a year to restore her virginity.  This is another way of saying that the Earth is renewed each year by the Spring rains.  Virgo and Aquarius are the meaning of the myth.   The Virgin Mary is probably associated with the myth also.

     Libra bearing the scales of justice marks the fall equinox when the seasons tip from the third quarter into the fourth quarter.  She is the balance between the two halves of the second half of the year.

     Scorpio is not clear to me except that scoprions get into the sandal and bite the heel.  The heel is a convenient symbol of death in Greek mythology.  As Scorpio is governed by Ares in the Olympian Zodiac the notion of senseless killing is reinforced.  Ares was a violent thug who fought and killed for the pleasure of fighting and killing so Scorpio may represent the mad assassin of the old year.

     That brings us back to Sagittarius when the Unconquerable Sun triumphs and the Archer fires off the arrow for the new year which lands we now know where.

     In relation to Scorpio it is signficant that Sagittarius is facing toward the new year rather than back toward the old.  So Scorpio may in fact represent merely the death of the old year.

     The symbols are of recent Greek origin but the story must have been formulated early in ante-diluvian times.  Especially so since the Zodiac has only a celestial existence in Greek mythology but not a terrestrial one.  At what time the Zodiac was translated to the sky can probably never be known for sure but I think we may be sure that the six kings previous to Leo had alredy completed at least one full circuit.

     Logically it must be true.

     Now, the question is, who formulated the Zodiac so long ago.

     For want of a better name it could only have been the people of the land the Egyptians called Atlantis.

     All the evidence points to the existence of a civilization antecedent  to the Great Flood.  The Flood was the point of discontinuity.  Thus the Flood and Atlantis may represent the same event.  After the Flood the world entered a long dark age emerging only with ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia.

page 1867

     But, while the evidence of the earliest known civilizations, those of Egypt and Mesopotamia survive, the question is why not the remains of this earlier civilization.

     In Egypt the flooding of the Nile is a blessing so they could not consider a flood disastrous.  However earthquakes occur in the Delta causing submersion of coastal lands so the Egyptians depicted the disappearance of Atlantis as falling beneath the waves because of a great earthquake.  Floods were less benign in Mesopotamia so a Great Flood submerged the previous civilization.  Both versions agree that the big event occurred during the Age of Leo and involved submersion.

     Well and good.

     Now, modern science postulates that a great ice age existed prior to Leo that had endured for something like a hundred thousand years.  During this ice age so much water was impounded that ocean levels dropped by several hundred feet.  I quote science.  Thus the entire continental shelves of the world would have been exposed and habitable.  Huge areas of the Asian Pacific would have been exposed.  Scientists say that the Bering strait was several miles wide.  Most of the Mediterranean Basin would have been above water.

     One assumes that prior to the onset of this Ice Age that those same shelvings had been under water.  Thus as the waters receded it follows that flora and fauna, including man, would exist where they had never existed before.

     Emigrants are usually those least able to compete successfully at home.  The successful are quite content to remain in possession at home.

page 1868.

     Those displaced persons who are faced with new challenges often come up with new answers.

     There are many drawbacks, or unsolved probelms, with the theory of evolution.  More adaptable variants of the same species often exist in competition with less adaptable variants.  But the less adaptable may have more physical vigor than the more  adaptable leaving the latter at a competitive disadvantage.  For instance you and I might be more adaptable than Jack Dempsey but in a fist fight with him we’re going to get lumped and not him.

     Thus Neanderthal man may have existed side by side with Cro-Magnon man but in primitive technology he had the upper hand.  Thus as the shelves became available for habitation it is probable that the weaker Cro-Magnon moved away.

     At any rate the shelves must have been inhabited.  These weaker but more adaptable people used their intelligence to create a civilization rather than using mere brawn to wrest a living from Nature.

     In the Mediterranean the Southern shelf opposite Malta and Gozo would have been an excellent place to found a city state.  The upland ranges surrounding the Basin must have been an astonishing sight of rivers cascading down from the uplands.

     The islands must have been imposing awe inspiring sights towering out of the water as mountains.  The coastal Atlantean undoubtedly learned to build boats to cruise the placid waters of the long narrow sea.

     The majesty of the Nile cascading from what would then have been the first cataract at Giza to the sea in full flood must have been unimaginably awesome as also the mighty roar of water descending from the Black Sea.

page 1869.

     And then, apparently within a couple hundred years the ice caps melted returning the seas to their former levels.  The achievement of this civilization disappeared beneath the waves as the flood rose, yea verily, even to the mountain tops or as the Egyptians put it, fell into the sea.  The evidence of this civilization disappeared beneath the waters.

     However there is no reason to believe that the waters rose so fast that the people were destroyed also.  No.  They undoubtedly fled the rising waters scattering to the margins of the sea or to the uplands of the world.

     Some undoubtedly fled into sub-Saharan Africa where over the course of a few centuries they became melanized blending in with the native population.   Some formed the Berber tribes.  The similarity of Negro mythology to Mediterranean mythology is not accidental but a result of diffusion.  The similarity was added to  in later centures when exploratory parties from Libya crossed the Sahara.

     Man is and always has been an inveterate traveler.  Various other bands of Atlanteans penetrated into the uplands of Europe, Asia Minor and the Nile Valley.  Some traveled to India and some farther afield to China.

     By far, most settled on the margins of the new sea level around the Basin.

     Agriculture began simultaneously in every part of the world.  Are we to believe that yokels all over the world individually decided to farm at the same time or was the notion diffused by the forcible ejection of farmers from the same area?  I leave it to you to make your own decision because argument is useless; nothing can be proven at this time.

page 1870.

     My own opinion is that agriculture must have been practiced by the Atlanteans and was diffused in their flight from the inundation.

     The largest part of the displaced Atlanteans quite naurally retreated up country to the African littoral occupying that coastal strip incuding the developing area of the Nile Delta where they became known as the Libyans.

     The Libyans were always extremely intellectually well developed being ahead of both the ancient Upper Egyptians as well as the later Greeks.  Lower Egypt before the unification must then have been an Atlantean kingdom.  Where else could the legend of Atlantis come from?  Certainly not from the land bound Upper Egypt.

     There is an example of attempted agriculture in Upper Egypt at this time but it was abandoned.  Why?  Certainly not because the proper conditions were lacking.  I surmise that a colony of Libyans made the attempt.  I think that the novel concept of plowing the ground so outraged the Upper Egyptians that they either killed or drove the Libyans back to the Delta.

     It is possible that the Atlanteans developed a system of writing which is reflected in Egyptian hieroglyphics.  The followers of Edgar Cayce believe that an ante-deluvian deposit of books lie beneath the paws of the Sphinx in some subterranean passageways.  I don’t know that it is true but I don’t find the notion absurd.  It is quite possible that the Atlantean priesthood fled with all their sacred writings, if any.

page 1871.

     At the same time they most likely carved the image of Leo on the rock outcropping where it sits in a manner akin to Mount Rushmore.  So matters stood while the ‘kings’ changed posts in the sky until the Delta Libyans were conquered by the Upper Egyptians about thirty-three hundred BC.  The Upper Egyptians remained dominant through the first three dynasties.  Then a Libyan dynasty succeeded to the throne.  The Red Crown of the Delta was triumphant.  Immediately the pent up energies of several thousand years exploded in a building frenzy which we call the Pyramids.  The Pyramids must duplicate some notion of the world order of the Atlanteans.

     Actually the Pyramids are only the half of the world order that has survived.  Just as important as the City of the Dead was the City of the Sun or Heliopolis or the Holy City of On across the Nile to the East.  Its monuments were less durable than those of the West and have been all but obliterated by the religious jealously of  later Asian conquerors.

     Someday it will be found that the whole complex is a great bit of magic meant to preserve earth from another disaster like that which happened to Atlantis.

     How do you like that for a strange notion, Dewey?’

     ‘I never heard anything like it.’  Dewey said for the words had blown through his staggering mind like the Boreas from the North Pole, making the same impression.  The notion had little relevance for him as his mind was unprepared to receive it.  The requisite foundation of knowledge was not there.  Mental preparation is the key.  However he was still alert enough to check the logic of the story.  There was nothing absurd in the presentation of facts while Gaste seemed to be informed on his subject so he saw no reason to take objection.

page 1872.

     ‘I have thought a great about what I have just told you, Dewey, and while I have no proof that academics would consider incontrovertible yet something did happen for which no explanation has ever been offered.  All lines of inquiry lead to the edge of the water whether Egyptian, Mesopotamian or modern science.  You are the only person I have ever told this to.  I would never present it to a body of educators.  It’s always best to be careful about introducing new and unusual notions that no one has ever heard before.  Even J.G. Frazer who was a very careful academic using tried and true methods was attacked.  I couldn’t endure that.  I couldn’t stand the way my mother and I were treated because of her beliefs.  I mght ultimately be proved right on my main theses but I would be attacked on details that couldn’t be verified.  I would rather have less honor than to be totally reviled.’

     ‘Sure, but if everybody thought that way I don’t know how progress would be possible.  If Galileo hadn’t advanced the theory that the Earth went round the sun where would we be?’

     ‘Well, exactly where we are, but yes.  Galileo paid a heavy price for speaking in advance of his times.  And that price wasn’t in ephemeral fruit either.  Ha, ha, ha.’

page 1873.

     ‘Yes, but I think Mrs. Hicks was right.  I’d rather be Galileo any day.  I mean, what’s this society going to be like after a lifetime of football, baseball and sports and TV shows that don’t have any logic?’

     ‘You mean you don’t think there’s anything of value in American culture?  You think it’s all ephemeral fruit?’

     ‘No.  I think some things of value are happening but because they have value, because they are substantial fruit they have to slink around in the shadows where only outriders of ephemera can find them.  You gott be out there riding those fences.’

     ‘OK.  Where’s that?’

     ‘Well, you know, I make the midnight run up to San Francisco most Fridays and back again on Sundays.  They only let them play silly love songs on daytime radio.  But at night you can pick up stations with really maverick outlaw DJs that play some real good music with some real cutting edge meaningful social criticism.

     Now, don’t get me wrong, because I think they’re really good and it shows what a high wire balancing act they’re doing but the Kingston Trio gets on daytime radion because rather than criticism they make wry or cute observations.  The Kingston Trio have the real genius, don’t get me wrong, but songs like Tiajuana Jail like all pop music is meant to  please everyone and offend no one.  ‘Tom Dooley’ the same way.  They take out the social criticism and give it the real folk ballad flavor and it almost cuts it.  You know the Kingstons are biting their tongue though.

page 1874.

     At night you get the real stuff, after midnight, by guys like the Chad Mitchell Trio and Tom Paxton.  Guys with sharp eyes and witty tongues.  So they keep them off daytime radio and these guys are actually lucky to be alive.  If it weren’t for freedom of speech you’d find those guys floating down the river.’

     ‘What?  Are you serious?  This is America.  You can’t do that.’

     ‘Oh, yes you  can.  It’s done all the time.  Look at this.  They didn’t have any room for me in the Navy when I wanted to join.  I had to wait seven months for a place to open up.  but they make a spot for Elvis Presley just to destroy his career.  Then they assign him to the tank corps.  How long do you think he’s going to last when the Russkies charge over the line?  I think the estimate is seven minutes..

     I mean they’re destroying Jerry Lee Lewis.  And Little Richard threw all his Jewels in the ocean, gave up rock n’ roll and took to the minstry to escape persecution.  I think they would have killed him if he hadn’t.  Black or not.’

     (In just a couple months Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper will be killed in a small plane crash, the favored form of assassination.  Thus the first wave or rock n’ rollers was decimated.  the rest of them got the hint.)

     ‘Who’s this ‘they who’re doing this?’  Gaste asked with the tinge of contemptuous disbelief that people show when they find something distasteful.

page 1875.

     ‘Oh, you know, Barry Goldwater, John Tower, the John Birch Society, all the social reactionaries that fell out of the McCarthy thing.’  Dewey had no cause to mention McCarthy or even the Conservatives; the reaction to Rock and Folk was very broadly based and included large numbers of so-called Liberals and educated people.

     ‘Yes, they’re a pretty nutty group.’  This was a strong political opinion for Terry Gaste to express but as a Liberal he considered Conservatives as Neanderthals living in the nineteenth century at best.

      ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’  Dewey protested.  ‘Conservatives are usually right while Liberals are always wrong.’

     Terry Gaste scoffed.

     ‘You bet.  I’m a Conservative but I”m younger than the guys who fought the war for ‘freedom’ but can’t accept the consequences so I can accept modern tastes as natural where they think it’s evil, like, for instance, rock n’ roll.  But since they reject the inevitable they’re just old and in the way.  They’re still defending the old ideals in an antiquated obtuse way.

     When Mighty J…um…McCarthy went down…’  Dewey almost committed a social faux pas by treating McCarthy as a valid person and not a demon but corrected himself in time.  After all Freedom of Conscience has its limits even in America.  ‘…these guys were all turned out in the Wasteland.  They were overwhelmed, they don’t know how to get there from here; so they persecute anyone who dares to criticize their point of view either explicitly or implicitly, friend or foe.  They would kill these folksingers if they weren’t college graduates and they thought they could get away with it.  They’re destroying their careers already or, at least, trying to inhibit them.’

page 1876.

     (Barry Goldwater would actually force Chad Mitchell out of the business because of a very funny parody of him called ‘Barry’s Boys.’  Anyone with a conflicting opinion walked on gilded splinters.)

     ‘Well, we Liberals aren’t wrong on the ideal.  But Conservatives agree on the ideal.  After all there are reactionaries allied to the Conservatives just as radicals go hand in glove with Liberals.  Reactionaries and Radicals disagree on what should be done; Conservatives and Liberals disagree on how it should be done.

     There is no question that Blacks have not been given equal opportunities  but that is all they’re entitled to.  The question is at bottom a social question not a racial one.  White guys from the other side of the tracks have been denied equal opportunity too so the problem is how to take down the barriers for everybody not to keep sanctions on the White underclass while releasing the Blacks.  That’s what the Liberals want to do.

     What will happen is that discrimination won’t end it will just shift.  You Liberals will make the White guys from the other side of the tracks pay the whole price of integration and call that fair.  You will take from them to give to the Blacks but you won’t give up one smidgen yourselves.  Even then you completely reject Black culture.

     You say you can’t understand the lyrics of Little Richard because he doesn’t articulate but really you can’t understand him because he speaks in the Black idiom.  You will admit only those Blacks who will play your game by your rules, adopt your styles and manners, your way of talking.  They ain’t no ghetto eight rock ever gon’ be admitted to polite White society.  So there’s going to be a big blow up.’

     ‘I think you’re wrong there.  Black people want what we want.  I think they’re intelligent, decent people who will find it is their best interest to adopt better manners and improve their speech and they will do so.  I see a smooth assimilation.’

     ‘Won’t happen.  It’s not in the interest of Blacks and guys from the other side of the tracks to play your game because you control the game and your rules are always you win, outsiders lose.  You will only give on humiliating terms.  Therefore Blacks will have to riot to get any respect at all.  Has to happen.  Trouble coming every day.

