Skip navigation

Category Archives: Richard Speck

 

A Novel

Our Lady Of The Blues

Book VII: The Heart Of The Matter

Clip 9

by

R.E. Prindle

     Yisraeli had made contact with one of them with whom he was having breakfast while hoping for Trueman and Zion to show up.  His pretext for the meeting was market research. 

     The homo, Lips Carmody, was spilling out all his repressed needs to Our Lady who he thought would immediately go back to Escondido and fill them when Yehouda spotted Trueman on the other side of the highway as Showbaby drove into the lot.

     ‘Oh my god!’ He ejaculated.

     ‘What?’ Lips asked.

     ‘Do you see that sailor over there?’

     ‘Yes.”

     ‘He…he is one of the most savage homosexual baiters in San Diego.’

     ‘You don’t say?’

     ‘I do say.  You would do the brotherhood a big service by keeping his weeny moving right out of Barstow.’

     ‘I will.’  Lips said getting up to match his action to his words.

     He passed Showbaby on the way out.  Show had delayed entering on a signal from Yisraeli.

     As Carmody went out to hustle Trueman through town Yisreali and Showbaby went out to alert Dagger who was standing by his car.

     ‘That’s him in the sailor suit, Dagger.  Here’s your other five hundred.  I’ll send the rest to you in Bay City.’

page 1681.

     ‘Five hundred?  Supposed to be a thousand.’

     ‘I was in a big hurry since you weren’t organzied.  I must have grabbed five hundred by mistake.’  Yehouda stuffed five one hundred dollar bills into Dalton’s shirt pocket contemptuously.  One might understand Our Lady’s wish to appear the Big Man but it was a mistake.

     Dalton considered himself a man among men and he didn’t consider Yehouda a man.  Dalton wouldn’t be belittled by a mere twit.  Hadn’t he decked his sergeant, who was a real man, and done time in the brig like a man the Marines couldn’t handle?

     Dalton spilled the bills back out of his pocket as contemptously as Yisraeli had put them there.  At the same time he seized Our Lady by the throat lifting him off the ground.  It might have been an interesting experience for Yehouda if Zion hadn’t been there.

     Quickly scooping up the bills before the desert wind wafted them into the hills Show did everything he could to soothe Dalton.  He didn’t want a scene in a parking lot that might bring the police.  He added fifty dollars he had on him to the five hundred talking smoothly and rapidly.  Always keep the other guy’s mind occupied by a ceaseless drone of bull patter.  They listen rather than acting.

     While Showbaby was pattering on Lips was harassing Trueman.

     ‘You better get out of town right now, buddy.  We don’t want your kind around here.’

     ‘What kind is that?  Sailors?’  Dewey asked dumbfounded by this guy’s hostility.

page 1682.

     ‘Don’t get cute with me.  You know what I mean.  I’ve heard about you.’

     ‘Dewey turned and walked a hundred yards away in an attempt to get away from Carmody.  Lips pursued, still berating him.  This happened several times until Dewey had traversed the little town and was near its Eastern limit.  He had all but gotten out of town.

     Somewhat satisfied Lips said:  ‘You better be outta here, buddy.  If i come back in an hour and you’re not gone I’ll have you arrested as a vagrant.’

     ‘A vagrant?  You gotta be nuts.  You can see I’m in uniform; therefore I have visible means of support.’

     Men of Carmody’s stamp are not influenced by facts or logic.

     ‘An hour, wise mouth.  You hear!  One hour.’

     Trueman didn’t believe him but he couldn’t account for his unbounded hostility either.  And he was vulnerable.  These were the times when sheriffs had little fiefdoms which they culd run without regard to law or outside interference.  Many ran speed traps where hapless motorists were fleeced of large sums of money and sent packing.  Not infrequently they never made it out of town under their own power.  The Interstates would change all that in a few years, people shot through bypassing these petty tyrants.

     Dewey did have the two hundred dollars on him.  If picked up the bunko artists called cops would get it all.  He would probably spend a couple days in jail then be sent back to San Diego and billed exorbitantly for the expense.  No recourse either.  Dewey became very alert to the fact that he was living on his wits.  Not to mention his thumb.

     Back at the motel, mutual threats having been exchanged Dalton took the five hundred fifty.  Shaking his fist menacingly at Yehouda he shouted:  ‘You better get the rest to me pronto or I’ll come back here and kill your shifty ass.’

     A few minutes later he stopped in the middle of the highway throwing the door open:  ‘Get in.’  He leered in menacing tones.

    Hyperion To A Satyr

     Dagger had a scary aspect.  Dewey didn’t like his looks.  He thought he recognized him from the motel parking lot where he had heard the ruckus and seen Dagger grab Our Lady by the throat.  He decided to decline the ride even though certain arrest was awaiting him.  But, out there on the highway etiquette requires a good reason for refusing a ride.

     ‘How far are you going?’  Dewey asked hoping for a short distance so he could decline.

     ‘Bay City.’  Dagger said with a confidential smile.

     ‘Bay City?’  Dewey thought, utterly taken back.  Bay City, Michigan?  He couldn’t imagine another Bay City out there in the desert so he got in.

     ‘Bay City, Michigan?’  Dewey asked incredulously.

     ‘That’s right.’

     ‘I’m going to the Valley.’  Dewey replied awestricken at this good luck.  At least, he thought, it would be a forty-eight hour trip from here.

     ‘I know.’  Dalton replied mysteriously.

page 1684.

     Dewey, taken aback, looked sharply at Dalton:  ‘What do you mean, you know?’

     For answer Dalton rudely reached over and pushed down the lock.  Accelerating sharply he said:  ‘Don’t try to get out of the car if you don’t want to get hurt.’

     Dewey pondered this remark thoughtfully.  First the guy in Barstow says he’s heard of him and now this guy says he knows he’s going to the Valley.  Strange, but following his own maxim that there’s nothing to worry about until it’s time to worry about it or, as the Irish proverb has it:  There’s time enough to bid the devil good morning when you meet him.  Dewey didn’t panic but as it was clear that push might come to shove he began to take stock of Dalton and his situation.

     As he now studied the driver he saw a relatively good looking but crude, fellow.  Not handsome in a gorgeous Cary Grant way but handsome enough to pass muster.  However his features were brutish betraying not only a lack of education but a lack of sympathy for refinement or benevolence of any sort.  Dalton did look like a murderous criminal which is why Dewey hesitated in the first place.

     A pair of black motorcycle boots rested on the pedals topped by a pair of black denim trousers.  Hoodlum tough guy dress.

     A peculiar short sleeved canned pea green shirt with a pierced embroidery design on the sleeve ends covered a good but not overly developed torso.  What, Dewey wondered, did that really very feminine shirt mean?  Indecision he decided.  When Dalton had grabbed Yisraeli by the throat standing at his full six foot three inches his presence had been enough to throw the fear of God into Our Lady.  Dewey didn’t think he could win a face to face confrontation with such ferocity but that pea green shirt with the frilly cuffs showed Dagger could be manipulated.

page 1685.

      Neverthless Dalton looked like the self-centered single minded ruffian he was.

     Fortunately for Trueman Dalton was a brute, a mere belly with arms and legs.  It’s not so much that he didn’t have mental capacity but he had been brought up to despise intelligence, education, study and diligence.  He was what Daddy Dagger called a natural man.  One would be tempted to say that he couldn’t read or write but he had passed the Navy intellegence tests to get into the Marines.  Probably his recruiter gave the box A key.

     It is certain Daddy Dagger couldn’t read or write; he was a real natural too.

     That wasn’t because the Daggers were incapable but because they didn’t want to.  They despised all the accoutrements of civilization except, of course, cars, guns and beer.  They were the equivalent of the primitive man.  The men of the Golden Cronian Age.  They were what the Revolution aspired to turn all men into in an orgy of ‘equality.’

     Equality.  The central thesis of the Revolution is worth looking into.