     Besides, nobody’s saying that Blacks are stupid or mean and nasty.  Liberals always assume that if you don’t believe exactly as they do that you believe the opposite of their views.  They demonize you into beliving all kinds of atrocious things.  You guys all think that your beliefs are virtuous and that you are therefore virtuous.  Anyone who disgrees with you is not.

page 1878.

     Besides, it doesn’t matter whether Blacks are intelligent or not; that’s just one of  your smokescreens.  My point is that you won’t accept them unless they imitate you and abandon Black culture.  They have to become off color White to pass among you.  Some will do that.  But they’re going to be an awful lot can’t or won’t know how or want to.  Then it is inevitable that Conservative or reactionary Blacks will reject the whole notion of becoming intellectually White anyway.  They’ll probably come up with some such slogan as ‘Black Is Beautiful And White Isn’t.’

 

     Needless to say the trends Dewey was percipient enough to anticiapate had been developing in the Black community since they migrated from the South to Harlem and Chicago.  They would lead to some very interesting twists on the ‘minority’ scene.

     The discontent expressed in the ‘Back to Africa’ movement of Marcus Garvey in the teens and twenties would go through many transformations and end up as the Nation of Islam which was the conservative direction Dewey knew must happen.  The process was already happening although Whites didn’t understand it or report it properly in their newspapers and journals.

     Looking ahead, in the eighties and nineties the movement was headed by Louis Farrakhan.  He was a decent sort who took the right approach of trying to put things into an historical perspective.  Education for Blacks in short.  The Black perspective must necessarily step on White Folk’s toes.  They simply must interpret their history in their own way regardless of White people’s opinions.  Something in the Constitution about freedom of speech.  One can only assert oneself at someone else’s expense.  As Farrakhan was organizing an independent Black analysis of history he was naturally rejected by the so-called Liberal community.  One of those ‘anyone but him’ type things.

page 1880.

     In 1958 the word ‘bigot’ was rarely used.  ‘Prejudice’ was more usual but understanding the difference is essential to understanding the temper and tone of subsequent decades.

     Traditionally a bigot was one who had an unreasoning belief in the rightness of his own point of view.  Thus during he Enlightenment Catholicism was always referred to as bigoted because it wouldn’t, and still can’t, tolerate another religious point of view.  this is true of any faith whether Judaism, Nazism, Comunism, Moslemism or what have you.  Infidels, unbelievers, anti-Semites, the part of the world that is not of your faith can be despised and reviled.

     Beginning about this time, 1958, the word ‘bigot’ began to take on a different coloring.  It began to mean a White Christian who was unwilling to  bend the knee to other races, religions or creeds.  In other words, a Christian could a bigot but a Jew couldn’t; a White could be a bigot but a Black couldn’t.

     It was not enough for White Christians to be tolerant; one was compelled to assert that all other races, creeds and religions were more worthy than your own and more pointedly, you.  ‘Hey, hey, ho,  ho, Western Civilization has got to go became the war cry.  One was constrained to accept such absurdities as voodoo or fetish worship as respectable religious expressions.  People even demanded that animal sacrifices be legalized.

page 1880.

     Thus the freedom of religion clause of the Constitution was used to overturn reason.

     In this conception of bigotry two groups, for certain, claimed exemption from bigotry, the Blacks and the Jews.  Vis-a-vis White Christians (which includes the Scientific Consciousness) this could cause no problems as Whites were willing to abdicate their identity to Blacks and Jews.

     Then the unthinkable happened.  The minority coalition turnout to be not so monolithic.  Analyzing their history the scholars of the Nation of Islam began to say uncomplimentary things about their erstwhile allies, the Jews.

     In reviewing history Louis Farrakhan and his Minister of Culture found that Black Folk had been exploited by the Jews.  The Nation of Islam declared this and were promptly branded as infidels or, anti-Semites.

     What now?  How to deal with intra-minority conflicts in the Haven of the world?

     In 1870 there were not many Jews in the US.  Then the transfer of the Jewish population of Eastern Europe began.  By 1920 there were four million Jews in the US.

     The Jews have always blamed America the Beautiful for the transformation of Jewish culture that apparently happened on these shores.  In truth there was no transformation.  The changes already begun in the Old Cuntry were accelerated.

     The International White Slave Trade was the first unit of organized crime.  That business was called into existence by the wholesale emigration of Europeans to not only the United States but to all of North and South America, South Africa, Australia and diverse points, Shanghai for instance.  There were millions of men without women.

page 1881.

     The Jews rushed to fill the void by supplying the women.  This in turn created gangsterism as we know it.  Jewish gangs were thus not a creation of the New World but had already developed in the Pale even as they now dominate Jewish society in Israel.

     When the Jews emigrated to New York, the home of the scientific consciusness, they already had a history of socialism and gangsterism.  The loss of traditional values was only exacerbated by the opportunities to be found in the New World.

     Jewish gangsters dominated the New York criminal scene giving the city a criminal tincture epitomized in the movie ‘Guys And Dolls.’  These criminals were no lovable Nathan Detroits either.

     One of the most notorious was a psychopath by the name of Arthur Flegenheimer who as a nom de guerre assumed the name of Dutch Shultz.  Flegenheimer was of such a social disposition that in the course of a conversation he inserted the barrel of his pet .45 into the mouth of his acquaintance and pulled the trigger.  Oh sure, the gun was loaded.  Whether you took it as a joke or not depended on which end of the barrel you was at.  Flegenheimer laughed.

     Foibles such as this can make a man’s reputation.  The boy’s act was so much admired that you see its replication in movie after movie today.

page 1882.

     This Flegenheimer was in the numbers racket.  He worked Harlem.

     Now, Harlem from the turn of the century until a few years before 1920 had been a Jewish colony.  In anticipation of the rush uptown from the Lower East Side Jewish developers had outsized the rush by a large number of excess apartments.  You see, immigration was a very large industry, considered to be a growth industry by some.

     The growth was choked off by the Great War placing the developers in a position developers don’t like to be in.  Bankruptcy loomed.  The internal migration of the Blacks which began about then was a godsend.  That’s why Harlem is Black.

     The Black Folk migrated from the Deep South where they had a rural existence.  They were bumpkins in the White sense.  They had also been held in political subjection, denied education and economic opportunity.  Thus Black Folk faced a terrific psychological dilemma.  They not only moved from one State to another and from one culture to another but from one era to another.  Their migration South to North was actually the equivalent of moving from Europe to America, from the nineteenth to the twentieth century.  Even their language was different.

     Not only was there geographic displacement but they moved up a couple ratchets of time ways into a burgeoning technological twentieth century that even the Whites who were creating it didn’t understand.  Whites were desperately trying to acclimatise themselves to this new environment; Blacks were a good generation and a couple light years behind.  In addition Blacks were still treated as subhuman in New York.  They were still denied equal opportunities but their expenses climbed dramatically.  Only the lowest jobs on the ladder were open to them.

page 1883.

     In those days Whites could exhibit their racial pride in ways that are no longer open to them.  No one is any longer accorded the scope of referring to Blacks as monkeys, apes or subhumans.  Flegenheimer and Jewish gangsters were children of their times.  They did refer to Blacks in those terms as they fleeced the poor devils of the hard earned by the numbers racket.  Just because you win don’t mean you get paid.

     We’ll probably never know how many Blacks were murdered for complaining and similar offences to their betters.  One may assume that a real guy who was capable of inserting the barrel of .45 automatics into mouths during the course of a normal conversation was not overly nice in running his complaint department.

     These were real injuries suffered by Black people as a race at the hands of the Jewish people.  Mr. Farrakham according to the mores of our times had a right to request an apology as well as a cash indemnity of a substantial size from the Jews.

    Oh, but the Jews, it may be argued, can’t be condemned as a whole people for the actions of one man.

     Here’s where we get into some real hair splitting: this is where the faithful and the infidels separate.

     Well, but, Mr. Farrakham might argue, according to Jewish rules you can.  Certainly the German people by this logic could not be held responsible for the actions of this individual named Adolf Hitler.  But the Jews do say the whole of the German people are responsible.  Postwar Germans have sent billions of dollars in reparations to Israel, a State the did not exist during the Second World War.

page 1884.

     Certainly the Jews of New York were well aware of Flegenheimer’s activities; they were splashed across the front pages of every New York daily.  Mr. Farrakham might easily have demanded a few hundred millions indemnity from Israel to the Nation of Islam neither of which had been in existence in Flegenheimer’s time.

     Logic, naturally enough, has nothing to do with faith.  An act can easily be right for oneself but wrong for another.  I don’t know what principle of law that might be applied but I’m sure one can be found or created.

     Now, here’s an interesting point.  Jews had suffered in Europe.  Blacks had suffered in the United States.  Thousands of Black had been killed since Emancipation; Jews never had.

     Blacks had suffered at Jewish hands; Jews had never suffered at Black hands; not only in Harlem.  Jews had been the dominant people in the slave trade.  Jews had ridden out with the first Ku Klux Klan.  It is possible to quantify Black suffering.  Blacks were psychologically defenseless.  They had been stripped of all security on coming to the New World.  So much of their abuse had been on the psychological level.  Blacks were compelled to accept the White opinion of themselves that they were stupid, shiftless and no account.  Denied the right to decent employment and the self-respect that brings, perhaps the conclusion was inescapable, even to themselves.

page 1885.

     Black women were less of a threat than Black men so Black men suffered the double injury of being comparatively less effective than White men while being subjected to their women who found it easier to get work.

     Hence what appears to be a bizarre psychological reaction by Black men to difficult if not impossible circumstance.  Liberals of Terry Gaste’s stamp cannot even begin to understand the Black man’s place in American society.

     The ability to assert one’s identity has to come from within it cannot be enforced by an assumed attitude.  For that reason Louis Farrakham organized the million man march on Washington.  The march had a salutary effect on the pride and self-assurance of Black men.

     The idea was not unreasonable but the reaction to all those Black men gettig uppity was.  Efforts were renewed to discredit Farrakhan.

     Now, the Jews had never suffered oppression in the United States.  They were more offending than offended against.  The Jews glory in a four thousand year history of oppression.  Judaism never forgets nor can it make a reasonable allowance for its own reprehesible actions.

     Young Jews go through an intense psychological indoctrination.  The notions are not a matter of education but inculcation.  They are stamped into the brains of the youths.  About twenty-five hundred years ago a man acquired a very bad reputation among the Jews.  That man was called Haman.  He was a man who became a symbol.  During one of the Jewish holidays a story is read.  At every mention of the name Haman the congregants break out into a wild orgy of hate filled screaming and shrieking.

page 1886.

     Receiving this Pavlovian training against Haman at the mere mention of the name an automatic reaction is conditioned.  Thus if it were said, as it was, that Henry Ford was another Haman every Jew could and did turn toward him with concentrated hatred beaming from their eyes.  Louis Farrakham became the Black Haman.

     The question became which minority was going to have to bend the knee to the other.  There could be only one group of champion sufferers.  Which was going to be the top sufferer?  The Blacks had been suffering for only three hundred years in the United States; the Jews, not the same Jews as in the United States, but the generic entity called Jews, had been suffering for four thousand years, sometime, somewhere in the world.  That’s a pretty good record for suffering, still if you’re going to get sentimental abut suffering one can negate the Jewish claim and say that suffering is the lot of mankind. If you’ve got a higher trump, let’s see it.

     The Jewish organization was more powerful than the Nation of Islam.  Louis Farrakham and his Minister of Culture were held up to ridicule as anti-Semites.  This powerful and authentic voice of his people was driven from the counsels of his country.

     The President should have had tete-a-tetes with him for he represented a formidable component of American minorities, which is to say, all American peoples.  But Louis Farrakhan is called an anti-Semite.  He is therefore considered subhuman.  Now we’re back to Arthur Flegenheimer and the apes.

page 1887.

     What will come of this?

     Historically no very promising results are in the offing.

     The Jewish role in history has been one of appalling destruction.  The Jews always claim to be innocent victims while the rest of the world are savage beasts.  They have been quite successful in convincing the world it is so.  Don’t hate me for being a dissenter; after all truth is on my side, not faith, but truth.

     Take it back to that allegory of Jesus on the cross.  Apart from modern theorizing, what the story says and what the world has always believed is this:  J.C. comes bringing the light of love into the world.  As the son of God he brought a new Dispensation from God invalidating the Old Dispensation between He and the Jews.  Travel or something like it had broadened God’s view.  Formerly the tale had been told that God especially loved his chosen people the Jews.   But it is now written that God so loved the WORLD that the sent his only begotten to redeem not the just the Jews but everyone in the whole world.  He’s got the whole world in his hands.

     This notion was a frontal attack on Judaism.  Had the Jews accepted the notion they would have been no more than any other ethnic component of the world.  For in rendering unto Caesar that which Caesar’s and unto God all that was God’s all national distinctions would have been erased.  One world, one people.  Pretty communistic, eh?

page 1888

     Threatened in the worst possible way by what they considered a false messiah their religious authorities complained to Caesar, denounced Jesus as a criminal thus rendering to Caesar that which was Caesar’s.  I think there’s actually a joke in there.  In terms familiar to the Catholic Church which derives its basis from Judaism the spiritual authorities tried Jesus first, finding him guilty of heresy.  In a term of the Catholic Inquisition they then ‘relaxed’ Jesus to the civil authorities for execution.

      The religious are supreme hypocrites.  They do not kill on their own account they ‘relax’ victims to be killed by others.  By this means they think to wash their hands of blood guilt.  Thus Pilate washes his hands of the blood of Jesus as a pointed gesture to the untainted hands of the religious authorities.  His hands will be no bloodier than theirs.  The Catholic Church employed this method from beginning to end of the Inquistion.  The concept is a very important one which must be understood.

      On this principle the Jews can say with a certain plausibility that the Roman killed Jesus and not themselves.

     The result of the execution of  Jesus was the horrible wars between Jews and Romans that shook the foundations of the world.  The Jews were nearly exterminated while the Empire began its decline.  This sort of provocation and result has continued down through history.

     A quite similar occurrence took place in the United States in 1953.   The Jewish Rosenbergs were accused of having given the secrets of the Atom Bomb to the Soviets, which they had.  As with Jesus the Rosenbergs were tried in a Jewish court of law.  They had a Jewish judge and a Jewish prosecutor and were defended by a Jewish lawyer.  None of the officials operated independently of the ADL and the AJC.  So, one may say the Rosenbergs were tried by the Sanhedrin- Jewish spiritual authorities.

      Found guilty they were condemned to death, just as Jesus had been, then ‘relaxed’ to the American civil authorities for execution.  Today the Jews can and do claim the Rosenbergs were unnecessarily and unjustly executed by Americans in a wanton display of anti-Semitism.

      An age old principle finds its way down through the ages into modern times.

     So, this brings us down to Haman Louis Farrakhan who has been tried and condemned by the Jewish spiritual authorities as an arch anti-Semite.  They demand he be placed outside the Pale, cut off from human society.  Whether Jewish, Catholic or any other faith the heretic must be denied communion with the faithful.  He must be placed ouside the law.  That’s what outlaw means.

     But, Louis Farrakhan is the leader of a very numerous ‘minority.’  A minority which is essential to both the physical and spiritual well being of the United States.  After all they are ‘native sons.’  Whereas the President ought to be conferring with Mr. Farrakhan about the problems of Black Folk he is spurned by the White House.  It is certain that were he invited the Jews would begin the Haman shriek disturbing us all.

page 1890.

     This is unjust.

     What is Mr. Farrakhan to do?

     What he has done is hold conferences with the arch enemies of the United States such as Saddam Hussein.  This is regrettable even deplorable.  However he has been declared an outlaw in his own country by his own people.  He has been politically lynched as an anti-Semite.

     There are forty-five  million Black folk dispersed throughout the United States.  Acts of Islamic terrorism have already occurred in America.  What if, by a union of Arab and Black terrorists, the United States is turned into a bloody battlefield?  What if America’s enemies destroy America from within as, say Iraq, was destroyed from above?  What good will stealth bombers do against domestic terrorists?

     What will the Jews who will have brought this situation about say then?  Farrakhan had been ‘relaxed’ to the civil authorities and the result was America’s own fault and not theirs.  What is worse the Government who listened to them and heeded or themselves?  Thus the Government elevates one ‘minority’ over another.  This is sort of like Congress establishing a religion which it is forbidden to do.    

     Is this the result of a liberalism that will accept Negroes only on its own terms?  Dewey had every reason to believe that Conservatives were more practical in their understanding and resolution of problems.

page 1891.

      ‘I don’t think it will happen that way.’  Terry mused.

     ‘Liberals are always wrong but time will tell.  Besides, Terry, Blacks don’t have any idea what the game is or how to play it.  They’ve always been kept so far outside that the rules don’t make sense to them; they’ll have to make their own.  Then you Liberals will feel betrayed.  The problem is just too difficult for an easy resolution.  There has to be trouble.  Watch out.

     So Conservatives understand problems as well as Liberals do but Conservatives have an accurate understanding of the issues, human nature and results and Liberals don’t.’

     ‘Humph.’

     Although he disagreed with Dewey down the line Terry Gaste found this conversation more gratifying than Dewey’s earlier discourse on his love life.  Now that they were getting close to Benton Harbor he began to be concerned that Dewey still intended to hitchhike across Michigan.

     ‘You know, you really ought to think about taking a bus from Benton Harbor.  There is almost no traffic at night.  You’ll have a very difficult time getting a ride and it’s so cold.  You might freeze to death, literally.’

     Dewey’s resolve to hitch collapsed at Gaste’s  words.  He caved in.  He’d been out there much longer than those forty-eight hours he’d planned on.

     Gaste was kind enough to drop him at the Greyhound station in Benton Harbor even though he would have to drive back to St. Joseph.  As chance would have it Dewey arrived just as a bus was about to leave.  A few minutes later Dewey was bouncing in a near empty bus across the last stretch into the Valley.

page 1892.

Ain’t No More Cookies In This Cookie Jar

     Seated on the bus vague shapes seemed to pass before his eyes in the sepulchral darkness until the dull light of the northern winter entered his eyes as the bus passed through St. Charles.  Rosy fingered Dawn was hidden behind the low thick clouds.

     Dewey was very, very tired by this time, worn out, mentally exhausted by his last effort at conversation with Terry Gaste.  His mind wasn’t wandering or anything of that sort but it had no fixed point of concentration.  Terry’s words seemed to ricochet through his mind without making an impression.

     As tired as he was, nervous energy was driving him as though he were in the pink of condition.  He had now been on the road with no sleep for five days.  Had he taken the bus in San Diego as intended he would have arrived forty-eight hours earlier.  That was when he’d told his mother he’d be there.  He had forgotten to tell them he was going to hitchhike or, rather, he believed he would have been there in forty-eight hours.  It would have been a surprise.

     Now, groggy from hunger and lack of sleep on the bus his mind had slipped.  He believed he was on his original plan.  Thus as he stepped off the bus he expected to be met.  His disappointment was bitter.  He never did realize why no one was there and he never forgave them.

page 1893.

     He had carefully arranged himself, clothes, face and attitude on the bus.  He was not an effusive guy but now he planned a warm greeting.  He planned to throw his arms around his mother- it was Christmas.

     He wore a silly little smile on his face as he stepped off the bus.  He kept it there for several minutes as he walked around the small bus station looking for her.  Rather than keep his despair to himself he walked over to the ticket window to ask the attendant if anyone had been waiting for him.

     “Has anyone left a message for Dewey Trueman?’  He asked hopefully.

     ‘No. No one.’ The attendant said looking up briefly with the wry smile of someone who’s been through this before and hopes the answer will suffice.

     Desolated, Dewey accepted the answer.  Then he noticed how cold it was.  Ten degrees Fahrenheit, but above zero, thank god.

     Along with the atmospheric cold enveloping his body, psychological cold enveloped his mind.  The demons of the past oppressed him.  Perhaps coming back hadn’t been such a good idea; perhaps he should have hung around Lake Arrowhead.

     He would have to walk home.  The walk didn’t bother him, walking was what he did best, but he felt  the taunting eyes of his enemies staring out from windows or driving by with silent smiles.

     He needn’t have worried.  Over half his class in the recession of 1956 had gone into the services.  None of them were around and if any were they were on leave themselves, too busy to concern themselves with him.  Some classmates had hightailed it out of town at their first opportuniy in an attempt to escape the oppression.  Those who had gone to college were either not home yet or not coming home.  Nevertheless his progress down Melmoth Avenue was noted; the busybodies are never still.

1894.

     As he walked he began to grow visibly weaker.  By the time he reached the house on Caterina he was clenching his teeth.  He wanted to go to bed.  Usually the back door was unlocked but when he turned the knob he found himself locked out.  He pounded on the door although he knew no one would be home, searched for a hidden key.  No answer, no key.  He went around to the front door hammered and rang the bell.  No answer.  He rang the bell unmercifully in wild desperation.  Still no answer.

     He walked around the house a couple times like the moron in the story who, having found himself locked out, ran around the house until he was all in.  Finally in desperation he was standing in the back yard with his hands on his hips glowering angrily at the windows of the back porch turning to a truly desperate frame of mind.

     Big boys don’t cry.  Dewey was too exhausted to cry although a tear tried to form in either eye.  As he stood thus in the freezing air not knowing what to do and incapable of examining his alternatives Alicia Ikestead stepped out of her back door the second lot over and called to him:  ‘Dewey, Dewey.’

     Dewey looked over.  He was horrified that he would have to speak to an Ikestead.  The ends of his mind were already flapping wildly, snapping in the hurricane of disjointed emotions released by his abandonment.  Now the demons contained in the right side of the brain in that dead spot above the ear were partially released blending with the shame and fear of the blighted hopes of the past.  Visions of mortifications danced before his eyes like stars caused by a concussion to the back of the head.

page 1895.

     His breathing, if breathing it was, came fitfully and hard against the frigid air or was suspended while he struggled for control of his being.

     The Ikesteads, for no fault of their own that Dewey had ever been able to discover, had always been the most despised family on the street.  No one would ever have thought to speak to them.  Dewey, against all the principles he held sacred, had acquiesced in this prejudice.  Indeed, as he had sought to secure his own self-respect against the batterings of society he had kept them beneath him to ensure his own sense of worth.  Even then his self-esteem had been badly shaken.

     The Ikesteads, like all those held in contempt, had turned their rejection against themselves.  Tormented by others, feeling the pangs of worthlessness they had in turn mercilessly tormented each other.

     As a justification of Dewey’s contempt for them he always remembered that Alicia had chased her brother out this same back door from which she was now addressing him brandishing a carving knife.  He alone had witnessed the scene but he projected knowledge of it on everyone.  As he knew of nothing else to soundly establish their inferiority the scene had been the cornerstone of his contempt.

page 1896.

     If the Ikesteads were held in contempt it was also true that Tuistad and his mother, he and his brother were held in little regard.  This was a matter of deep chagrin for in Dewey’s inner sanctum he held himself in high regard and rightly so.  His home life under Tuistad and his mother had been very distressful and unhappy reinforcing the unhappiness of his life in society to the point of insanity.

     At one dinner, which was always the focal point for creating frustration in him by Tuistad, he had laid his fork down to exclaim to the infernal gods:  “Life can’t always be this bad.’ but it always was or worse.

     Louis, his brother, suffered all plus bore the brunt of Dewey’s despair.  Thus in one of their ceaseless fights Louis grabbed a knife and chased Dewey out the back door.  The scene had been witnessed.  The effect had been catastrophic on Dewey.  The interface between he and the Ikesteads had been breached.   Dewey’s self-respect was jeopardized.

     Shortly thereafter he witnessed Daryl Sonderman chase his brother Ward out of their house kitty corner to Dewey’s.  Daryl had been wielding a knife.  Dewey’s arch enemies, the Sondermans, had witnessed the same scene between himself and Louis and were parodying or ridiculing Dewey as he had felt toward the Ikesteads.

     They made a mistake.  For while Dewey recognized that they were attempting to ridicule him their parody could be taken at face value;  Dewed did so defusing their joke.  The Sondermans in their hatred unconsciously made Dewey a gift of his self-respect which they would never have done consciously.

page 1897.

     As the Sondermans considered themselves part of the elite the effect was that Dewey could raise himself considerably.  The effect was also one of obliterating the basis of the contempt of the Ikesteads that he held.

     Dewey had never ever consciously thought of the three incidents but as his contempt of the Ikesteads had been breached by the incident of the Sondermans he was able to speak to Alicia now.

     Dewey didn’t even know the girl’s first name.  Startled he turned with his customary contempt to see what she wanted.  Thoroughly beaten down Alicia did not question or appear to resent Dewey’s unjust attitude.  He had been gone for two years; he would never again be part of this scene.  As by a miracle all those prejudices were dispelled from his mind.  He softened his contempt then let it fall from him as no longer relevant.  He suddenly saw his former attitude as an evil that had been forced on him by the contempt of others for him.

    ‘What…what is it?’  He elided a crab to a coo.

     ‘Well, Dewey…’ Alicia said very pleased to have an excuse to talk to someone she considered superior.  ‘…your mother asked me to tell you that they’ve gone to Waukegan and won’t be back till after New Years.’

     Dewey was stunned.  Twenty-five hundred miles, five days on the road, dirty and exhausted and he was now less at the end of his journey than when he began.  His exhausted weary mind flapped in the North wind.

page 1898.

     ‘Gone to Waukegan?’  He croaked.  ‘In Illinois?’

     ‘Yes. Your father’s gotten a promotion.  They’re going to move there.’

     Dewey’s mother hadn’t seen fit to tell him.  This was news.  Dewey’s tired mind was unable to rationalize his situation.  His conscious and subconscious minds were comingled while the right side of his brain released a steady stream of demons sometimes also known as voices.  All his repressed thoughts and emotions shot up into his conscious mind which was unable to digest or control the molten lava of his soul.

     ‘They gave a message to me.’  Alicia said stringing out her information so as to prolong the delicious sensation of talking to someone other than her family.

     Dewey just stared at her dumbly unable to form a sentence in reply to her.

     ‘They said you were to go over to your grandmother’s and she would take you in.’

     She would take you in.   The words caromed around Dewey’s brain amid the centrifugal and centripetal explosions of his mind whirling end over end inside and outside his brain.

     She would take him in.

     How many times would his mother put him out to foster homes?  This was the last.  He would give her no more opportunities.

     At least he had some idea of what to do other than head back.  He thanked the girl with as much civility as he could muster.

1899.

     He gathered his remaining wits about him, picked up his bag and trudged off through the cold to grandma’s house.  She wasn’t even his real grandmother; she was his step-father’s mother.  She had given him no reason to care for her and now he developed an unreasoning dislike of her.  Both she and his mother not to mention his mother’s mother.  What a group of cold unloving women they were.  There was nothing of the mother about any of them.

     This was the final rejection by his mother that he could take.  First she had put him in foster homes, then into the municipal orphanage.  After that she had driven him into the Navy.  Now, she didn’t even have the decency to inform him that she wouldn’t be home when he got there.

     Perhaps Alicia Ikestead had not used her exact words but maybe she had.  Maybe that was exactly what his mother meant.  He was not of her; his grandmother would take him in.  Twenty years of fobbing him off on other people and now his grandmother would take him in.

     And then, my god, she insulted him by using the Ikesteads to tell him.  What kind of calculated insult was that?  Did she hate him so much that she chose someone he considered beneath him to tell him.  Since when had she spoken to the Ikesteads?  Never in his memory.

     Was she telling him that that twenty year old girl she had been when she gave him birth had resented her pregnancy so much that she could not cease punishing her child?  If so, he didn’t think much of her either.

page 1900.

     Dewey neither hated nor resented he only condemned.  He now condemned his mother to the seventh layer of hell as coldly and dispassionately as any judge in court.  He struck her from his mind, so to speak.  She was no longer among the living.

     Walking along, breathing heavily as he labored against his fatigue he worked up what little rage he could.  then, like an arrow shot in the air in California on a trajectory seemingly designed to hit him here the memory of Dalton Dagger pierced his mind.

     Dagger said he would find him in the Valley.  Dewey knew he would try.  Dewey wasn’t afraid so much but he did want to avoid unpleasantness.  He didn’t want to give Dalton the twenty dollars that he thought he expected but if you called the police on a guy like Dagger who had no fear of consequences, if fact, didn’t recognize them, there was no telling what he might do.

     So Dewey’s mind drew on the tangled skein of emotions as he covered the fifteen blocks to grandma’s house.  Finally he stood on the sidewalk before her door.

     ‘She’d darn well better be here.’  He spoke out loud in audible despair.

     In truth he would have collapsed on the spot and frozen to death if the door hadn’t opened.

     His brother Louis opened the door.  ‘Dewey.  Boy, what took you so long.  We expected you a couple days ago.’

     ‘Yeah, well, what a trip.  I came up route sixty-six.’  He said savagely, angry with himself for the debacle of the last five days.

page 1901.

     ‘What happened?’  Louis asked excitedly astonished at Dewey’s appearance.

     ‘I’ll have to tell you later Louis.  I haven’t had any sleep since San Diego and I’m really tired.’  Dewey had lost track of time completely.  He had no idea how long exactly he’d been on the road.

     ‘By the way if someone named Dalton Dagger comes to the door don’t open it.  Tell him I never showed up.’

     Dewey staggered upstairs.  As there was no room for him in the sacred room formerly occupied by his step-father and his step-uncle and his aunt’s room was occupied by his brother an army cot was set up in the hallway for Dewey.

     Too tired to protest he wrapped a blanket around his clothes and all and fell into the army cot asleep.  As he flopped down his hat fell off rolling across the floor.

The Green Green Grass Of Home

     While Dewey slept Dalton Dagger rolled into town.  He was only four hours behind Dewey.  In fact if Dewey had elected to hitchike from Benton Harbor Dalton would have overtaken him to roll up alongside him in the dark.  Had that been the case then Dewey would most probably have been found at the bottom of a ditch when the snow melted.