     As I said before the Cronian or Revolutionary consciousness is one of the four principal approaches to life.  The other three being the Matriarchal, Patriarchal and Scientific.  They have all existed coterminously from the beginning.  The trails are quite clear if you’re attuned to following them.  The central and uniting symbol of the Cronian consciousness is the Phrygian Cap.

page 1686

     The origin, history and meaning of the Cap has never, to my knowledge, been investigated.  Its meaning is so obscure that there seems to be no handle with which to begin discussion.  Nevertheless I will at least offer some tentative suggestions.

     The cap is invariably red which is the color of stern justice as well as blood.  There is no sterner justice than the shedding of blood.

     In form the cap is a visorless cone bent in the middle so that the top or bell inclines toward the forehead.  The cap was a characteristic of the ancient Phrygian people.  Phrygia was the area of Anatolia between the coastal settlements of Troy and the North of the inland Hittite Empire.

     The Phrygians were either expelled from or left the southern Danubian region to cross the Dardanelles settling in Anatolia.  Although the knowledge of the Phrygians themselves if the sketchiest it is probable that they settled in Anatolia just before or during the hegemony of the Hittites.  Most certainly displaced by the great migrations of the Aryans taking place at that time.

     The evidence indicates that they were a people antecedent to the introduction of agriculture which they rejected preferring a reactionary existence as hunter gatherers.  It may be conjectured that the agriculturists drove them from the Danubian Basin much as the sodbusters outsted the cattlemen in the US.

page 1687.

     Once in Anatolia they continued their Cronian ways rejecting all the appurtenances of civilization.  That may have included a rejection of Anatolian religious practices.  A rejection of religion remaining a Cronian tenet to the present.

     As to the origin of the Phrygian cap.  The cap of divintity amongst the Hittites was a tall conical rimless cap.  There is evidence that the Phrygians had a hand in the destruction of the Hittite Empire.  As a gesture of contempt it is possible that the Phrygians wore the cap broken and bent forward as a sneer or rejection of divinity.

     The earliest mention of the Phrygian cap that I know of occurs in the story of the Phrygian King Midas with his asses ears which occurs in Greek mythology.

     One must remember that the Greek myths of the Bronze Age only began to be written down with Homer and Hesiod in perhaps the eighth century which was a full 300-800 years after the events they record.  the rest were recorded mostly from 100 BC to 300 AD or even later so it may be assumed that not only did their recorders not have direct knowledge but that they had lost the key to their meaning.  That means that they changed or edited the myths so that they had meaning for themselves.

     Midas himself was the son of a Satyr and a goddess; thus his origins are definitely Cronian; couldn’t be clearer.  In the myth, Marsyas, a Satyr challenges the God Apollo to a musical contest in an access of pride.  Naturally Apollo won although he had to cheat to win.  In the first face off Marsyas was judged the equal of Apollo.  Apollo then challenged Marsyas to turn their intruments upside down and play a round that way.  Well, as Apollo was playing the harp and Marsyas was playing the pipes it is not difficult to see who won that one.

page 1688.

     As the penalty for his presumption Marsyas was flayed alive by Apollo.

     During the contest Midas had taken the side of Marsyas for which Apollo punished him by giving him the ears of an ass.  Thoroughly embarrassed by his condition it is said that Midas invented the Phrygian cap to conceal his ears.

     Concealed beneath his cap the only person who knew Midas had asses ears was his barber.  Midas swore him to absolute secrecy.  The barber was bursting with his secret and had to tell somebody.  He dug a hole by the river bank and sticking his head deep in the hole he whispered that Midas had asses ears.

     He covered the hole up and walked away much relieved.  However with the spring floods reeds grew over the hole and thus learned the secret.  When the wind vibrated the reeds just right they could be heard to sing:  King Midas has asses ears.  Well, the secret was out, there was nothing left for Midas to do but kill himself which he did.

     It seems clear from the myth that the Greeks considered the Phrygians spiritual competitors.  The Trojans had been material competitors and they had been eliminated by the Trojan War.  Spiritual competitors cannot be eliminated by physical means so the Greeks concocted a myth in which higher civilization as represented by Apollo destroyed the Cronian society in a spiritual contest.

page 1689.

     To perpetuate the Greek victory the Cronians were characterized as asses and their key symbol the Phrygian Cap was belittled as a mere means of concealing the asses ears which they all had.

     The rejection of civilization for some impossible golden age was silly in the eyes of the Greeks and has remained so to rational people down to the present time.  There are many deprecating references to these impractical people in the literature of the ages.  There are Roman references in which the Cronians are ridiculed for pursuing an impossible dream.

     Nevertheless the attitude persisted clandestinely until the Revolution erupted in France in 1789.  The Cronian day appeared to have come, they stepped out of the shadows.  The French figure of Liberty wears a Phrygian Cap perched jauntily on her head.  The Cronians have been very active since then around the world, not only in Europe.  In America, in the form of the Masonic Illuminati, they were perceived as a serious threat in the years around 1800.  The Civil War caps of the enlisted men are merely Phrygian Caps with the bell truncated and replaced by a flat surface to disguise their true nature.  Thus one may assume that the Revolution was active in the War Between The States.

     The Phrygian Cap played a role in the Revolution of 1917 in Russia.  the ideals continue in various Red groups in existence today.

     Their concept of absolute equality is as ridiculous today as it was in the early Stone Age.  It is inherent in the genetic makeup of the male of the species to wish to dominate his fellow man.  A man always feels he is entitled to a jot more than his fellows.  Thus the competition starts to make sure one is not surpassed.  Thus it has been, thus it is, thus it will always be.  The problem is always who will be the first among equals.

page 1690

     People will not be absolutely equal.  if we consider the two men in this car speeding across the desert floor, while they are of the same economic and political background one is superior to the other as Hyperion to a Satyr but the Satyr would never accept that decision.

     In ancient Greek art the Cronians are portrayed as roving wild men wandering the glens and glades of the mountains depicted as Satyrs and Centaurs.  They at that time and Duelin’ Dalton Dagger here were half man and half animal.  Not that they were physical hybrids but their minds hadn’t developed enough to separate them from their bestial habits.  They were animals with untrestrained bestial appetites and no mental self control.  In the sense of Apollo’s doctrine of Everything in Measure, Nothing In Excess, and Know Thyself they were outside the pale.  Like Midas they chose the inferiority of Marsyas’ efforts over the superior music of Apollo.  They were goat men with or without the ass ears of Midas.

     The Satyrs were not men in the original state like Dalton Dagger.  They had more or less advanced with civilization, something like the American Indians versus the Whites.  Their modern equivalents were good with guns, decent with cars, but only decent, and could swill an ocean of beer.  From the outside to a not very discriminating eye they looked like ordinary men and women.  But they had to be handled with discretion.  Yisraeli hadn’t known the difference.  Had it not been for the self-effacing discretion of Showbaby he would certainly have been severely beaten if not stomped to death.  Dalton would have escaped too; the lines of guilt were too clearly drawn for anyone to turn him in.

page 1691.

     It would also have taken a discriminating eye to have noticed the profound differences between Dalton and Trueman.  Dewey was everything that Dalton should have been.  But having been pushed down from childhood by people no better than Dalton but better dressed he was rising from the depths that concealed his true nature.  Dewey was deeply imprinted in his face and posture with the brutalization of his youth.

     Apart from the pimples which plagued him and repelled everybody there was a wild staring violence coupled with a doe like timidity to his countenance.

     If physiognomy is destiny Dewey should have spent a few hours before a mirror adjusting his outer appearance to his inner reality.

      It was that rising bubble syndrome.  Dewey was in a state of slow becoming.  If Dalton was the finished equivalent of a satyr Dewey was the developing equivalent of Themistocles, Pericles or ever Hyperion.  Dewey’s mind aspired to the stars.  Dalton’s was mired in his physical reality.  Dewey revered all the attainments the Dagger family despised.