     When Dewey had disappeared into Oklahoma Dalton’s interest had immediately shifted to his car.  In his peculiar thought processes he believed that the Amarillo mechanics owed it to him to fix his car at their most reasonable rate.  It was the same as his belief that Yisraeli owed him the balance of Dewey’s death price whether he killed him or not.  Likewise Dalton believed that Dewey belonged to him because he had a contract on his life.  Dalton was very good at forming indissoluble unilateral bonds.

page 1902.

     Thus the intensity of his demand that Dewey ask the Darrels to give him a ride had been so compelling that Dewey had acted against his own will in the matter.  Yisraeli had still to learn that the man he was dealing with was not as disposable as a pair of infant’s diapers.  Thus when Dalton strode back into the garage grounds the mechanics gave him all their attention.  Wisely so.

     When I say Dalton strode I mean that he walked with the assertive self-confidence of a man who had shown the Marines what one of the few good men really looked like.  There was definitely no diffidence in his walk; John Wayne would have gotten out of the way.  He had the confident walk of a lion who was not to be denied.  As the poet put it:  The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold.

     The mechanics still thought they had the upper hand but they were mistaken.

     ‘Alright fellas, how long is it going to take to fix up my car.  I’ve got to get back on the road in a hurry.’

     ‘Well…’  Saul Grampas the owner and chief mechanic began in that drawling manner that betrays that the mechanic has no intention of telling you the truth about anything and is going to steal every dime he can.   ‘…we can’t be sure how bad the damage is, you know, the block is sure to be cracked.  Radiator’s definitely shot.  I don’t know how long it’ll take us to find one for this…what is this?…’53 Olds, uh huh.  If we can’t get a new one and the dealer might not have one in stock anyway, might have one, might not, you know, it might take, oh I don’t know, maybe three or four days to get one down here from Denver.’

     ‘You’re full of shit, man.  You can fix this thing in a couple hours.  If you don’t have a radiator here you can get one right away or youcan jury rig another one.  I have to be on the road right away so stop jawing and get the cork out.  I’ll help you.  Come on, hurry up.  That other stuff can wait.’

     ‘Now, just a minute, fella.’  Saul said stepping forward intimidatingly.

     ‘Uh uh, no just a minute.’  Dalton said stepping into Saul and raising his fist with a look of conviction on his face that said Saul was a dead man.

     Saul’s assistant, Slim Weazel, picked up a monkey wrench and glared at Dalton.  Slim lacked the concentrated force in his gaze that was needed to give his actions conviction.

     Dalton seized a four foot iron bar that was leaning against a stack of tread bare tires, held it before him grasped in the middle so he could thrust or club.  Dalton was a very formidable guy.  At six-two he was still compact and sturdy as a statue.  That combined with an eager demonic light that came into his eyes made the mechanics who were less committed to a savage set-to quail.  Saul didn’t take a step back but he rocked on his heels.  As he did Dalton gave a nearly imperceptible sardonic smile and, while without actually moving, intimated his intent to smack Saul with the right end of the iron bar.  Saul’s eyes involuntarily fixed on it.

page 1904.

      ‘I can call the police?’  Slim said shakily, involuntarily making it a question, his eyes fixed on Dalton’s iron bar.  Put into this form of a semi-question the statement confirmed Dalton in his conviction that he was the winner.

     ‘Go ahead and try.  You’ll never reach the phone.  Both you guys’ll be laid out here.  Besides what’re you going to tell them?  You’re trying to cheat me out of my car?’

     ‘If you hurt us you’ll go to jail.’  Slim said wealkly, capitulating.

     ‘So fuckin’ what?  I just got out.  You’ll still be dead.  Is my going to jail worth that?’  Dalton replied with a fiendish grin.

     Dalton’s bravado worked.  When he showed no fear of the consequences of violence Saul thought it best to just fix the damn car and get this lunatic out of there.

     With Dalton’s help they did.  Dalton even remembered to put anti-freeze in this time.  Thus in two hours Dalton was back in shape.  He even cut his own deal on the repair bill forcing Saul to settle for half of what he asked.

     Then hunger and drowsiness overtaking him, he first had a good substantial T-bone then holed up in a motel for some rest.

      At twelve-thirty in the afternoon as Dewey lay sleeping he entered the Valley.  Dalton and his family were known quantities to certain people in the Valley even thought the Daltons were from Bay City.  their character was feared and despised.  Dalton did not know he was that well known so unbeknownst  to him the rules of the road changed to the rules of reputation.

page 1905.

     Anyone with intelligence might have found it difficult to locate Trueman’s address not knowing his parents’ name.  But Dalton knowing Dewey lived on the West Side using a certain illogic that worked obtained directions to the major intersection of  Court and Melmoth.  Once there he went into Trinkow’s drug store and loudly demanded if anyone knew where Dewey Trueman lived.

      His method may appear crude but his results were concrete.  As it happened a busybody named John Dickman who had been in Dewey’s class at Melville was present.  He looked up.

     ‘Dewey Trueman’s not here.  He left town two years ago.’  He said eyeing Dagger with curiosity.  Without necessarily being famous the Dagger family was notorious to those who dealt in histories of this fashion.  The majority of the residents in the Valley had never heard of the Daggers yet they were very well known in certain circles, the police for instance.

     As noted Dalton was of a species of savage wild man.  The family was not unknown within prison walls.  There was usually at least one member of the family inside at any given time.  Dickman, as a busybody, knew many arcane facts about many obscure people.  He cherished any story that brought another man or woman below his level.  He lived to despise others.  He was not unuseful to the authorities.

page 1906.

     ‘Yeah, he is.’  Dalton grunted, menacing the world before it menaced him.  ‘I’m a Navy buddy of his.  He’s on leave and I’m supposed to meet him here.  I lost his address.’

     Dickman thought itover quickly as he sized up Dalton.  He had never seen Dagger but with sure intuition he guessed who he was merely from his manner.  Dickman bore goodwill to no man; they all fall sooner or later as he put it.  Dickman had pissed on the best of them.  He craved excitement at the expense of others.  He thought Dagger might provide some amusement for him.

     ‘His family lives not too far from here.  Here let me show you.’  The guy had the instincts of a natural born reporter; first on any scene.

     Dickman led Dalton to the house on Caterina St.  Fortunately for Dewey they only went to the front door.  Had they gone around to the back there is no question but that Alicia Ikestead would have helpfully sent them to grandma’s house.  They would  have been at Dewey’s door.

      No one answered nor was any movement visible inside so Dalton dismissed Dickman.  He didn’t thank him; he dismissed him, much more than Dickman deserved.

     Dalton, who now thought Dewey owed him two hundred dollars for the expenses incurred in Amarillo as well as his life hung around town until six-thirty when he went back to the house a second time.  Disappointed again he drove on up to Bay City intending to come back on the weekend.

page 1907

     Dalton was not a man to waste time.  At eight-thirty he was on the phone to Yehouda Yisraeli.  Yehouda was stunned.  Like all men who think they are clever he thought everyone he dealt with was stupid.  He believed he was dealing incognito with Dalton because of the aliases and blinds he had put up.  Dalton had his own file on Yisraeli, including his phone number.

     There is a criminal network too.

     ‘Where’d you get my number?’  He stammered incautiously.

     Dalton ignored him.

     ‘Alright, the job’s done.  I fulfilled my end of the deal so get my twenty-five hundred wired to me immediately, first thing.  I’ll pick it up at Western Union, twelve sharp, tomorrow.  It had better be there.’

     ‘You’ve fulfilled the contract?’

     ‘That’s right.  Send the money.’

     ‘How do I know?’

     ‘Because I said so.  Send the money.’

     ‘I have to be sure.’

     ‘Well, I can come back there and plant you under the same cactus, Alligator.  You dig that?’

     There was a pause then Yehouda said firmly:  ‘Alright.  The job’s done, the money will be there.’

     ‘It better be if you know what’s good for you.’  Dalton threatened slamming down the receiver.

     Yisraeli believed Dalton.  He rejoiced that his enemy was dead.  He had no intention of sending Dalton twenty-five hundred dollars.  Yisraeli was shrewd.  Being from the Valley and having been influential there he was able to place Dagger firmly when the latter was back in his home environment.

page 1908.

     ‘Oh, those Daggers.’  He said to himself.

     He reasoned that Dalton had just gotten out of the brig, took pride in his dishonorable discharge, and violent as he undoubtedly was it wouldn’t be long before he was back in jail.  He mused a while about what it would take to set  Dalton off.  Just shorting him would do it but the crafty Yisraeli wanted to make sure Dalton would do something drastic.

     He decided to send only five hundred dollars thinking that would unbalance Dalton but give him enough money to tie one on.  Yehouda’s hopes were more than justified.  Angrily looking at the five hundred dollar check he went into a towering rage.  He was spoiling for a fight.

     That night he and a couple friends drove out to the Hillbilly Heaven roadhouse near Mt. Pleasant.  If you’re looking for a fight there is no better recommendation than a hillbillybar.  This particular bar was frequented by a bunch of guys for whom no outing was complete without a fight.

     Dalton got his fight.  His rage at Yisraeli was so great that he actually killed his man.  Stomped him to death.  Thus after only a few days home Dalton was downtown in the can awaiting trial for manslaughter.  He got five years, which was a lot for those times when first degree murderers might only serve three.  He would have been out in the early sixties but he was a very troublesome inmate.  His release was delayed until 1969.  At that time he was once again a free and roving man.

page 1909

     Yehouda when he heard the news felt entirely justified in withholding the other two thousand.  Dewey knew nothing of it but when Dalton didn’t show up at Grandma’s house the next morning his apprehensions for the future were allayed.

     Yehouda in his excitement passed the word to Kanary that Trueman was dead.  Kanary spread the word aboard the Teufelsdreck.

Days Of Future Passed

     How many of us really know what’s going on?  The Field is vast, we are small.  Historical motifs affect us.  Economic motifs affect us.  Political motifs affect us.  While Dewey slept now soundly, now fitfully the drama of Duelin’ Dalton Daggers swirled around his existence.

     Trueman’s mother had not informed him she would not be home.  She had done him a disservice and a psychological injury but had she been in town what might have been the result?  She and her husband Tuistad would have been at work.  Louis would have been at school.  If, groggy from being roused from his weary sleep Dewey had been confronted by the madman Duelin’ Dalton Dagger at his door what might have been the result?

      It is one of those questions that can never be answered.  Suffice it to say the result would not have been pleasant for Dewey.  Thus by a peculiar twist of fate Dewey avoided the necessity of a Response to what would have been a very difficult Challenge.

page 1910.

    

 

 

A Novel

Our Lady Of The Blues

Book VII

by

R.E. Prindle

Clip 6

 

     The pimp stood against the wall at the head of the narrow staircase.

     ‘Get out of here.’ He cried slapping Dewey weakly on the shoulder.

     Dewey wasn’t about to start anything in that crowd so he brushed past him half running half falling down the stairs.

     Once at the bottom his rage overflowed.

     ‘Get your ass down here you goddamned pimp.  Come on and act tough down here limp dick.’

     The pimp preferred acting tough in a secure situation, he wasn’t about to come down the stairs.  At the sounds of Dewey’s angry voice a couple denizens of the alley moved toward Dewey with seeming hostile intent.

     Dewey was steaming:  ‘Get back into your holes unless you’re really looking for trouble.’  Dewey sternly ordered.

     Parsons stepped up to back him up while McLean as usual hung back.  The Mexicans retreated.

     ‘How was it?’  McLean asked with a knowing smile.

     ‘Considering she used her hand, terrific.’

     ‘Used her hand?’  McLean said continuing to smile.  ‘No wonder you’re mad.’

     ‘No, it wasn’t that.  She probably saved me from a dose; it was that obnoxious pimp trying to push me around while I was inconvenienced.  Reminded me of you, Joe.’  Dewey said with a laugh slapping an uncomfortable McLean on the back.  ‘Where the hell is Kreskin anyway?”

page 1531.

     ‘He’s in that bar right there.’  McLean said pointing to a building which curiously enough to Dewey was only a few paces away.

     ‘You go ahead.  Me and Parsons are going to look for some nooky.’

     ‘Don’t bother with whore upstairs.’  Dewey called over his shoulder as he opened the door to the bar.

     The bar was empty save for Kreskin and the bartender.  The bar had the frontier look common to Tijuana.  The place was an entrepot for pillheads.  Kreskin was now a full fledged heroin addict supplementing his addiction with a variety of downers.  The pills also helped him over anxious moments when it was inappropriate to shoot his heroin aboard ship.

     Kreskin was no longer seen in the shower line where his tracks openly betrayed his habit.  Affluent from his share of the drug money he went over most nights to stay at a hotel.

     Trueman took a seat to wait out the time for the return.

     ‘What’ll you have?’  The bartender called across the room.

     ‘Nothing.’  Dewey replied sitting patiently with hands crossed in his lap.

     ‘What’s wrong with your friend?’  The bartender crossly asked Kreskin.  ‘This isn’t a library; he can’t just sit there.’

     Kreskin, who for a guy on downers was very restless, came over to Trueman.  ‘Bartender thinks you should order something.’

     ‘I told you I wasn’t going to spend any money, Kreskin.’

     ‘You could spring for a drink.  You’re going to be saving money this weekend.’

page 1532.

     ‘How am I going to be saving money this weekend?’

     ‘I’m going to give you a ride up to Oakland so you’ll save whatever you would spend on the road.’

     ‘You’re giving me a ride up to Oakland?  Oh, I did not know that.’

     Trueman unknown to himself had created quite a stir aboard ship by taking the long hike to Oakland.  Twelve hundred miles on a weekend is in fact a long way to go but Trueman in his anxiety to get away had only considered the feasibility not the distance.  Screw and Easy had actually given odds on his ability to cover the dinstance on time the first trip.  Most people wanted to bet he wouldn’t.  So, as the house, the Golddust Twins had to bet he would.  Although everyone thought they were fools they had given two to one and in some cases three to one odds.  Needless to say they had cleaned up in a modest way.  Even Bifrons Morford, the inveterate gamble, dropped a five.

     Trueman’s success had excited a lot of speculation on how far you could hitchhike over a weekend.  Trueman’s repeated trips got Kayo and Soter involved in the notion of weekly dope runs.  The money was very good.  Thus Kayo was in Tijuana setting up a marijuana purchase.  Fearing the border after the first close call Soter had arranged with a lawyer friend of his dad’s with a pirate mentality in Coronado to take delivery by boat in Coronado transferring the load to Kayo’s Edsel.

     As Kayo considered Trueman as his personal good luck charm he intended to have him ride along.  Not that Trueman was a good luck charm but one was certainly needed on the run from the border to LA.  There were numbers of desperadoes running marijuana from T town to LA.  A lot of it traveled up 101.  In a bid to intercept the traffic the police set up roadblocks heading north where cars were stopped and searched indiscriminately.  During the first sweeps the cops literally stopped every car on the road.  This held up traffic to the point where the complaints overrode the utility.  Subsequently cars were stopped apparently at random.  Thus Kayo had need of a good luck charm.

page 1533.

     ‘Yeah.  I havn’t told you yet but I watched you hitch to Oakland for the last few weeks; you seem to think it’s worth it so I figure why don’t I go home on weekends.  How long does it take?’