     Disenfranchised, a lamb driven from the fold, a saint wandering in purgatory, an exile on Main Street, he nevertheless believed that by dint of application, hard work and honesty he could succeed not only in the material sense but attain an honored place in society.  In other words, he was drunk on hope.  His big disappointment would be to discover that society is not honorable.  The pillars of society were made of India rubber.  The really big men were merely Dalton Daggers in Brooks Brothers suits.

page 1692.

     The utopian philosophers of the nineteenth century who filled many long and weighty tomes of sentimental ruminations about the causes of crime being poverty and degradation would have been startled if they had seen the objects of their pity come into their own in the twentieth century.

     The causes they had ascribed to crime had all but disappeared but crime had grown exponentially.  In those far off days they imagined that the ‘working man’, they saw as a distinct economic species, unoppressed by the need to slave long hours for low wages would emerge from that cocoon like a butterfly to flit about the libraries and museums in ardent longing to be equal with the refined speculators of thought.

     In the prsent, fully able to indulge their ardent longing for refinement ‘working men’ long only for beer, popcorn, pornographic television and snow mobiles.  Football, basketball and sports in general is the ‘culture’ the ‘working man’ aspires to.

     Now that the ‘working man’ has time and money for museums and libraries they remain empty.  Their only visitors are the same small minority that always inhabited them.

page 1693

     Zola, Hugo and Sue wouldn’t have known what to make of our Duelin’ Dalton Daggers.  These redhots would have thrown their model into disarray.  All their maunderings would turn to ashes in their mouths.  All their compassion and pity for those innocents turned into criminals by a heartless society would be wasted.  All those innocents weren’t turned into criminals they were criminals posing as innocents.  Javert is the true hero of the nineteenth century not Jean Valjean.

     If Dalton had wanted to read ‘Les Miserables’ or ‘Germinal’ or been capable of it, he would have recognized his fellow savages and broken down laughing at the maudlin descriptions of them.  Hugo and Zola may have been well meaning fellows but their evaluation of mankind was hopelessly askew.

     They should have known that a criminal ethic existed.  They should have known that there were doctrinaire criminals just as there were doctrinaire liberals.  Dalton Dagger was not a criminal for any other reason than that he saw the role as the accurate view of life.  No other view made sense to him.  Only fools could hold another view in his opinion.

     The Good Father was wrong; there is such a thing as a bad boy.  There are badmen and badwomen, bad families, even bad societies.  They will never reconstruct themselves; it is a waste of time trying to reconstruct them.  Henry Ford ruined his empire by benevolently giving ex-prisoners jobs; allowing them into his work force.  They corrupted his workers turning Ford Motors nearly into a criminal organization.  Tolerating them corrupts society.

page 1694.

     There can only be political equality of the one man, one vote sort; there can be no absolute equality.  The Revolution chases a chimera.  The very nature of the masculine physical animal precludes such a possibility.  The Animus demands precedence; it demands that all others be subordinate to it.  The only thing that prevents its expression is the jealousy of other men.  No one has the power to enforce dominance over his fellows so each man is compelled to seek the cooperation of others to achieve his goals.  If not he will be defeated hand to hand or by the sabotage of the united group.

     The Revolution only despises rewards for personal initiative which makes them feel inferior.  As a defensive measure against inadequacy they seek to control the benefits of society and distribute the good things of this world on the basis of favoritism rather than initiative.  That is the only way they can succeed.  Equality for the Revolution is merely a Red Herring to delude the masses.  Remember the very term ‘masses’ is a Red invention.

     Dewey eyed this monster, this Dalton Dagger, for monster he was, trying to think of the best opening to penetrate his mind.

     Dalton helped him along:  ‘I’m Duelin’ Dalton Daggerze.’  He said out of the left side of his mouth facing full forward over the steering wheel while eyeing Dewey askance to the right.  He had a way of pronouncing, or rather mispronouncing his name so that he andded an extra ZE as in Daggers-za.

Page 1695.

     ‘How do you spell that?’  Dewey asked trying to organize the sounds in his mind.

      ‘Anyway I choose.’  Dagger said, evidently trying to establish physical intimidation.

     ‘Oh, to be sure.’  Dewey replied contemptuously matching the pea green shirt to the personality.  Dalton though a non-entity in Dewey’s mind became manageable.  ‘But, I mean, how did you spell it on your driver’s license?’

     ‘How do you know I got one?’  Dagger said stupidly, trying to evade a direct answer to a direct question which was common to his class.

    ‘Oh gee, I don’t know, will they sell a car to you without a driver’s license?’  Dewey replied nonchalantly, feigning picking something off the tip of his tongue then appearing to flick it into Dagger’s face.

     Trueman was a little too cool for Dagger.

     ‘I told the Marines to spell it DAGGER.’  Dalton said still evading a direct answer in order to preserve his imagined superiority.

     Dewey looked at his driver closely, eyed his haircut, there was that of the Marines about Dagger.  Within a few weeks it would have disappeared completely but it was still there.

     ‘You don’t pronounce that Dagger?’  Dewey asked not trying to conceal his contempt.

     ‘I pronounce it Daggerze or any goddamn way I want.  I’ll pronounce it Smith if it pleases me.’

     ‘Oh yeah, probably have to.’  Dewey sneered.  ‘So tell me Daggerzzze.’  Dewey said insultingly, loathing the ignorance of the man.  ‘You’re going home on leave to Bay City?  That’s it?’

     Dewey was jousting for intellectual preeminence to counter Dagger’s physical superiority which he keenly felt.

     ‘No!  That’s not it!’ Dagger said in exaggerated tones.

     ‘What is it?  You’re not patrolling the highway to help errant sailors.  Are you?’

     Dalton had expected to instill trembling fear into Dewey who was after all slight and unprepossessing.    He didn’t like the parody and disrespect with which Trueman spoke to him.

     ‘I got me a dishonorable discharge from the Marines.’  Dalton said with as much pride as though he had engineered Grand Coulee Dam.

     This was a completely unexpected reply.  Dewey was flabbergasted.  A DD was cause for shame and regret in his mind.  He thought Dalton was using bravado to cover his himiliation.

     ‘A Dishonorable Discharge?  They don’t just give those things out for no reason.  What did you do?’

     Getting a DD was not the easiest thing to do as Ponzi’s case showed.  For the Navy to give up on a guy was a very serious matter.  There were all kinds of discharges before you got to the bottom rung of Dishonorable.

     ‘I stomped the hell out of my Sergeant.  Damn near killed him.  When they asked if I had remorse I said hell no I wasn’t sorry.  If I had the chance I’d do it again and finish the job.’

page 1697.

     ‘You stomped him?  Why?’  Dewey now took Dalton seriously.  He realized that he was in a car with a certified psycho.  ‘Put me on, Dagger.  You have to be crazy as hell to punch a Petty Officer.’

     ‘I didn’t punch him.  I beat the hell out of him.  Stomped the son-of-a-bitch after I knocked him down.  Broke his nose and jaw for him and he probably sported black eyes for a month.’  Dagger grinned with fierce pride.  ‘I would have killed him but they pulled me off.’

     Dewey involuntarily shrunk within himself.  He wasn’t sure that Dalton was telling the exact truth but if he was Dewey realized that he was in a car with a dangerous maniac who was, in effect, holding him prisoner.

     ‘Wow!  They must have sent you directly to the brig.  No passing GO there.’

     ‘Damn right they did.’  Dalton replied once again with a savage pride.  ‘Just got out.  That’s why I’m on my way back.  My old man thinks I finally made the grade.’

     ‘You sound like it’s a good thing to go to the brig.  I always thought the brig was a pretty rough place.’

     ‘Damn right it is.  You gotta be tough.  You gotta be a real man.  You wouldn’t last a minute.  Real men go to the brig rather than put up with the chicken shit crap they shovel at you.’

     ‘Guess I’m not a real man by your standards.’  Dewey laughed.