     ‘Without delays for catching a ride?  Oh, I don’t know.  Twelve hours non-stop.  You going to give me a ride back too?’

     ‘Sure. Of course.  What time is best for leaving the Bay Area?

     ‘Well, I leave at four on Sunday which just barely gives me enough time to get back so depending on how long it takes you to get from Mill Valley I would say you wanted to be out of Oakland no later six or six-thirty.’

     ‘That’s not bad.  So are you going to buy a drink?’

     ‘No.  You see Kreskin I don’t spend any money on the road so I won’t be saving any.’

     ‘You make the whole trip without spending a dime?’

     ‘Sure.  Unless something comes up I never spend more than maybe three dollars all weekend.’

page 1534.

     Kreskin’s eyes bugged out.  ‘You can’t even eat on that much.’

     ‘Not much anyway.  I have a hamburg and fries on Saturday afternoon and that’s it.’

     ‘Jesus.’  Kreskin said in astonishment shaking his head.  ‘Here.  Let me buy you a drink.’

     ‘OK.  Coke.’

     ‘How about a whiskey?’  Kreskin called.

     ‘Don’t drink, not going to start.  Smoking’s bad enough.’

     Kreskin brought the Coke over.

     ‘Oh yeah.  Smoking.  That’s something some of the guys wanted me to talk to you about.  They say you never have your own.  You’re always bumming and they’re tired of it.’

     ‘Oh, gee.  That’s too bad.’

     ‘That’s too bad?  Is that it?’

     ‘Look, Kreskin, let me tell you how it is.  That ship is nothing but a bunch of thieves, cheats, crooks and leeches.  You can tell them I said so if they don’t already know.

     The only reason I smoke is because Dieter won’t give you the work breaks you’re entitled to because he thinks they’re called smoke breaks so you have to smoke.  OK?  I was forced into doing what I didn’t want to do.  I smoke.

     Now, I’m the kind of guy that likes his own so every payday I bought a carton of Pall Malls.  the same guys who are calling me a leech used to bum packs, not cigarettes, full packs from me on payday on the way to my locker.  Then, they said a good guy would let them have a pack.  I used to get to my locker with only four or five packs left out of a carton.

     Then when I asked them to let me have a pack they just laughed up their sleeves at me, or rather, down their collar.  This went on for several paydays until I got tired of it.  Now I don’t buy ’em, I bum ’em.  I figure I’ve given out maybe thirty packs.  At seven for five I’m due forty two packs plus a penalty.  Until I get those back you can forget me buying my own.  The way I see it the ship’s debt won’t be paid until four months after my enlistment ends so forget me buying my own.  Tell them that.’

     ‘Sounds like bullshit to me, Trueman.’

     ‘Doesn’t matter to me what it sounds like to you.  It’s god’s own truth.  If they learn to be honest those guys will be treated honest.’

     The door opened admitting McLean and Parsons.  They all left.  To Trueman’s immense relief there was no trouble at the border.

Riding In Style

     Having a ride up to Oakland didn’t mean as much to Trueman as having a secure ride back.  It mattered little at what exact time he arrived in the North but it mattered a great deal at what precise moment he returned.  He had been getting back in time by just one uncomfortable hair.

page 1536.

     Trueman was not an adept at recognizing drug users but the fuzzy hazy manner of Kreskin as they entered the parking lot to get in the Edsel made him wonder what was wrong with Kreskin.

     Kreskin pulled into a gas station on the city limits to gas up.  Gas was plentiful and cheap in the late fifties.  The joy of freedom a car gave people who might not have been able to afford a car a few years earlier made everyone careless of gas.  Gas station lots were covered with it.  Attendants activiated the pump before they got the nozzle in the tank splashing some down the side of the car and out on the ground as they finished.  Nearly every car had a gas streak from the cover down the fender.  These were high old times, for those who had eyes to see, with or without drugs.  It is hard to describe how high expectations were.  A car made one totally independent of control; being able to waste the means of that independence gave one an exhilarating feeling.

     Kreskin, who had told Trueman he was better that he in Yokosuka, still believed it and wanted Trueman to acknowledge his superiority.  Trueman in his turn had looked down on Kreskin since Hong Kong; he had no intention of assuming an inferior role now.  Kreskin tried to get an edge in his mind on Trueman before the trip began.

     In an attempt to display some scientific knowledge, as the car was fueled, he knelt down and extended his little finger and thumb between the pavement and bumper saying:  ‘Look how heavy this gas is.  It lowers the car this far.’

page 1537.

     As Kreskin spoke, Trueman, who was as ‘scientific’ as anyone let his eye rove over the other cars in the lot of which there were several.  This was a big station with twelve double pump islands.  Comparing Kreskin’s car with the others it was obvious that Kayo’s car was several inches lower than any other.

     ‘Yeah, but why is it so low, Kreskin?’

     Looking up and over from his kneeling position contemptuous of Trueman’s intelligence in his superiority Kreskin replied:  ‘Gas is just that heavy, Trueman.’

     Trueman caught the superior tone:  ‘Sure gas is heavy Kreskin.  But why is your gas heavier than anyone else’s?’  Look at that Chevy that just filled up; the rear end doesn’t sag like yours and this is a new car too.’

      Then Trueman displaying some ‘science’ caught on.  ‘What else do you have in the car Kreskin?’  You must already have something as heavy as the gas or your rearend wouldn’t sag so much.  What is it?’

     His mind dulled by drugs and arrogance Kreskin was caught off guard as his finger and thumb seemed to weld to their contacts.  He slowly got up.

     ‘Nothin’.  C’mon, let’s go.  Get in.’

     Thankful for the ride, Trueman didn’t persist nor did he wonder long.  He leaned back to enjoy his rocket ride through the night.  As with his life Kreskin pushed the Edsel to the limit maintaining a steady ninety to a hundred per.

     The towers of the recently built addition to Disneyland flashed by on the left.  They flew over the Stack amidst a dazzling display of lights racing up the Hollywood Freeway to Lankerhshim Boulevard.  It was a pleasure for Dewey to cruise along with elbow out the window like he was dragging the strip rather than mooching rides.

page 1538.

     Once on the Grapevine Kreskin eased out and let that Edsel roll.  This was the era when the horsepower race shifted into high gear.  In the late forties and early fifties the engines had been small and not machined to the point where they could sustain high speed or great distances.  The modern car really began in ’55 when prosperity was so assured that people would buy the big V8s rather than in line sixes.  They could afford all the extras and the gas that went with them.  The cars themselves became gargantuan while the engines that propelled them became immense moving out of the two hundred horsepower range through the three hundreds all the way to four-oh-nine.  The common man was given unlimited power but not the freedom to enjoy it.  The speed limits denied the use of the power but still, it was said, i’ts there if you need it for passing.  More aggressive types longed for a US autobahn on which there were no limits.

     The Edsel was a marvel as it raced up a nearly vacant 99.

     ‘If you’re going this fast why don’t you use the fast lane?’  Trueman asked.

     Kreskin gave him a superior look as he condescendingly explained:  ‘The cops think that if you’re in the fast lane you must be going fast whether you are or not.  If you’re in the slow lane no matter how fast you’re going they think you’re going slow.  So, when there’s no traffic drive fast in the slow lane.’

page 1539.

     ‘Aw, c’mon, the cops aren’t that dumb.’

     ‘Maybe not but that’s the way the system works.’

     Trueman nodded condescendingly but sneered inwardly at the simplicity of Kreskin’s belief.  In later years Trueman would learn to his cost that Kreskin did know what he was talking about.  The cops were that dumb.

     Kreskin had been following the car ahead of him for the last fifty miles or so to take advantage of his headlights.  In the night time at high speeds you overdrove your headlights all the way.  Being behind someone gave you relief from the stress of anxious alertness.  For those accustomed to the rules of the road the cars alternated every fifty miles or so.  The former lead car could then relax a little.

     Kreskin pulled out to pass the lead at which the driver fell back to let Kreskin take the lead.  The two cars sped through the night in tandem alternating until the other driver turned off at Merced giving Kreskin the high sign through his open window.

     ‘Wow.  This is really some car for being so ugly.’  Dewey said impressed by the speed and ride.

     ‘This piece of crap?’  Kreskin replied.  The better things got for people the more they complained.  That was the paradox of 1958-74, the greatest era the world ever knew.  ‘I wouldn’t drive it if I didn’t have to.  I’d get me a nifty little red MG and show some class.’

page 1540.

     ‘MGs can’t cost more than this Edsel.’  Dewey stated thinking price was holding Kreskin up.

     ‘It’s not the money, it’s…’  Kreskin began thumbing toward the back then catching himself lapsed into a silence that lasted until he dropped Dewey off on East 14th.

     ‘Now, you’re going to be right here around six to six-thirty.  I can count on it.’  Dewey admonished.  ‘Otherwise I can’t get back on time.’

     ‘You can count on me.’  Kreskin said as he drove away to enter the Nimitz Freeway leading to the Bay Bridge, through San Francisco, across the Golden Gate Bridge, through the Waldo Grade tunnel and into Mill Valley.

      Mill Valley is really in a valley surrounded by high hills.  It was actually a mill town until they cut the Redwoods down.  It was the prestige place to live in Marin County and the equal of any other prestige place in the Bay Area.  If you lived in Mill Valley you weren’t on the way you were already there.  The road in forms a cul-de-sac at the end of the valley.  Soter lived three quarters of the way up the hill in a house that cost him seventy-five thousand dollars in 1954. Today the house would be worth three to five million.

     The advent of dope money had increased Soter’s standard of living incredibly.  He could now have all the appurtenances of money he craved.  Import cars did not yet dominate the market.  Anyone who had a Mercedes would have been an eccentric who preferred German automobiles.

      If available at all the cars of the Japanese invasion which took Detroit by such surprise was just beginning.

page 1541.

     Thus Soter and Guinevere had brand new matching Cadillac El Dorados which was the most expensive car money could buy in America.  They were kind of gawdy.  They were the car of choice for African Americans.  Americas are so bigoted that they always place Blacks in a separate racial category rather than including them in a social category.  This attitude complicates simple matters making them difficult to discuss.

     As the Blacks were lower on the economic scale of success like a numerically larger segment of Whites they tended to covet the appurtenances of wealth that they could ill afford just like lesser affluent Whites.  They went for big diamonds, jewels, clothes and cars of the most conspicuous and flashy sort.

     Blacks had always cherished Cadillacs but beginning in 1954, I believe, when Caddies had the upturned fins at the end of the back fender the Caddies seemed to be tailored to appeal to the most nouveau of the nouveau riches which is why the body styles of the ’50s reflected those needs.

     The ’55s and 56s really blossomed but they were still small cars relative to the 58s and 59s.

     I can tell you that these were mind blowing models at the time.  When you first saw one your moth gaped open like the Grand Canyon.

     By ’58 they were monsters a block long loaded with chrome, sporting gigantic fins.  the ’59 had the biggest fin of all with the double globe taillights perched up on the fins like pairs of gonads.  The nouveaux had never been treated so well.

page 1542.

     The gawdier they became the more the Blacks loved them.  By the ’59 model it seemed that three out four Cadillacs were driven by Blacks.

     Thus they came to epitomize Black taste almost as if they were designed especially for them.  Thus a lot of people thought Caddies were ‘nigger’ cars which no self-respecting White person would drive.  They couldn’t say it just that way though.

     There is nothing racially or socially comparable today.  You really had to have been there to appreciate it.  The rise of the German Mercedes was the result of affluent Whites shifting their allegiance from Cadillac to something not linked with Negroes, although they like to deny it now.

     Soter wanted the top of the line and if Cadillac was it he didn’t care who else drove it.  He was a nouveau riche himself.

     Soter was on a buying binge.  Some signficant artists had replaced the former pictures on his walls.  Soter wanted to be modern so he had many pitures he neither understood nor liked by people like Pollock, Johns and Warhol.  He got the originals cheap but, boy, did he make out like a bandit as time went by.

     His library too had expanded into a great, not magnificent, but great collection of leather bound books.  They were more to satisfy a psychological need because Soter’s law practice obviated any time he had for reading.

     Of course he had all the gadgets but compared to the enormous range of gadgets today that amonted to very little although he did have the top of the line component phonograph.  No microwaves, no computers, hand held devices, no electronics.  All that started arriving in the late seventies.

page 1543.

     Soter had the biggest TV money could buy but that didn’t go by the size of the screen, 21″ was maximum, but the size of the cabinet.  Soter and Kayo were seated before it on Saturday night in earnest conversation concerning the roadblocks on 101.

     As they talked a documentary on the Nazi death camps flickered across the screen.

     ‘You mean they just stop cars at random or all the cars?’  Soter asked as the screen showed a huge mound of emaciated naked dead bodies.

      ‘I haven’t actually seen one but I’ve been told that they seem to have tips and wave certain cars over.’  Kayo explained as a bulldozer pulled up behind the mountain of bodies plowing into them twisting and crushing limbs into pulp.

     ‘A.  I don’t think that’s constitutional and B. If you get stopped I couldn’t protect you with the evidence on you.  I couldn’t stand seeing you sent to prison on the one hand while the trail of evidence would lead back to me on the other.’

     A big black plume of smoke belched from the stack of the bulldozer as it met the resistance of the massed bodies.

     ‘They probably won’t stop me; the Edsel’s a new car.  Most of the runners drive clunkers.’

     ‘Yes, but you might look too young to own a new car, so they might stop you anyway.  What about this fellow who rode up here with you?’

page 1544.

     The huge mass of bodies began to slide forward as some were heaped up from below while others gyrated off the top tumbling down the human slope or rolling off to the side as the bulldozer bored in.

     ‘Trueman?  No.  First he’s a simp who would blow everything at the first stress and second he’s absolutely anti drugs.  I conceal that I use from him.’

     Soter sat thinking for  a moment as the bulldozer toppled the bodies into a huge pit already filled with the mangled emaciated remains of people.  The driver rode out over the bodies tamping them down and leveling out before backing over those he missed to back them up against the blade as he shoved them toward the pit.

     ‘How about this other fellow that assisted you on the tuck and roll job?’

     ‘McLean?  Crooked as a snake but trustworthy for that reason.  Why?’

     Another mass of bodies bearing twisted limbs the size of sticks loomed up before the bulldozer.

     ‘There’s no reason for us to take risks when we can get suckers to take them for us.  We could use him for a mule, he’s expendable.’

     ‘Yeah, but he’s broke.  Doesn’t have a car.’

     ‘For two hundred he can get himself a ’50- ’51.  We’ll front him the money against payment for muling, shift the danger to him while I check to see if the ACLU is already working on this.  I’ll join and give them a few hundred to look into it if they aren’t already.’

page 1545.

     The scene on TV  cut from the buldozer and mounds of dead people to a long line of drooping emaciated figures with a bar of soap in their hands waiting in the snow for their turn to take a shower.

     ‘I’d always thought the ACLU was a pain in the ass until I see something outrageous like this.  The idea of stopping cars with no probable cause.  I’ll make sure that’s stopped before too long you can bet on that.  When I do you can resume deliveries but until then let this McLean fellow take the risks.’