     ‘No, you’re not.’  Dalton said complacently.  ‘Not many guys are.  Hell, the Marines advertise they’re looking for a few good men but when they get ’em…’ He said jamming his thumb into his shirt to indicate himself.  ‘…they don’t know what to do with ’em.  So I showed ’em.  I’ll take brig time and a DD any day than follow rules from some stupid Sergeant that I can stomp to shit.’

page 1698

     ‘Yes, indeed!  Hallelujah!’  Dewey thought.  ‘There is something authentic in this guy’s manner.  This guy is a total whacked out psycho.’

     ‘I guess you’re lucky he didn’t die.’  Dewey said lethargically so as not to arouse Duelin’ Dalton.

     ‘How’s that?’  Dalton asked maliciously.

     ‘Well, I mean you would have murdered him.  They would have put you away for life.’

     ‘There ain’t a prison in the world that can hold Duelin’ Dalton Daggerze if he wants out.  You ain’t never killed a man?’  Dalton asked suddenly remembering that Yisraeli had said that Dewey had killed his son.

     ‘Who me?  Hell no, Dagger, why would I want to kill anybody?’

     There was something authentic in Dewey’s tone that gave Dalton pause.  He intuitively believed the sailor casting a pall of irresolution over his determination.

     ‘I have.’

     ‘You have?  You killed some one Dagger?  When was that?’

     ‘Couple weeks ago.’

     ‘Oh yeah?  Who and what for?’

page 1699

     ‘The brig guard.  He was a real asshole.  Always used to go around shocking me with this electric cattle prod.  Taught him though, didn’t I?’

     Dewey stared out the side window thoughtfully.  He remembered the story of the guy found in the surf in Tijuana.  He dimly remembered that something had been stuck up the guy’s rectum.  Dalton’s story could be true.  He reflected on how Kanary had talked him into hitchhiking.  He thought of a couple strange rides he’d gotten on his way to San Bernadino.  He thought of the guy who had picked him up in the desert as though he had been looking for him.  He remembered the very peculiar attitude of the stranger who had threatened him across Barstow; how Dalton had said ‘I know’ when Dewey said he was going to the Valley.  Dewey had seen the contretemps in the parking lot between Yisraeli and Dagger and now he thought he recognized Dagger as the aggressive one.  An aggressor who was now trying to keep Dewey prisoner in his car; kidnapping him in effect.

     Dewey couldn’t know about Yisraeli or about what was happening in the Field to threaten his well being.  He didn’t know that Dalton held a contract on his life.  All he could do was Respond to the Challenge he saw before him.  He thought he had better belittle Dalton a bit.

     ‘Yeah?  What did you do blindside him when he wasn’t looking?  Same as the Sergeant?’

     Dalton came unglued.  He seized the wheel convulsively looking menacingly at Dewey:  ‘Blind sided him?  Blind sided him?’  He shouted vehemently.  ‘Duelin’ Dalton Daggerze don’t never blind side nobody.  I stepped right out of ranks and popped that Sergeant.  I invited I.P. Rivers down to Tiajuana for a carouse after I got out to show him I had no hard feelings, drove him out in the flats and challenged that faggot to a fight and beat him fair and square.  I gave him a shock with the cattle prod where he wanted it most.  Blind sided him?’

page 1700.

     Dagger took his right hand off the wheel and shook his fist in Dewey’s face.  ‘You better take that back.’

     At the mention of the cattle prod Dewey clearly remembered the story of the sailor they found bumping up against the rocks in the surf with the cattle prod up his ass.  He couldn’t believe that the killer had picked him up but he felt the danger.

     ‘OK, OK, OK.  So if I’m wrong, I’m wrong but I’m not taking anything back.  So you’re a mean motor scooter.  Don’t pop a vein on me and run off the road.’

     ‘I’m a man not a coward,’  Duelin’ Dalton screamed.

     ‘No.  No.  Hell, no.  You’ve got to be a tough guy to kill somebody, Dagger.  No doubt about it.’  Dewey stared at Dalton in disbelief but showing no fear.  There was no longer any doubt in his mind that Dagger was telling the truth.  Now his mind dwelt on how Dagger had slammed down the lock.  His thoughts took a turn toward self-preservation.  In defiance of Dalton he flipped the post up.

     ‘You better not be thinking of getting out.’  Dalton shouted.

     ‘I seldom jump out or cars doing eighty miles an hour Dagger but if I want out you sure as hell aren’t going to stop me.  Give me land, lots of land:  Know what I mean?’  Dewey sneered.

page 1701

     They had been racing across the Mojave’s bleak sere landscape.  It was now late afternoon nearly forty-eight hours had passed and Dewey reflected that he hadn’t even yet cleared California.

      They now approached the Highway Patrol checkpoint at Needles.  At that time you had to be checked in and out of the Promised Land.  If you had fruits or vegetables coming in you had to surrender them to the HWP.  The notion was that California was light on bugs.  They didn’t want to let any new ones in.

     Going out they were checking for nuts, I pesume, and wanted to send them on their way.

     ‘Awright now, when we come to the this Highway Patrol station you better not try to get out and you better not try to signal to the cops.  I’m warning you.’  Dalton menaced.

     Dalton was projecting his designs on Dewey but Dewey was mystified by Dalton’s singular behavior.

     ‘Oh yeah.  I’m going to get out and start hitchhiking right in front of the cops.  I’ve got a ride but I’m going to get out and get arrested?  I’ll tell you what Dalton, just keep heading East at eighty per and I’m with you all the way.’

     Dewey was way behind time.  He wasn’t worried about Dalton because he knew beyond question that Dalton wouldn’t attack him awares.  Even though Dalton could have swept the desert with him he knew the man would not make a frontal assault.  Even though Dalton’s words gave the impression that he had designs on Dewey he had no idea Dalton was commissioned to kill him.

page 1702.

     Dalton gave the correct answers to the Highway Patrolman and they were excused form California.  They sped across the line into Arizona.  Dalton began to prepare Dewey for a demand for gas money.

     ‘Listen to the way this baby purrs.’

     ‘Yeah.  Sounds good, Dagger.  Real quiet.’

     ‘You don’t think this ’53 Olds came that way when I bought it do you?’

     ‘Don’t know.  Are you a mechanic?’

     ‘Damn right I am.  The best.  There ain’t nothing I can’t fix in a car.  Nothin’.’

     ‘Guess you take care of all the loose ends; nothin’ you don’t know?  You’re a magno expert no doubt.’

     ‘I am.  Oh sh…, look at that guage.’

     ‘Oh, you can read guages too?’

     ‘You bet, buddy.  This one tells me I’m going to have to stop for gas pretty quick.’

     ‘OK.  Go ahead, you’ve got my permission.’

     ‘I don’t gotta have your permission but I gotta have five for gas.  Give me five for your share.’

     ‘Give you five for my share of what?’

page 1703.

     ‘Five dollars for your share of gas, wise ass.’  Dalton said indignantly.

     ‘There’s something you probably failed to notice when you picked me up, Mastermind, I’m a hitchhiker.  I don’t have five dollars and I don’t share expenses.  If I wanted to pay I would be on a bus and I wouldn’t have to put up with you.  You had a chance to get rid of me back in Needles but you like my company so much you threatened me if I got out of the car.  If you’re tired of me I’ll get out at the gas station.  OK?’

     ‘You got to have money.  Two hundred dollars.  In know it; where is it?’

     Dewey was struck with Dalton’s reference to the two hundred dollars but he didn’t betray it.  The mystery of the last several hours just got deeper.

    ‘Two hundred dollars?  You think I would hitchhike with that much money with guys like you on the road?  Hell, I could fly if I had that much.  Sorry Dagger, no money, I’m broke.’

     ‘How are you going to eat?’

     ‘I’m not.  I thought I could get back in forty-eight hours so there wouldn’t have been any need to eat but it doesn’t look like I’m going to make it.  I’ll probably be half dead before I get back.’

     Dalton smiled, looked out the driver’s side and muttered half under his breath:  ‘You’re going to be all dead.’

     Dalton had been told that Dewey would have two hundred dollars and that it would be his.  He considered it already his.  In his mind Dewey had an obligation to him for the money.

page 1704.

     ‘Where you got it?  In your shoe?’  He said as he eased the Olds back on the highway.

     ‘Don’t got it anywhere.’

     Dalton looked at Dewey warily.  Maybe the guy wasn’t such a chump after all, he thought.  Dalton had all the arrogance of the criminal mind.  No matter how many times they lose they think they’re smarter than all other brains combined.

     Yisreali had told him Dewey would have the money.  Dalton never questioned how Yisraeli would know, which of course, Yisraeli actually didn’t.  He was only guessing.  Convinced that the money was there which, as it turns out it was, Dalton wanted to know where he had it.

     It is a peculiarity of thieves that they must see the object of their desires before they can actually go after it.  Thus if Dalton actually saw the money and where Dewey kept it his mind would have been at ease.  There would be no possibility he couldn’t find it when he wanted it.

      Dewey who was no man of the world and not in the least bit devious kept his money where any self-respecting man kept it, in his billfold on his hip.  But Dalton, who, while not a man of the world but very devious, imagined the money was sewn into the lining of Dewey’s coat, pinned in some inaccessible place or concealed in a money belt or a shoe.  For Dewey there was only one place his money could be; for Dalton dozens including a false bottom to Dewey’s duffel bag.  Dalton just didn’t know where to start looking.  Well, nobody said that just because thieving was dishonest it would be easy.

page 1705.

     As Dalton was devising phrasing less obvious than:  ‘Where’s the money?’ they arrived at a fork in the road.  As the inimitable Mr. Berra said:  ‘When you come to a fork in the road, take it.’  The boys fully intended to do that but there was the question of which tine to follow.  The signs on the highway indicated that if they went left they would reach the town of Flagstaff; Phoenix lay at the end of the right tine.

     As Dalton was planning Dewey’s murder which ever way they went he thought generously to offer him the choice of roads.

     ‘Which way do you want to go?  Phoenix or Flagstaff?’

     As much as a turn to the left distressed Dewey he had seen enough desert in the Mojave so that the prospect of hundreds of miles more was not very appetizing.  The very name of Flagstaff had so much romantic appeal for him that there was really no contest.

     In his youth he had written a story centered around his imagined concept of the town.  Later he had read a great story in one of the Western pulps of a guy stuck in a cabin in Flagstaff during a snowstorm of such magnitude that it made Noah’s flood look like an April shower.

     This guy had the misfortune to have to go potty during this twenty or thirty footer.  No indoor plumbing obviously but the guy had been brought up well.  Rather than let fly out the back door into the snowbank where his impropriety would have melted with the Spring thaw he felt obligated to trek out to the outhouse which miraculously had somehow not been buried beneath the drifts.

page 1706.

     Here’s the tough part of the story.  Although he could see through the driving snow well enough to find his way to the outhouse he somehow couldn’t find his way back to the cabin.  Perhaps his mission had been more urgent on the out trip than on the return.

     Overcome by God only knows what exhaustion, altitude sickness, whatever, he falls to the ground where he turns into a solid block of ice instantaneously.  When the snow did melt that Spring they found the poor sod with his head only inches from the threshhold.  There had been a heavy moral to the story but Dewey lost it in the welter of details.

     You know how it is, some inconsequential stories live on vividly in the memory.  Dewey wanted to see a legendary snowstorm.  This was the middle of December so he imagined or hoped that one was raging at this very moment.  Without hesitation he said:  ‘Flagstaff.’  and thereby for reasons irrelevant to his situation made the decision as will become clear that saved his life.

     ‘Do you believe in fate?’  Dalton asked portentously.

     Just at that moment the voice of Tex Ritter burst from the radio.  Tex had a voice that commanded attention so conversation was suspended for a moment.

Tex sang:

If the ocean was whisky

And I was a duck,

I’d dive to the bottom

And never come up.

But the ocean ain’t whiskey

And I ain’t a duck.

So I’ll play Jack O’ Diamonds

And trust to my luck.

page 1707

     ‘That’s what I believe.’  Dewey said pointing at the radio.

     ‘You’re a drinker?’  Dalton asked thickly for whom the conditional was an incomprehensible mystery.

     ‘Aw, Dalton.  I think you’re missing the philosophy of the thing.’

     ‘What’s that?’  The Mastermind asked stupidly.

     Dewey could see the man was hopeless; he decided to shine him on a little.  ‘Old Philosopher.  Good Bourbon label, don’t you think?’

     ‘Uh, no, I drink Jack Daniels, Black.’  Dalton replied proudly.  ‘There ain’t nobody doesn’t think JD ain’t the best bourbon.’

     ‘Oh yeah?  Well, Jack Daniels isn’t bourbon; it’s Tennessee Sour Mash sippin’ Whiskey.’

     ‘It’s bourbon.’

     ‘Doesn’t make that claim on the bottle.  Read it.’

     As they began the climb to Flagstaff night was coming on.  As they climbed and night fell it grew colder and colder.  Dalton turned on the heater.

     He continued to question Dewey about his money.  As the time came closer to the moment he had decided to act he became more proprietary toward his intended sacrifice.  Like many a murderer he thought his intended victim belonged to him.  He was foolish enough to let it show.

page 1708.

     Dewey had no notion that Dagger actually intended to murder him but it seemed clear that Dalton intended to rob him and leave him standing by the side of the road.  Dewey thought a show of force might be beneficial so he reached in his pocket to withdraw his pearl handled Japanese knife with the long thin blade.

     Dalton watched eagerly thinking Dewey was going to show him the money.  The pin on the blade was so worn that in one motion Dewey withdrew the knife and flipped it open like a switchblade.

     Dalton thought it was one.  He developed a pensive brow.  He didn’t like it but he saw it merely as an obstacle requiring greater caution.

     A sign on the highway pointed to Flagstaff.

     ‘Oh darn.’  Dewey said.  ‘I hoped we would go through Flagstaff.  I wanted to see it.  I guess it’s off the highway.’  Then he said something incomprehensible to Dalton.  ‘Shucks, there isn’t even any snow on the ground.’

     Dagger decided it was time to act.

     Now, if you believed Dalton back there in the Mojave when he said he fought the Sergeant and Rivers fair and square you were just as gullible as the rest.  Dalton was as fond of the bushwhack as any American male.  He had blindsided the Sergeant and bopped Rivers over the head from behind.  He didn’t intend to give Dewey a chance either.

     ‘Oh, I’m so tired.’  Dalton said stifling a false yawn.

page 1709.

     ‘What say we pull off on a side road and get some sleep.’

     So long as they were heading East at eighty per Dewey was content fo humor Dalton complacently so that Dalton thought Dewey was a very placid harmless sort of guy.  At his suggestion of stopping it was Dewey’s turn to fly into a rage.

     ‘Oh no you don’t.  Are you crazy, Dagger?  What the hell are you talking about, pull over?  I’m already fifty-eight hours on the road.’  He said bitterly thinking of Teal Kanary.  ‘I’m not going to stop.  You leave the road and you let me out here or, by god, you’ll learn the reason why.’

     Dalton was startled by the outburst, even intimidated.

     ‘I’m getting too tired to drive.’  He whined.

     ‘Then pull over and let me behind the wheel.  I’ll drive and you can get in the back to sleep.’

     ‘You don’t have a license.’

    ‘Since when does a guy like you worry about laws, eh, killer?  You don’t need a license to drive, old desperado, you only need a license to show a cop.  I haven’t seen a cop since the Needles.

     ‘I’m not going to let you drive my car.’

     ‘Then shut up, keep driving and turn on the heater, it’s cold in here.’  Dewey said flipping out his knife for emphasis.

     ‘The heater is on.’  Dalton whined who, they both realized, had been shivering in his short sleeve canned pea green shirt for some time.

     ‘Then why is it so cold?’  Dewey asked drawing his coat about him.

page 1710

     ‘I don’t know.’  The master mechanic wondered.

     ‘Oh, hey, wow, look at that.’  Dewey said noticing an elevation sign.  ‘We’re at seven thousand feet.  I didn’t know Flagstaff was up that high.’