      The announcer came on.  ‘Those are Jews.’  He said heavily accenting the word Jews.  ‘Those are Jews.  This was the greatest crime ever committed and simply because they were Jews.’

     ‘Poor bastards.’  Soter said popping a few peanuts in his mouth.

     ‘Yeah.  I feel sorry for ’em.’  Kayo said belching and blowing a fart as he got up to get another beer.

     ‘I don’t know that it makes great TV though.’  Soter said flopping back on the recliner to doze.

     Across the Bay Trueman threaded his way through the dark to Alton Clark’s house.  With the addition of Dennis Whatley to the group Trueman had begun to distance himself from Da Costa.  He had been introduced to the Clarks finding both of them suitable for friendship.  Having no place to sleep he cadged the use of Alton’s garage.  As it wasn’t used for the car Trueman had constructed a little pallet.  He let himself into the side door stretching out for a little rest before the sun came up.

page 1446.

     Dewey’s relationship with Louise Tricki was not yet so developed that he could spend his time with her but she was almost at the stage where in his high school days he would be ‘going steady.’  The term was now out of date.

     Dewey was the type of guy who needed a woman.  Not in the sexual sense alone but in the psychological sense of a living representative of his Anima.  Completeness involved the companionship of the feminine to complement his masculine.  The absence of the feminine in his life had been debilitating.

     His attentions to Louise were not honorable.  He did not see her as a life partner but he did want to have sexual relations.  Louise was by no means a virgin.  She was a troubled young girl who already had a past.

     She was not beautiful but not unattractive.  She had a taut well rounded body topped by a round Slavic face that was pleasant but couldn’t be called beautiful.

     Now a Senior she had as a Junior run away with a twenty-seven year old pervert.  She had been retrieved from Sacramento by her parents but not before the pervert had introduced her to a variety of sado-masochistic practices.  The results were devastating for Louise’s character.  Whether her elopement caused or only contributed to her malaise she was now burdened by a sad perversity.

     If Dewey had not had a reverence for the sanctity of womanhood he might easily had led her anywhere a man would want to go.  Without being wanton, she even encouraged him to do so.  She perhaps even wanted to be abused.

page 1547.

     As usual the causes could attributed to her parents, not her boy friends.  She was in rebellion against them.

     When Dewey arrived at the Tricki hom, Dick and Marti Tricki were seated at the kitchen table drinks before them watching TV.  The house was modest, merely a thousand square feet out toward 98th on the East side of East 14th on Merlin Street.  The street was five blocks long of these depressing little houses without trees or flowers in front.  The barren yards perfectly reflected the barren minds of the people who lived in them.

     The Tricki’s were equally depressed and depressing.  Between them, Louise and Dewey it was a pretty depressing group.

     Dick Tricki owned a little bar downtown.  The bar provided a decent living but more importantly Dick got his liquor cheap.  He and Marti were full blown alcoholics.  Every waking moment was spent with a drink before them.  The two of them spent their time as they did this evening:  sitting motionless in their kitchen chairs looking silently at each other while the TV set flickered in front of them to the quiet drone of the announcer.

     Dewey had not yet met Louise’s parents so after chatting for an hour or so on the tiny concrete porch Dewey was taken in and introduced.  Dewey always tried to be cheerful  and actually believed he was.  His degree of cheerfulness may be compared to the third step from the bottom leading out of the basement.  Even as depressed as the East Bay was Dewey made it look good.

     He was  offered a drink.

page 1548.

     ‘I’m only twenty; besides I don’t drink.’

     ‘Twenty is old enough for us and you will drink when you find out what life is really like.’

     ‘Plenty of time for that.’  Dewey said diplomatically.

    ‘When you do, let me give you a tip.  Always drink Scotch.  A man can drink Scotch all his life and it will only make him stronger.  Gin, Vodka, Bourbon none of them have any value.  Believe me, I own a bar and I’ve watched the effect of various liquors on a lot of people.  Scotch is the ticket; the others will lay you in your grave.  Believe me.

      So you’re in love with Louise.  I hope you can do better than we have.  She’s always been a problem.  A sweet problem, a good problem, but a problem.  Our real name is Trickieski.  We’re Polish but teachers and her playmates had a hard time pronouncing it which distressed her so we shortened it to Tricki for her.’

     ‘Trickieski is not so hard to pronounce.  I’m Polish too and I ‘ve seen some really tough ones.  My grandmother’s name was Spunyak,  that’s spelled SEPANIAK.  That’s one of the easy ones.  I wouldn’t change my name for anything.’  Dewey responded righteously.

     ‘You’re Polish?’  Dick Tricki asked as the huge mounds of string thin bodies in Poland appeared on the screen.

     Marti stirred to the depth of her alcoholic haze rose quickly to flick the channel from ABC.  The same images appeared on NBC.  Oakland only had two of the three major networks at the time so she found that she was covered.  The Jews were determined that America, man, woman and child, were going to watch their degradation in the death camps.  All three networks were controlled by Jews; they had conspired to make sure that Americans could not escape the vision of their dismal plight.

page 1549.

     In those early days of TV there were usually only the three channels of the major networks, if that, unlike today where it is possible to have hundreds, so Mrs. Tricki’s alternative was to turn off the TV or watch mountains of dead emaciated bodies.  She chose to leave the TV on as it was the only content of her mind.  When she turned off the TV she turned off her mind.

      The depression of the Jews blanketing the United States of America added to the depression of the East Bay and intensified that of the Trickies and Dewey Trueman.  In this household at this time the depression was among the top ten depressing moments of all time.  The place was more depressing even than Auschwitz.

     It is not clear what the point was for the Jews to advertise the past to an American that didn’t care to see it.  The Jews themselves ran these movies to their youth every sabbath in the shules of their synagogues.  A whole generation of Jewish youth was brought up seeing these despicable movies that should have been for specialists only, every week of the year.

     The vision of mountains of dead bodies had a disturbing effect not only on Dewey but on all America.  His life was changed at that moment.  The effect was not what the Jews imagined it would be.  Dewey did not see Jews.  He saw people, that they may have been Jews was only incidental.  This was only another testimonial of man’s inhumanity to man.  Further he blamed the Jews, quite rightly, for making him watch what was better not seen.

page 1550.

    The effect was numbing.  The movies completely blunted his sensibilties but inured him to brutality.  While some others expressed their horror at mass murders and serial killers Dewey observed them complacently even enjoying some the better ones like Richard Speck, Charlie Whitman or Ted Bundy.  Manson he considered crude and vulgar.  He was offended at the clumsiness of Charlie Starkweather and the insane brutality of Pol Pot, but he was astonished.  He’d aleady seen it.  He was, in a manner of speaking, a connoisseur.

     The Jews were training a whole nation to be blase about atrocities of any kind.  In subsequent years their own reaction to viewing these movies constantly was reflected in the movies coming out of Hollywood.  Movies that were devoted to senseless killing and mass destruction.  The violence escalated as people were blown away, cars went up in fireballs, cities were blown up, the White House was a mass of splinters blowing in the wind.  Movies became nothing but murder and mayhem to reflect the Jewish soul nurtured on a past that had never happened in America or to or by Americans.

     In defense the movie makers claimed that all this destruction was ‘entertainment.’  They claimed that the movie going public would watch nothing else.

     Nor was the American public as horrified as the announcer who agonizingly said:  ‘These are Jews.  These are Jews.’  Dewey saw only bodies, the bodies of people.  He saw only man’s inhumanity to man which is an age old story, and he didn’t appreciate the Jews for showing it to him.

page 1551.

     Anyone with a foundation in Jewish history as all Christians have, being instructed in the Jewish writings from infancy, knows that the Jews are an erring people who have to be chastised by their God from time to time to keep them in line.  It’s just their nature.  Several historical figures who had done damage to the Jews had been described right in the sacred writings as Scourges of God.  In that long four thousand year history who was not to say that God had once again sent Hitler as a Scourge for his erring people.  Perhaps the man Hitler wasn’t guilty at all.  Perhaps Hitler was merely God in human form doing what He felt must be done.

     Why, Dewey asked should he suffer because of the willful conduct of others.

     ‘How does he know those are all Jews?’  Dick Tricki asked.  ‘Hitler killed as many Poles.  One whole branch of my family was wiped out, right on Polish soil too.  The bastard built all those detestable crematoriums on good Polish soil because he thought his Germans were better than Slavs.  Well, Stalin showed that bastard a thing or two, not that he was alive to enjoy to it.  Sheez, both channels too.’

     The caperings of the Jews and Nazis brought the depression to an insufferable low.  Dewey was compelled to go back to his pallet in the garage earlier than he liked.

     He had several hours on Sunday with Louise in which they cemented their relationship.  Dewey could consider Louise his girl.

page 1552.

     Kayo pulled up to the curb on East 14th St. at six-ten.  The way Kayo drove they had plenty of time to get back.

     Kayo nosed the car out on the highway as the sun went down in the West.  The Altamont was history before Dewey had settled in his seat.

     Kayo was complete of his species.  He knew who he was and sought the margins of existence on every head.  Dewey was much less focused and more eclectic.  He was more of a dilettant than an aficionado.  He never concentrated on any one thing long enough to become thoroughly knowledgeable about it.  Kayo immersed himself totally in his life style.  There was little about the drug culture that he wasn’t aware of.  The drug culture was affiliated to the criminal world, marginal politics and sub-cultures like the Beats.  Kayo was conversant with them all.  He was an underground kind of guy.

     The night time is the right time where the underground flourishes.  The authorities were content to keep the radicals off daytime radio.  They couldn’t stop rock and roll which they considered silly pimple music but they were ardent in containing the subversive Folkies.

      Perry Sparkman had no chance of getting a job even at night in the major markets of the Bay Area and LA but down in the Valley somewhere around Turlock, but not Turlock, God knows that place was as conservative as anywhere, I forget the station letters, he had a clear signal of 20,000 watts directionally North and South in the San Joaquin.  As soon as they made the Manteca cutoff Kayo, who had heard Perry, twirled the dial until the signal came in as clear as a bell.

page 1553.

     He leaned back and studied the road as the most astonishing songs Dewey had ever heard flooded the car.  The Folkies were all college boys sharp as tacks and tuned into the politics their parents loathed but which carried their teaching to one of its logical limits.  ‘Let Freedom Ring.’ was the main theme of the Folkies and it was the main fantasy of the Greatest Generation.  The facts are clear, you see, it’s the interpretations of the facts that cause dissension.

     Now the Folkies and Perry Sparkman existed only at the sufferance of the Greatest Generation and only if they were content to stay in the shadows.  Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper were killed because they wanted to be center stage.

     Sparkman would be driven off the air and out of employment shortly while folk singers like Tom Paxton, Chad Mitchell and many others were squashed and driven deeper into the bowels of the earth; kind of an under underground.  Like Bob Dylan would sing:  If it hadn’t been for freedom of speech I would have wound up in the swamp.

     Kayo had hoped to offend Dewey with the music; he was surprised to see him not only enjoying but ecstatic.

     ‘Do you know what that is?’

     ‘Yeah, Folk Music.  But I’ve never heard this stuff before.  I never even heard of any of these guys.’

page 1554.

     ‘There’s a lot you don’t know.  I’m surprised you’re so politically aware that you can understand it.’

     ‘What do you mean politically aware?  I read TIME don’t I?’  Dewey asked who saw the lyrics as literature or poetry that handled a topic in a pertinent manner not requiring political allegiance.  Besides, freedom’s just another word for nothing left to do.  There’s all kinds of ways of looking at these things.

     ‘Well, I mean the songs have a particular political point of view that I didn’t think you understood or shared.’  Kayo continued in his demeaning manner as the excited voice of Perry Sparkman broke through the music to excitedly announce some news of the Black rebellion in Birmingham.

      The South was a bubbling cauldron of Black discontent.  If there was anyone aboard the Teufelsdreck who disagreed with the Black rebellion they certainly kept their mouth shut.  Current histories portray activist Blacks and a small cadre of White sympthizers as being the few attuned to the revolt but in fact, outside the South, there was seeming universal acceptance of Black goals.

      Indeed, who could dissent with the stated goals.  Dewey firmly believed that no one should be denied equal oportunity, including himself, not that he’d had much as yet and would be soon denied his rights in favor of Blacks.  He also saw that opportunity wasn’t going to be equal; the roles would just be reversed.  He also knew who was going to have to pay the bill and it not the kids from the right side of town.

     ‘Goddamn.  Good for those Black people, I’m sick of this injustice, aren’t you?’  Kayo demanded of Dewey.

     Dewey looked at Kayo in amazement.  He saw a guy who definitely thought he was better than himself, better than any of his shipmates and by extension better than any Black person alive.  This superiority was based on nothing.  Although Dewey was unaware of it he was sitting in a car with one of the most significant criminals in California.  The forty pounds of heroin Kayo brought ashore in San Diego and his father had distributed had gone a long way to corrupt the morals of the Bay Area.  The couple hundred pounds of marijuana he had just transported to his home in Mill Valley would do the same.  Some of it was even distributed by Neal Cassady of Beat Fame.  A couple of joints of one these shipments put him in jail.

      He and Soter’s palatial life style was built on the destroyed lives of multitudes.  The Edsel, the Cadillacs, the little red MG were all being purchased out of the miseries of others.  Injustice!  The most that could be said about Soter and Kayo was that their poisons were sold to Black and White without discrimination.  The results all came back one color- green.  Kayo and Soter should have been in San Quentin.

     ‘What do you mean by injustice?’  Dewey asked directly but clumsily.

     ‘What do I mean by injustice?  Don’t you know what’s going on down South?’  Kayo asked apparently oblivious to conditions in Oakland.  ‘Haven’t you heard of Emmet Till?’  Kayo continued indignantly.

     Dewey thought for a moment:  ‘He’s some Black guy that got killed somewhere down South, wasn’t he?’

     ‘Do you know why that young man was murdered?’  Kayo went on.  He had his terminology down.  Even though Emmet Till had been a teenaged boy, Blacks were sensitive about being called boys  that while Whites in their twenties and early thirties were referred to as ‘boys’ by the Greatest Generation both pre and post pubescent Black boys were accorded the dignity of  ‘young man.’

page 1556.

     ‘If I remember right he gave a wolf whistle to a White woman in a grocery store.’

     ‘Is tthat all?  Do you think it right to kill a Black man because he looks at a White woman?’

     ‘Kayo, of course I think violence of any kind is bad, unlike yourself, I think killing should always be avoided.’  Dewey began trying to collect his thoughts to express what he really wanted to say.  ‘I have a Christian background, although I’m not Christian, so I do not believe in hating anyone.  Love is the answer.  I don’t believe in hating those who hate because you always end up becoming what you hate.  Thus even the Nazis who were certainly hateful cannot be hated because if you devote your life to hating them you will inevitably end up being one.  One becomes what one fixes one’s thoughts on.  Besides hating those who hate only means that you hate those who disagree with you because only people who disagree with you hate, you have your reasons.  That entitles those who disagree with you to hate you because they too have their reasons.  So by hating for any reason you make yourself hatefull.