     ‘Oh my god.’  Dalton gasped as he realized why there was no heat.

     ‘Oh my god, what?’  Dewey replied nonchalantly.

     ‘Oh Jesus.’ 

     ‘Oh my god, oh Jesus what?  Come on, if you’re cold get a jacket out of your trunk and let’s keep going.’

    ‘My car’s froze up.’

     ‘What do you mean your car’s froze up?  What does that mean?  How could that be?’

     ‘Damn you.  You wanted to come this way.  it’s all your fault.  If we’d gone by way of Phoenix this wouldn’t have happened.  At seven thousand feet it’s probably zero outside.’

     ‘So what?’

     ‘My radiator froze.  That’s why there’s no heat.’

     ‘How could that be Dagger?’   It’s not so cold that anti-freeze freezes.’

     ‘I don’t have any anti-freeze.’  Dalton said sheepishly.

     ‘Dewey was flabbergasted.  ‘No anti-freeze?  Why not?’

     ‘It wasn’t cold in LA.  I didn’t need it.’

     Dewey sat back.  He knew it was too good to be true.  What a miracle it had seemed to get a ride straight through.  He now saw himself back out on the highway.

page 1711.

     ‘Hey Dalton.’  He said with false warmth in his voice.  ‘Let me get this straight.  Number one, you’re a master mechanic who knows everything there is to know about a car.  Number two, you’re from Bay City, you grew up there, you know it’s colder than an ice cube at the North Pole and you tell me that because it’s warm in LA, even though you’re going to Bay City in December that you don’t put anti-freeze in your car?’

     ‘Oh man, I was trying to save money.’

     ‘Boy, you’re a lot more stupid than I thought.  So what’s going to happen?  Is the car going to stop running?’

     ‘No.  It’ll be OK until it warms up and melts, then the radiator and probably my block will burst and it will overheat.  Then we’ll stall.’

     ‘My advice  then is to turn North.  Keep it frozen and we’ll be alright.’  Dewey said facetiously and maliciously.

     ‘Don’t be facetious.’  Dalton said.

     ‘Oho, don’t be facetious.  The desperado, Duelin’ Dalton Dagger knows a polysyllabic big word.’

     Dalton, now that he realized there was no possibility of heat realized he was very cold.  He also didn’t want to murder Dewey in this circumstance.  He might be stuck out there alone.  Dewey’s desire to see Flagstaff had saved his life.  Thanks to a story in a pulp magazine read seven years before he was still alive.

     ‘God, I’m cold.  Let me have your coat to wear.’

     ‘Why would I do that?  Then I’d be cold-er.’

     ‘You’ve got that wool shirt.’  Dalton said referring to Dewey’s middie.

page 1712.

     ‘Well, Dagger, just stop and get a jacket out of the trunk.’

     ‘I don’t have a jacket in the trunk.  I don’t have anything in the trunk.  This shirt is all I’ve got.’

     ‘What?  You’re going to Michigan in the dead of winter and all you’ve got to wear is that short sleaved pea green shirt with the frill on the sleeve?  It’s even a terrible color.  I wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise.’  Dewey said in disbelief.

     ‘Yes.  I thought the heater would keep me warm.’

     ‘Without anti-freeze?  OK.  Given your intelligence or lack thereof, I guess I can accept that.’

     ‘You going to let me wear your coat?’

     ‘Hell no, Dagger, you’ll have to freeze.’

     Dalton stared glumly ahead as he drove shiveringly through the night.  Fortunately the radiator freezing didn’t affect the radio so as they rolled down the mountain in the black starlit night the voice of Hank Snow warmed the atmosphere if not the temperature as he sang with seeming sardonic intent:

The Last Ride.

In the Dodge City yards of the Santa Fe

Stood a freight made up for the East.

And the Engineer with his oil and waste

Was grooming his great iron beast.

While ten cars back in the murky dusk

A boxcar door swung wide.

And a hobo lifted his pal aboard

To start on his last ride.

A lantern swung and the freight pulled out

The Engineer gathered speed.

The Engineer pulled his throttle out

And clucked to his fiery steed.

Tens cars back in the empty box

The hobo rolled a pill.

The flare of the match

Showed his partner’s face

Stark white and deathly still.

As the train wheels clicked 

Over the coupling joints,

A song for a Rambler’s ear,

The hobo talked to the still white form

His pal for many a year.

(Spoken)

For a mighty long time we rambled Jack

With the luck of men that roam,

With the back door stoop for a dining room

And a boxcar for a home.

We dodged the bulls on the Eastern route

And the cops on the Chesapeake.

We traveled the Leadville narrow gauge

In the days of Cripple Creek.

We drifted down through Sunny Cal

On the rails of the old SP,

Of all that you had through good and bad

a half always belonged to me.

You made me promise Jack,

That if I lived and you cashed in,

To take you back to the old churchyard

And bury you there with your kin.

You seemed to know I would keep my word,

For you said that I was white.

Well, I’m keepin’ my promise to you Jack,

‘Cause I’m takin’ you there tonight.

I didn’t have the money to send you there

So I’m takin’ you back on the fly.

It’s a decent way for a ‘bo to go

Home to the bye and bye.

I knew that fever had you Jack,

But that doctor just wouldn’t come.

He was too busy treatin’ the wealthy folks

To doctor a worn out bum.

(Sung)

As the train rode over the ribbons of steel

Straight to the East it sped.

The Engineer in his high capped seat

Kept his eyes on the rails ahead.

While ten cars back in the empty box

The lonely hobo sighed.

For the days of old

And his pal so cold

Who was taking his long Last Ride.

page 1715.

     Dewey had been listening with concentration so he didn’t hear Dalton when at the line ‘Takin’ you back to the old churchyard’ Dagger turned to the window to mutter ‘except you ain’t goin’ to see no churchyard.’

     ‘Boy, don’t you think that’s great.’  Dewey said in wonder.

     ‘What’s so great about it?’  Said the dull witted uncomprehending sluggard.

     ‘Well, I mean, there’s the romance of it.  All those fantastic references to the Leadville narrow gauge in the days of Cripple Creek…’

     ‘What’s a Leadville narrow gage doin’ in a Cripple Creek?’  Dalton asked suspiciously fearful Dewey might know something he didn’t.

     Dalton was on pretty safe ground because although Dewey knew what a narrow gauge railway was and he knew Leadville was in Colorado the rest was pretty well encompassed by romance.  It sounded sensational to him.  He ignored Dalton’s question.

     ‘…well, you know, what I mean is it’s the romance of the rails.  Besides Hank Snow can get more words into a three minute song than anyone I know.  The guy who wrote that song is easily as good as Robert Service or Thayer.  I mean, that’s just a nice verse story.’

     ‘Shut up.’  Dalton said unceremoniously.

     Little did Dewey know he was rolling down the great divide between the old America and the new.  The railroad song was already a thing of the past; next up were truckin’ songs about the great Interstates.

     And so the driver with the man in the passenger’s seat pierced the night with their bright head lights while they bid the coast goodbye without a sigh to head for the old Northwest.  They sped on down the mountainside to a destiny on the other side.

     The faint flimmer of pre-dawn light rose to reveal a desert covered with sage brush.  As the light increased the ribbon of highway called 66 was visible as a narrow line far below.  As rosy fingered dawn revealed the earth in all its glory far in the distance perhaps a hundred miles away, or maybe more, the city of Albuquerque was revealed against the opposing mountain range.

     ‘Must be in New Mexico.’  Dewey said in awe just to pronounce the sacred name of a State.

     ‘Must be.’  Dalton said between clenched shivering teeth although the temperature had risen significantly with the desert and the dawn.

     They rolled on down to rejoin Highway 66.

     Dalton had developed a cold throbbing hatred for Dewey over the last six frigid hours.  While Dalton was still throwing off the chills in his canned pea green short sleeved shirt with the frilly cuff Dewey had been comfortable  for hours in his rain coat.