     Now, the injustice.  Yes, I think it is unjust to kill a person because he whistles at a woman.  But, I put it into a social context and not a racial one.  Emmett Till was killed not because he was Black but because he was considered socially inferior.  If he had been a White boy from the other side of the tracks whistling at an upper crust woman in a grocery store, which is considered ill mannered by White people, he might have been killed too.’

     ‘That’s nonsense:  that couldn’t happen.’

     page 1457.

     ‘It isn’t nonsense and it does happen except when  White boys are killed nothing is said about it but that they probably had it coming.

     Let me give a couple of examples.  I was in the orphanage in the the fourth grade.  We were considered sub-Negro in class.  Blacks were given better treatment than we were.  We were not even allowed to speak to girls from parented homes.  So you say Emmett Till was discriminated against because he was Black?  I say, so what?  Black?  Orphan? Why is it a greater crime to discriminate against a Black person than a White orphan?

     So, in defiance I developed a crush on Elaine Webster.  She was the creme de la creme of the parented girls.  They threw rocks at me.  They waited on the sidewalk to thrash me to within an inch of my life, it’s possible they would have taken the last inch.  I had to take the back way home for weeks until they forgot about it.  They didn’t forget about it; I always had to take the back way.  If we had been in the twelfth grade at the time they probably would have killed me.  If they had they wouldn’t have made a fuss about it like Emmett Till.  They would have forgotten it on the spot.’

     ‘Why didn’t you stay in your place?’   This man most interested in justice asked.

     ‘Why didn’t Emmett Till?’

page 1558.

     ‘That’s not the point.  Emmett Till was Black.’

     ‘So, what you’re saying is Blacks have more rights than certain Whites.  It’s OK to kill Whites who don’t know their place but not Blacks?’

     ‘You weren’t killed.’

     ‘Well, wait a minute.  Now, in the Valley when upper class boys wanted to get laid they went into lower class neighborhoods and seduced those girls without thought to moral considerations and no moralists arose among the old folks to condemn the practice.  Their fathers had done the same thing.  Same thing as in the slave South where Whites went to Black woman for easy nooky, right?

     On the other hand if the kids from the poor side tried to cruise the nice areas they were driven away.  So, there was this one nineteen year old kid who didn’t know his place chasing after this rich girl, she wasn’t rich but that’s how everyone talked, who was warned away two or three times but insisted he was as good as anyone else, certainly as good as Emmett Till.

     One day he wan’t seen around town anymore.  People said he’d gone West.  But he hadn’t gone West he went North.  He’s now at the bottom of Higgin’s Lake.  I watched him loaded into the boat where he was taken to the middle of the lake and dropped in.

     So, he went West.  Nobody looked for him; nobody cared.  He should have known better than to chase someone out of his class.  Do I consider the killing of Emmett Till injustice?  Sure.  Do I consider his killing more outrageous than the killing of the White Boy?  No.

     Emmett Till was given justice after death; the guy at the bottom of Higgin’s Lake hasn’t and never would have, if, even in the presence of a dead body, people hadn’t denied he was even dead.  So what does race mean to the dead guys?’

     ‘It’s wrong to discriminate against Black people and I’m surprised you can’t see the difference, Trueman.’

     Dewey was going to say more on the meaning of discrimination but realizing the futility of it he decided to clam up.

     ‘I’m going to stop here for something to eat?’

     Kayo left 99 making a couple turns Dewey couldn’t follow to pull up in front of a place called the Kopper Kettel.  How Kayo knew about it was a mystery to Dewey as Kayo had never been there before.  Dewey had to admire Kayo because he always seemed to home in on the hippest things.

     The Kopper Kettel was a Mexican restaurant.  Ordinary on the outside the inside was like a magic shore.  The waitress and cook was the most beautiful Mexican girl Dewey had ever seen.  She was tall, shapely and fair of face.

     Dewey ordered a couple of tacos.  Made fresh they were cooked in a way Dewey would never see them cooked again.  The woman formed a pocket or belly in the bottom of the tortilla which she filled with hamburger then deep fried them together added the vegetables and cheese on removal from the grease.  Dewey would never have such a taco again.

     Back on the highway Kayo resisted all attempts to get him to explain how he knew about the place preferring a mysterious silence.

page 1560.

     The silence lasted until they pulled into a truck stop pavilion just on the North outskirts of Bakersfield.  These things were already huge constructions at the time although some are now like little cities.  Rows of double bottoms and tractor trailers lined up in the dark.  Numbers of cars were parked around as these places were great scenes of night action.

     Kreskin pulled into a pump.  While they waited for service Dewey checked out the huge restaurant to see what they looked like.  A large percentage of the tables were taken by truck drivers while many more were filled by thrill seekers hoping for some action.

     As Dewey entered he was bowled over at the sight of a figure clothed in a purple suit with purple suede wing tips.  A pink string tie dangled over a ruffled white shirt.  Over the suit was a purple Capt. Marvel cape, pink lined, with a pink draw string in front.  As if this were not enough to catch the attention of anyone the guy had a six inch platinum blonde bouffant topping one of the palest faces ever seen.  The back of his hair disappeared beneath the collar of his cape.  Easily the longest hair this side of Hollywood.

     Truckers sat staring at him with forks suspended in air, mouths gaping.  Some had faces contorted into grimaces of anger and disgust.  Several looked as if they wanted to get up and pound the guy on general principles.  He made it easy for them.

     ‘What the hell kind of a place is this dump?’  He shouted out with a leering grin.  ‘Ain’t any of you pansies looking for action?’

page 1561.

     Several of them pansies were; they rose to their feet advancing toward the phenom who with wobbling hips and mincing steps strolled for the door pointing out to the back.

     Dewey gave them a wide berth allowing them to disappear around the corner before he followed them out.  The guy in purple and pink was no blowhard.  He’d apparently done this before.  He was holding his own when Dewey with wide open eyes headed back for the pumps.

     On the way past the restrooms, gas stations always have restrooms rather than toilets, an over dressed matron carrying a lap dog exited indignantly followed by a seventeen year old girl with her right fingers to her lips giggling madly.

     When Dewey got back to the pump an eighteen year old kid was talking to Kayo.  The young girl walked up and joined him.

     ‘Hey, Dewey, we’re giving these two a ride into LA.’

     Dewey groaned.  He hated to give hitchhikers rides.

     The young girl still giggling pointed to the matron with the dog who was about to get into her car.

     ‘See that woman.’  She said giggling.   ‘She was in the can and was having her lap dog lap her box.  Getting licked by a pooch in the john.’

     Dewey, who took everything much more seriously than need be was indignant.  Kayo gave a laugh and they all piled into the Edsel to take on the Grapevine.

     ‘Boy, we sure are broke.’  The boy said.

     ‘Tell me.’

page 1562.

     ‘Who isn’t?

     ‘We could sure use a couple bucks.’

     ‘Who couldn’t?’

     ‘Allie sure is cute, ain’t she?’

     The idea was clear.  Dewey once again indignant while Kreskin was blase.  Neither was interested in bought stuff this side of the border.

     Kayo dropped the traveling pimp and his prostitute off on Lankershim Boulevard.  The Edsel sped through the night arriving at four A.M., two hours ahead of time.  Perfect.

The Battle Of The Coral Sea

     Some enterprising Jewish film maker in Hollywood hoping to make a few bucks from the trials and tribulations of Amerika decided to make a movie entitled:  The Battle Of The Coral Sea.  It would have been much too expensive to film on location so the battle was refought off the San Diego coast.

     This author has a very low opinion of movies and film makers.  The only way the producer could economically make the movie was if he could cadge the Navy into contributing its ships and crews gratis, that is, free of charge.

     The Navy was only too happy to cooperate.  Although there was no advertising value and few people know the what the tag line at the end of movies- the producers would like to thank the Navy for its cooperation- really means.  The Brass somehow felt that a return in ‘goodwill’ was involved.  What nonsense.

page 1563.

     The upshot was that the US taxpayers financed the movie while all the profits, if any, went to the film makers.  One can’t expect the Admirals to be good businessmen as well as warriors but they should always try to get their share of the profits.  Of course, given Hollywood accounting methods, even though the companies never go broke their films never show a profit on paper.

     The Teufelsdreck was now assigned to assist the movie company in the manufacture of ‘The Battle Of The Coral Sea.’  The little subkiller was given the indignity of posing as Japanese; fly the Rising Sun and everything.  Dewey was incensed but was learning to curb his tongue so he said little, almost nothing.

     Chief Dieter was eager to comply.  Had Dewey been more aware of the Chief’s designation as the Hero of Saipan he would have laughed himself to death pleasing Dieter mightily.  As it was the joke was not entirely lost among the old hands in Deck.

     The thought of men like Dieter who had carried war from the Coral Sea to Japan now posing as Japs was just too funny for words.  The only old warrior who got it was Ratman, the dullest of the lot.  He had actually been present at the Coral Sea so perhaps that piqued his resentment.

     As the old Bucket T was to be Japanese the number 666 on the prow had to be effaced because it was argued the Japanese didn’t number their vessels that way.  How anyone in the movie audience was expected to know that wasn’t explained.

     So it was that Dieter grabbed Trueman and told him to paint over the numbers in gray.  Trueman had spent several days alongside the Lewis repainting the numbers in white.  He was especially pleased with this particular effort; they hadn’t always gone off as well.  He wasn’t about to paint over his fine work.

page 1564.

     ‘You aren’t disobeying an order are you, Trueman?’

      ‘No, I’m not disobeying an order Dieter but discussing the best method for a job isn’t disobeying.  There isn’t anything in the code that says you can’t discuss methods.’

     Once again Trueman had never read the code but his argument seemed reasonable to himself.

     ‘Always the sea lawyer, hey Trueman?’  Dieter replied, who had never bothered to study the code either.  ‘Alright, let’s hear it.  What’s your suggestion?’

     Trueman hadn’t really thought of a suggestion but placed on the spot he came up with one.

     ‘Well, Chief, we could tape over the numbers, paint the tape gray and then just strip the tape off when these bozos are finished.’

     Pardon who had come up during the discussion gave a little grunt of approval.

     ‘That won’t work.’  Dieter protested.  ‘The tape will work off at sea exposing the numbers.’

     ‘Ah it won’t either, Chief, ‘sides these movie jerks can just cut those frames out of the movie.’

     ‘Naw, paint over the numbers, Trueman.’

     ‘C’mon Chief.  I just painted the numbers; that’s a lot of work.’

page 1565.

     Pardon interposed.  ‘I think he’s got a point Chief.  The tape’ll hold.  There’s no reason for us to knock ourselves out for these movie people.’

     Dieter gave Pardon a long cold look then walked of muttering:  ‘Go ahead, do what you want.’  He felt betrayed by Pardon.  The First Class was always siding with the men he thought.

     The nest broke up as the squadron put to sea.  You may be sure that the Desade and the Commodore played Americans and not Japanese.

     Just opposite North Island the ship slowed to allow a boat alongside carrying the actors playing the Japanese officers and crew, thirty men in all.  Thirteen years after the war the Japanese commandeered an American ship of war in San Diego harbor.  A Japanese ‘Captain’ stood on the bridge of the little subkiller, the USS Teufelsdreck.  DE 666.

     For three days the film maker commanded a fleet of nine US warships including two aircraft carriers of which one carried an Atomic bomb in its hold.

     The sailors of the Teufelsdreck were ordered to take their hats off so as to look Japanese.  Apparently the Emperor’s lads didn’t wear hats.  Ordered to their battle stations First spent three days lounging around the gun mounts.  They had to stand so as to be visible.

     At lunch time on the first day the Japanese ‘enlisted’ men filed into the mess hall.  The Japanese ‘officers’ taking their roles a little too literally filed into the wardroom to lunch with Captain Gabriel Ratches and his brother officers.

page 1566.

     Ratches exploded in rage.  He might be imposed upon to have a Japanese ‘Captain’ on his bridge but he was not going to have Japanese  ‘officers’ at his table.

      The War was still too fresh in the minds of these men who fought it for them to feel that comfortable having Japanese ‘officers’ and ‘crew’ aboard their ship.  The country might have been asked to forget the ‘Day of Infamy’ sixteen years after but it wasn’t that easy for the men who swept the islands.

     The Japanese-Americans posing as Japanese nationals fled the wardroom in haste spilling down the ladder in the mess hall to the laughter and merriment of the crew most of which felt that some sacred trust was being violated.

     Having wheeled around for three days at enormous cost to the taxpayers the fleet of movie moguls broke up to return to port.

     As Dewey had known when he went over the side to strip the tape off the numbers the tape had weathered the seas just fine.  The tape was off in jig time saving Dewey several days work.

I Wonder Where You Are Tonight

     Isaac Sheyer had returned home in a pensive mood.  He believed himself under obligation to inform Solomon Hirsh, Yisraeli’s father, of his son’s whereabouts.  Sol Hirsh was very well thought of in the synagogue being considered somewhat of a scholar, which is to say by Judaic standards, that he studied the Talmud.  But as Sheyer quite rightly thought that Yisraeli had no desire to be found he was reluctant to advise the old man.  Yet, as he had found Yehouda, or David as he was formerly known, with so little trouble he reasoned that someone else would too.

page 1567.

     Old Sol thanked him for his information but as his son had seen no reason to contact him he preferred to ignore the information.  He did give the information to Beverly Webster Hirsh who had been living in distraction since her son’s death and her abandonment by her husband.

     Taking nothing with her but her daughter, Anne, she got in her car and headed West.  For some reason she chose to go through Memphis across the Mississippi Bridge Chuck Berry sang about then West across the sprawiing continent.

     As she crossed the Bridge the radio blared out the words of a Webb Pierce song:

I wonder where you are tonight,

I wonder if you are alright,

I wonder if you think of me

In my lonely misery.

     The words increased her emotional pitch such that she neither needed sleep nor took it.  She drove non-stop straight through with the words of Webb’s song echoing in her mind.  Monday afternoon found her parked in front of the house across from the faux Playboy Club which was the address Isaac Sheyer had been given.

     Once there her nerve failed her.  She suddenly realized that Yehouda probably hadn’t been thinking of her at all or he would have sent for her.  He knew where she was.  The horrible realization that she might be turned away was paralyzing.  She was sitting behind the wheel panting and staring fixedly ahead when Yisreaeli emerged from the faux Playboy Club.

page 1568.

     His eyes swept the street in practiced manner as befit one of his profession.  The dusty Buick caught his attention.  He looked twice.  Startled by what he thought he saw he crossed the street coming up behind the car to check the plates.   Confirmed in his suspicion he placed his hands on the open window sill leaning in to say softly:  ‘Beverly, is that you?’

     Beverly looked up with stark terror in her eyes as she sobbed:  ‘Yes.  How have you been, David?’

     ‘Oh fine, Bev, just fine.  How did you find me?’

     ‘Ikey Sheyer saw you in LA.  He told dad and dad told me.’

     ‘Good old Ike.  Who’d of thought it?’

     ‘Is this where you live David?’  Beverly said hinting at being turned away.

     ‘No. No, this is a business address.  Slide over, I’ll drive.’  Yehouda said opening the door.