     As Dalton warmed so did his engine.  The needle of his heat gauge rising inexorably toward the red.  Dalton lamented the impending loss of his car but worse still he deeply lamented his failure to put anti-freeze in the radiator which allowed Dewey to justly call him stupid.  He felt stupid.  He hated Dewey even more because he knew he was stupid.  But as with all people who are foiled in their hopes by an able opponent he felt grudging admiration for Trueman.  Dalton felt that it was a shame he had to die.

page 1717.

     Dalton glimmered that his best opportunity had passed up on the mountain.  He hoped his car might not be so damaged that it couldn’t be repaired for not too many dollars.  If that came about then, he thought, it would be a matter of who could stay awake the longest.

     As the sun levitated up the sky the bitter cold of night left Dalton’s limbs.  Dalton bitterly resented that Dewey hadn’t lent him his coat.  Dewey couldn’t believe that anyone going to Michigan in the winter wouldn’t have the foresight to provide himself with the proper gear.  Dewey substituted the word ‘foresight’ for ‘stupid’ and used it with enough emphasis to irritate Dalton.

     Dalton redoubled his efforts to discover where Dewey had concealed his cash.

     Entering Albuquerque he devised a ploy.  He needed gas but he knew Dewey wouldn’t give him money for that.  A little grocery store sat across the street from the gas station he selected.

     ‘I’m hungry.  While they’re gassing me up let’s go over to that grocery store to get something to eat.’

     ‘Go ahead.  Get something for me.’

     ‘OK.  Give me the money.’

page 1718.

     ‘I don’t have any money.  I just thought it would be a nice gesture if you bought something for me.  Kind of show your appreciation for my pleasant company, you know what I mean,  after all we’ve been through together and all that.  I’d think you were an OK guy.  That’s worth something isn’t it?’

     ‘Not that much and I’m not that OK.  Go hungry.’

     Dalton crossed to the grocery store.  As he did Dewey stepped to the side of the highway to put his thumb out.  Futile gesture as there was no morning traffic.

     Dalton emeged from the store to become enraged.  He saw his two hundred dollars trying to escape.

     ‘Hey Trueman, get your ass back in the car.’  Dalton shouted sternly to the astonishment of various loungers and attendants.

     ‘Listen Dagger, your car’s finished.  I’m catching another ride.

     ‘Oh no you’re not.’  Dalton said shifting his food to his left hand and doubling up his right threateningly.  ‘Get back in the car.’

     ‘Even you aren’t stupid enough to get in a fight in a strange town.  Or are you Dagger?  Cops’ll put you right back in the jug you stupid jarhead; only a psycho would answer an ad for a few good men.  That you got sent to the brig doesn’t mean that you’re a better man it means that you’re even more stupid and psycho than the rest.  Dig it!’

     Dalton was hurt.  Strangely instead of getting angry he broke out in a little pout thrusting his lower lip out and bringing his eyebrows down over his eyes.

page 1719.

     Seeing Dewey’s contempt it began to dawn on him that the hothouse atmosphere begun in Barstow the previous day had evaporated.  He didn’t want to admit that he had lost the opportunity but he realized that conditions had changed.

     ‘My car still runs good.  We’ll get there.  Come on.  Hop in.  It’s OK.’

     ‘Well, there’s water dripping out under there.  You’ll probably overheat and die on the highway.’

     ‘No, I won’t.  It’s OK.  Honest.  Come on.’

     Acting on the premise that a sure ride is better than a potential ride Dewey got back in the car.

     Surprisingly the damage to the car wasn’t that bad, which is to say, it was a slow leak rather than a rapid drain.  Dalton kept it at eighty per through Tucumcari and into the Panhandle of Texas.  As the day warmed up out on the Texas plains the car slowly pegged in the red.

     By the time they reached Amarillo Dalton had slowed to fifty for the last seventy miles or so.  Even then the engine wasn’t that hot; there was no blast of heat coming through the fire wall.  The car could be repaired very cheaply.

     As they passed through Amarillo Dalton became increasingly concerned.  Tired of and Dalton and his incessant clamoring to know where his money was Trueman informed the ex-Marine that if he couldn’t do eighty he was getting out.

     Thinking of Trueman only as an additional twenty-five hundred Dalton didn’t know which to lament more the loss of his car or Trueman’s price.

1720. 

     Just on the East side of Amarillo a combination auto repair and junkyard appeared on the North side of the road.

    ‘Better pull in there Dagger.  Once we’re out of Amarillo there won’t be any better places.’

     Incoherent with despair Dalton pulled in.

     The Olds was a very good looking car for a ’53.  The body was sound.  The engine was great.  Dalton had an excellent choice is a used car.  Actually the only think wrong with it was a couple seals had burst.  The mechanic’s eyes lit up as Dalton bounced steaming unto their lot.  They gave him two choices; overpay or leave the car.

     Like all men who work cars for a living they pretended that they didn’t know what was wrong with the car.  Could be next to nothing could be the engine.

     ‘It’s the radiator.’  Dalton said with assurance.  ‘I know all about cars; more than you guys do.  How much for a used one?’

     ‘Hmm.  ’53 Olds.  We don’t have a junker on the lot just now.  We’d have to check around for a rebuilt one.  Hmm.  Might take a couple days to find one.’

     ‘Couple days!;  Dewey cried, slapping Dalton on the shoulder of his pea green shirt.  ‘I’m in a hurry.  Thanks for the lift Dalton.  So long.’

     Dewey crossed the highway with a sense of relief to put his thumb out.

    ‘Hey…hey…you…can’t…come back.  You can’t do that.’

     Dewey was worth twenty-five hundred to Dalton while the war was only worth a couple hundred so he quickly opted for Trueman.

page 1721.

     ‘What are you doing, trying to get away?  You listen to me.’

     While Dewey had always suspected his danger he now realized the extent of that danger.

     ‘Trying to get away?  What the hell are you talking about Dagger?  Your car’s dead and I’m not waiting two days to fix it.  Screw you.’

     ‘Yeah?  Well, listen Trueman, we’re together.  From here on we’re hitchin’ together.’

     ‘What? Are you crazy Dagger?  Nobody’s going to give two guys a ride.  I’m not going to spend weeks out here just because your car broke down.  Didn’t even break down.  You’re so stupid you didn’t put anti-freeze in it because it was warm in L.A.’

     Dalton knew Dewey had a good argument; no one would pick both of them up.  He tried a last expedient.

     ‘Well, OK. Now listen, I’m going to tell you what you’re going to do.  You’ve got your uniform on so it’s going to be a lot easier for you to get a ride than me.  So, I’m going up ahead of you by a couple hundred feet and when anybody stops to pick you up if you don’t tell them to pick me up too when I get to the Valley I’m going to look you up and kill you.’

     Dewey did believe Duelin’ Dalton Dagger.  He was convinced that Dalton would try to kill him but he mistakenly believed Dalton would never be able to find him.  His mother had divorced and remarried so that even if Dalton knew his name he didn’t know his mother’s.  By that time Dewey thought Dagger was really psycho and might a way anyway.

page 1722.

     ‘Oh yeah, sure Dagger, no problem.’  Dewey promised as Duelin’ Dalton Dagger took up a position up road.  He stood there glaring menacingly at Trueman poised to run after him should the sailor try to run the other way.

     No sooner had they taken up position than a ’48 Hudson pulled over to pick Dewey up.

     Dewey wasn’t worried that Dalton would find him in the Valley but there was many a mile yet between him and his destination.  It was entirely possible Dewey surmised that Dalton might overtake him further up the road.

     This presented a danger for while Dewey had the foresight to realize the consequences of his actions Dalton didn’t.  Therefore, Dewey reasoned, if Dalton overtook him and Dewey wouldn’t cooperate the idiot was liable to start a fight and maybe get them both arrested.  He thought it expedient to attempt to appease Dalton.

     As he got in the back seat of the Hudson he was relieved to find most of the seat was already taken up by boxes of various description.  The two guys in front were so big there was no room for the ex-Marine.