     ‘Y-you’re not going to send me away?’  Beverly sobbed in high anxiety.

     ‘No, no.  Of course not, honey.’  Yisraeli replied resignedly to the mother of his dead son, accepting the fact that she had found him.

     As he turned the motor over Anne, who had been sitting uietly in the back seat threw her arms around Yehouda’s neck, saying:  ‘Hi, Daddy.  Have you missed me?’

page 1569.

     ‘I sure have Sweetheart, I sure have.’  Yisraeli lied.  With Michael gone his daughter meant nothing to him.

     Our Lady pulled grimly away from the curb as Beverly slumped exhhausted against the door.

Give ‘Em Enough Rope

     The incident in Guam had been more fateful for the Tuefelsdreck than anyone imagined or realized.  The removal of those fifty sailors plus the Blacks on return plus the discharge of the low I.Q. sailors meant there were two distinct crews aboard.  Those who had returned from overseas and the hundred or so replacements.  The enlistments of the old crew all expired between the present and the next year.

     Dewey, who was beginning to hold on by the skin of his teeth had applied for an early release to attend college.  The Navy was fairly lenient in such matters so his request had been granted.  His release date was moved up from November 22, 1959 to September 23.  So he was now looking at one year more.

     As the old crew were all pretty much short timers they had no interest in making friends with the new men.  The new men couldn’t understand why the old crew were indifferent to them which in turn produced bizarre psychological stresses.  The new men adopted bizarre personae such as the old crew had never exhibited.

     Many of the new men just took to their bunks as Dewey had in mess cooking lying there in desperate loneliness.

page 1570.    

     A new man called Trig Pelisse adopted the persona of Jerry Lewis in a desperate attempt to ingratiate himself.  He could be seen stalking around the deck in various spastic postures in imitation of the Meningitis Poster Kid or interjecting himself in conversations with twisted face and nasal twang.

     Their malaise affected some of the older men.  Gonzo Lewis became especially obnoxious possibly to compensate for his weekend panhandling trips to LA.  If anyone other than Dewey knew of them neither had they nor he ever mentioned it.

     It became necessary for Gonzo to prove that he was better than everyone else.  His expedient was to believe that he was capable of conversing with anyone in any station of life high or low.  He could be seen striking up conversations with the various officers, the Chiefs, the First Classes, Operations men, Snipes and occasionally to better prove his point of being able to converse with high and low he made it back to First.  There he approached Trueman.

     ‘Hi, Trueman.  Say, I hear you applied for an early discharge to go to college.’

     ‘Not only applied, I got it.  I am now over two months closer to getting out.’

     ‘Nice ruse.’

     ‘Whadya mean nice ruse?’

     ‘C’mon, Trueman.  You know and I know you’re not going to college.’

     ‘What you know and what I know are two different things.  Don’t give yourself too much credit for knowing what I know, if you know what I mean.’

page 1571.

     ‘C’mon, you’re in First.  Guys in First don’t go to college.  Man, you just don’t have what it takes.’

     ‘Yeh?  You going to college when you get out?’

     ‘Who me?  No.  I got a good job waiting for me; besides I got the gift of gab, I can talk to anybody; that’s all you really need, contacts.  The rest is all bushwa.  You learn by doing.  I can talk to anybody unlike you.  Nobody will talk to you.  There isn’t anybody high or low I can’t converse with.  I’m like that…’ Crossed fingers, ‘…with Lt. Sieggren.  I talk to him all the time and he is one intelligent guy.  I understand every word he says and that guy’s studied the dictionary.  See what I mean?  High or low.  Here I am talking to you.  See what I mean?’

     Dewey took offence at being included with the low.

     ‘You aren’t talking to me you’re talking at me.  I’m not listening so I guess that disproves your notion you can converse with anyone.’

     ‘Who’d want to talk to you, anyway.’  Gonzo Lewis said getting to his feet.

     ‘Hey.’  Dewey said with a sardonic smile.  ‘Got any spare change?’

     ‘Not for you.’  Lewis said not realizing the import of Dewey’s question.  Gonzo went off to converse with Blaise Pardon, a man of intermediate intellectual stature.  Dewey went up to take the watch.

     The POW was Carlovic.  The Damage Controlman was up for discharge in two months.

page 1472.

     ‘Hey Carlovics.’

     ‘Carlovic, Trueman.  How many times do I have to tell you?’

     ‘Uh, one more, Carlovic.’

     ‘You got the watch?’

     ‘I’m not up here just because I like your company, although, quite honestly, there is no one I would rather stand watch with.’

     ‘Thank God I won’t have to put up with you much longer.’

     ‘Oh yeah?  You got someone to stand in for you?’

     ‘No.  I’m getting discharged in two months.’

     ‘Hey, great.  Why don’t you put in a good word for me and get me discharged in two months too.  What strings did you pull?’

     ‘I didn’t pull any strings, idiot, my time’s up.  I’m going back to Philadelphia.’

     ‘You’re from Philly, huh?’

     ‘Yes.  Not that they appreciate a man of my talents back there.  They don’t know a good man from a hole in the gound in Philadelphia.’

     ‘What do you mean?’

     ‘Do you realize that I am a Second Class Damage Controlman in this man’s Navy?’

     ‘If you go by the chevron on your sleeve.’

     ‘You know how valuable and important my skills are to the Navy?  I am able to control damage to this shiip even in the event of an Atom Bomb attack.  Do you know what this chevron is worth in Philadelphia?’    

     ‘Probably, nothing.’

     ‘That’s right, nothing.  Not a thing.  How did you know?  Man, they appreciate me in the Navy.  I’m something here.’

     ‘Oh yeah?  What?’

     ‘What?’  Carlovic retorted beligerently.  ‘I’m a Second Class Damage Controlman, that’s what.’

     ‘What’s so special about that?’

     ‘What’s so special?’  Carlovic fairly shouted.  ‘Why, do you know that if a bomb hits this ship I know how to control the damage?  I can use a suicide nozzle to break up the center of the flames and I know when to use a flood nozzle to drown it.  That’s what’s so special.’

     ‘Yeah.’  Trueman said unimpressed.  ‘Well, if Kanary keeps throwing those nozzles over the side like he is you’re going to have to know how to piss on a fire to put it out.’

     ‘Is that what’s happening to those nozzles?’

     ‘That’s it.  I’m going to take a round of the ship.  If you need a letter of recommendation for Philly, let me know.’

     ‘This is a serious matter, Trueman.’

      ‘I am serious.  Let me know.’  Dewey said heading for the foc’sle with a laugh.

     Dewey was laughing less these days and worrying more.  The attempt to entomb him in Atascadero weighed heavily on his mind.  Since the smokestack incident he thought that maybe Dieter and Kanary were involved.  The incidents on the Matthew Lewis troubled him as they seemed planned and  connected.  He knew he would have to walk wary to make his discharge.

     Up to this point his psychology had remained intact even improving from his high school days.  While his childhood psychology kept on slowly improving his temporary shipboard psychology began to twist and deviate.  Prevented from venting his despleasure in an overt way he began to subconsciously search for a clandestine way.  As sabotage or sneakiness was out of the question for him something symbolic was needed.

page 1574

     An opportunity presented itself the next day.  Mad Chief Dieter was sinking into a quiet despair.  His glorious past had become meaningless in Cold War America.  If Trueman and his fellows had ignored the Chief and his stories the new men laughed at him.  The Second World War was ancient history to them.  Old war stories meant nothing, besides by this time stories of the Hiroshima Maidens were more important than the Day Of Infamy, Tarawa, Guadalcanal and Saipan combined.  None of the new men had even heard of Saipan much less seen it.  they had been taught that the dropping of the Bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasake had not only negated Japanese war guilt but transferred the guilt for the most infamous act in American history to themselves.  They didn’t even know why the Pacific War had been fought, possibly so the Marines could have fun storming those beaches.

     A lonely and disconsolate Dieter was a stranger in a strange ship.  Even his arch pal Cornell Roberts was gone.  He hardly knew the men who remained.

     In a pique of desperation he called what was left of his old pals up to the rope  locker along with Trueman.  He didn’t understand why he called Trueman up too.

     ‘So this is the infamous rope locker.’  Trueman said looking around.

page 1575.

     In his despair Dieter had no idea why they were there.  He just wanted a little reflection of his old glory but he didn’t know how to ask for it.

     Dewey was looking around marveling at being in the very bow of the ship when he noticed the small hatch in the middle of the deck.

     ‘What’s down there?’  He asked.

     ‘The cord and small lines.’  Princeton Warwick replied.

     Dewey lifted up the hatch gazing down at the bales of cord and lines heaped across the lower compartment.  There was a strange resemblance to somewhere he had been before.

     Something either snapped or coalesced in his mind.  He knew how to express himself.  The waters of oblivion rose up from his subconscious to engulf his conscious mind.  His subsequent action in no way resembled insanity and yet he was incapable of resisting the impulse so he was in fact ‘out of his mind.’  Indeed, the impulse was a just symbol of retaliation against his oppressors.

     The same thing would hapen to Richard Speck in Chicago eight years later.  Richard Speck was not of evil intent but an opportunity for a symbolic act of retaliation presented itself.  Richard Speck took it without an instant’s reflection.

     Speck was subsequently portrayed as a monster but his monstrosity was only a reflection of the society that created him for the purpose of committing an egregious act of violence.  You will scoff but it is true that from childhood he had been programmed to murder those nurses or someone just like them.  It was hoped, expected, even demanded of him.

page 1576.

     Dewey, when it happened, felt a deep kinship with Richard Speck for he too had undergone the same indoctrination.  He felt sorry for Speck because he had succumbed to the temptation.  At the base of Speck’s act was the specter of his mother.  It was at bottom the hatred or resentment of her that caused his crime.  The details of the mutilation of the women was not released but I would imagine that their wombs were ripped out.  If so this was Richard Speck’s ritual vengeance against his bitch and whore of a mother from whose womb he had sprung.  That she was a whore is made explicit by Speck’s adoption of the role of his mother in prison.

     He somehow contrived to develop his torso into a grotesque version of women’s breasts.  he then made himself the whore of the Black inmates.  This indicator points to the notion that his mother was expecially fond of Black men.

     As he was inordinately shy and ‘soft’ the indications are that he was denied his place in society from infancy on; probably the result of his mother’s conduct.

     Some people assert that he became a whore to atone for the murdering of the nurses.  That is nonsense.  Speck undoubtedly felt no guilt for his killings.  In his mind they had it coming.  As he told his Black inmates when asked why he killed them:  It just wasn’t their night.  Quite right.  Speck would have felt no guilt whether they had been a hundred or even a thousand.  All the previous nights had been his nights so on that night Richard Speck got back his own.

      As he walked down that street on that night, laden like the Scapegoat with all the sins and evilty of those who wished him ill he looked in the open window, which should have been shaded, why didn’t the nurses draw the shade, the waters of oblivion rose up from his subconscious to engulf his conscious mind.  ‘Go ahead.  Do it.  We want you to.’ echoed from a thousand tormentors down through the years.  ‘We want you to.  Go ahead. Do it.’  Fully conscious of what he was doing as though he had done it a thousand times before, yet no longer in conscious control of his will nor able to resist the impulse Richard Speck knocked on the door.  Yes, he knocked on the door.  The door was opened and he entered, then systematically began the slaughter of innocence.  He had been shown how to slaughter innocence many, many times.  His innocence had been slaughtered in just the same way.  Six student nurses lay dead.  he left the seventh one behind to tell the story.

     Did he forget her or leave her?  No one knows, of course, no one bothered to ask, but in the control of his subconscious the numbers six and seven and their sum thirteen were probably signficant to his mind.

     Then he left as quietly as he came.

      He had done as he had been done by society.  He became all that society detested in itself.  He had taken their monkeys on his back.  Now they could point and say ‘How detestable, not us, but him, he’s the one.’  That’s why they call them scapegoats.

     An interesting fact is that only the most self-righteous took the crime viscerally.  Mrs. Tuistad, Dewey’s mother who had done her best to make her son into a Richard Speck was horrified.  Perhaps she saw her image in those mutilated women; hers like the evil womb that poisoned Richard Speck’s life just as she had her son’s.  Yehouda Yisraeli, he who made his perverted living from male porn would rage and storm against the Chicagoan.  Teal Kanary took obvious pleasure in the mutilated female bodies but for different reasons.

page 1578.

     Thus as Dewey slipped down into the steel hold through that narrow aperture of the subconscious which, like his mother’s vulva had been at birth, was just large enough to admit him a strange alchemy took place in his brain.

     ‘Hey, Dieter, when I knock let me out, OK?’

     Dieter’s eyes bulged like a madman.  The daring of this man Trueman made his hair stand on end.  All Dieter had to do to entomb his man as had been his desire for so long was flip a bolt into place to hold the hatch down, order everyone out, turn out the lights nd leave and he would have his heart’s ease.  Caught off guard all he could do was shiver and shake with starting eyes.

     To say that Trueman did or thought or had any idea of the symbolism would be to mistake the facts.  He didn’t.  He was in the grip of his subconscious.  He was not responsible for his action.  He knew what he did and he always remembered it but the symbolism and reason was beyond him.

     Whereas Speck, if he did, had ripped out his mother’s symbolic womb six successive times, Dewey was entombed in his mother’s steely womb.  Once he was enclosed in the steel of her womb he opened his fly, took out his tool and masturbated on the lines of the lower rope locker.  Did they represent the umbilical cord to him?  If Dieter and the others wanted to fuck him, well, they and his mother could take this fucking from him, would have been his thoughts if he had been thinking.  One shudders at the thought of a man masturbating in his mother’s womb.  Dewey’s mother had it coming too but the sanctity of motherhood prevented Dewey’s injuring her except symbolically just as Speck’s anger at his mother was visited on six surrogate women.

page 1579.

     The mothers of the world will claim that they can’t be held responsible but the cold hard facts are that mothers are indeed responsible for it all.  Frued was right.  It is in the mother that existence takes place; it is the mother that gives birth and the mother who is responsible for nurturing her child.  It is to the mother that the child looks.  Fate may have placed an unfair burden on the women of the world, not all women are capable of being mothers although all women are capable of bearing children, but the cold hard fact is that mothers create their children in their own image.

     Having completed his futile symbolic act of resistance Dewey poinded on the hatch wondering whether Dieter would seize the moment or let him out.  At that moment Dewey was ready to die just as Speck had been ready to follow the nurses to hell.

     Dieter’s already bulging eyes bulged further.  His breath came in short gasps, then his knees began to buckle.  Perhaps as much to cover his buckling knees as anything else Dieter knelt and flipped the hatch up.  Dewey looked at Dieter with eyes of quiet triumph then hoisting himself up through the hatch, shall we say, he was born again.

page 1580.

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.

 

 

    

    

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.

 

A Short Story

In Darkest America

by

R.E. Prindle

 

‘O father! I hear the sound of guns,

O say, what may it be?’

‘Some ship in distress, that cannot live

In such an angry sea!’

– Longfellow

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

-Trad.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The African Roots Of Nigger Jim

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

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

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

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

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

     Uhha!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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