     ‘Say, could you do me a favor and let the guy up there know there isn’t room for him?’

     ‘We’re not going to stop.’

     ‘I know.  Just shrug your shoulders and hold up your hands helplessly or something so he’ll know I tried.

page 1723.

     Killers On The Highway

     Dewey settled back in his seat and began to take note of himself.  He began to examine what now appeared to be a pile of junk beside him while the passenger reached his left hand over the seat clutched like he was picking up an old rag:  ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t pick up your friend but we’re moving and there’s only room for one.’

     ‘Thanks for stopping.  That guy wasn’t any friend of mine.  His car burnt out.  If you can believe it he’s going to Michingan and didn’t put anti-freeze in his car because it was warm in L.A.  Car froze up in Flagstaff last night.  Threatened to kill me if I didn’t ask you to stop.’

     ‘Kill you?  My, that’s violent.  Do you think he would have?’

     ‘I think he’d try.  Wouldn’t get very far with me though.  How far are you going?

page 1724.

     ‘We may take you as far as Tulsa.’

     ‘Oh great.’  Dewey said having no inkling of how many miles that was.

     ‘Yes.’  Said the man in the passenger seat whose name was Daryl.  ‘But.’  Daryl added significantly.  ‘We’re going to leave the highway here soon and take an alternate route.  We will drop you off here if you like or you can ride with us on the side road.’

     Dewey heaved a sigh at this sinister note.  His intuition told him to get out.  They had put him in the back seat which might have meant only that they thought three in the front seat of the huge Hudson might be crowded or it could be meant as a sign of disrespect.

     Daryl had shaken hands with his left which in common parlance meant ‘left hand to a nigger or inferior.’  Now they were to take a less traveled road giving him the option to extricate himself or by staying giving permission to do with him as they liked.  Dewey had hitched enough to read signs either on or off the highway.  There was danger with the homos before and danger behind him in the person of Dalton Dagger.

     If he got out of the car on 66 there was the real risk that Dalton might overtake him in a matter of minutes.

     ‘Christ.’  Dewey thought.  ‘Dagger would give up his ride just to get me.’

     Dalton had threatened to kill him while these guys hadn’t although as a pair of queens, big strong ones at that, anything was possible.

page 1725.

     ‘Well, you’re still going to Tulsa?  I mean, you know, the road…’

     ‘Oh yes, the road we’ll drive crosses 66 in Tulsa.’

     ‘Well, OK.  I’ll ride along with you.

     It will be noticed that Daryl didn’t ask Dewey how far he was going.  That was because he thought he knew how far Dewey was going and that was one hundred miles short of Tulsa.

     Highway 66 was a not very wide two laner before the Interstate and the new road was narrower and rougher than that.  As Darrel, the driver, eased the car North of the highway into this cowpath Dewey had misgivings.  He didn’t know it but by not getting out he had given the Darrels permission to kill him.  In their mind they had given Dewey his chance to live or die.  They were fair men.  Since he hadn’t gotten out he had consented to acquiesce in the homos’ plan.

     As it was Dewey was completely disoriented.  He had been up so long that, while the nervous tension of the journey prevented his being drowsy, his reactions were somewhat impaired.  In addition the novelty of his surroundings completely threw him.  He had lost a sense of time and place.  He knew it was daytime because the sun was shining but that was all.

     He was unaware that he had been given a princely lift but it was about four hundred miles from Amarillo to Tulsa which is not a ride to sniff at.  Dewey had a good map of the United States in his head.  He knew where Tulsa was in relation to Chicago and back to L.A. but he had no real notion of mileages.

page 1726.

     He hadn’t even looked at a map before he left San Diego so he had little idea of the physical realities of distances between cities.  He had known where California was and he knew where Michigan was so he just put his thumb out.  In a lot of ways Dewey was a boy wonder.

     Looking again at the pile of junk beside him he noticed that there were some things piled on top a large box that was covered with a black cloth.  He rapped the box with his knuckles; it seemed to be made of wood and empty.

    ‘Hmmm, the box is empty.’  He mused apprehensively to himself.  Why would anyone who was moving transport an empty box?’

     Recalling him from his reverie Daryl said:  ‘You’re real lucky to get a ride in Oklahoma.  You will have a real difficult time East of Tulsa.’

     ‘Oh yeah?  How’s that?’

     ‘Just a few days ago a family- mother, father, brother and sister- picked up a hitchhiker.  I guess they liked him because they took him home, fed him and everything.  What do you think he did?’

     ‘I don’t know.  Passed gas?’  Dewey snickered in a feeble attempt at humor.

     ‘No, silly.’  Daryl laughed slapping the air at him.  ‘He murdered the whole family and threw them down a well.’

page 1727.

     ‘Oh wow!’  Dewey said disbelievingly.  ‘Did they catch him?’ 

     ‘I don’t think they have yet.  He’s still a killer on the loose.’  Daryl said rolling the phrase on his tongue as though to make its flavor last.

     ‘Likely story.’  Thought Dewey.  ‘Just my luck to be passing through at this time.’

     ‘Well, I’m not going to kill anyone kind enough to give me a ride.’  Dewey said thinking to reassure them in case they were worried.

     ‘No.  I should think not.’  Daryl continued.  ‘But it isn’t only people that pick up hitchhikers that get killed.  Lots of hitchhikers get killed too.’  Daryl turned a flabby cheek toward Dewey over the back of the seat and looked at him signficantly.

     There was that hint of violence again.  All the details were pointing to something sinister.

     ‘Gosh, what is this?’  thought Dewey.  ‘Why is my life constantly hopping out of the frying pan into the fire?’

     He began to study the two Ds more attentively.

     He was in a precarious situation at the same time more or less dangerous than his situation with Dalton Dagger.  In point of fact the Darrels cruised this stretch of highway from Amarillo to Tulsa picking up hitchhikers who were subsequently never heard from again.

     They had explained the pile of junk beside Dewey as belongings they were transferring to a new address.  Thinking they were pitiful small belongings for two such large men Dewey had said noting but he was still wondering why they were transporting an empty box.

page 1728.

     Dewey had been right in his surmise that they were two old queens.  The men were deeply psychically injured.  As Homosexuals it was almost a miracle they had found each other because both had been injured in exactly the same way at exactly the same age and both had reacted in exactly the same way even to physical type.  They were like Tweedledee and Tweedledum except their names were spelled Daryl and Darrel.

     Both were large men; six foot three, husky running to fat and very strong.  They had huge arms; they could bend an iron bar.  Their prissy manner contrasted with their apprearances.  Their affectation of the feminine was grotesque in their persons.  They might have passed as twins but they had only gone to the same school in different places.

     Both had been sexually abused by their fathers while still in their cribs.  They had been only sixteen months old.  There was no possibility that they had a conscious memory of it but they had subconsciously processed the information and as they grew their subconsciouses had directed them in the same way.

     They keenly felt their violations as a breach of trust.  Thus they had cruised the highway of a weekend for the last two years looking for hitchhikers who would be grateful and trusting.

     When they found the right person they would activate the central childhood fixation of their violation.  Both men possessed two distinct minds.  A very powerful subconscious and a feeble conscious mind.  When they murdered the subconscious mind was in control.  Unlike Richard Speck who was aware but unconcerned at what he was doing the Darrels had no conscious memory of their crimes.  You could have questioned them to doomsday on a conscious level and they would truthfully have denied any knowledge of the murders.

page 1729.

     But, if you had known the symbols n which their subconscious minds dealt with their activities there is no chance that they wouldn’t have told you all in symbolical language.  After all, subconsciously they did not know they were doing wrong.  They were only doing symbolically to others what had been done to them.  For if they had had their trust betrayed in an identical manner and no one had been punished for wrongdoing why should they?  And there is a symbolic death and even an actual psychological death or murder in the violation of one male by another.  After one’s symbolic murder the whole of one’s life becomes an extended effort to ressurect oneself at the expense of others.  Not only others but preferably innocent others just as one’s self had been innocent.

      The most brilliant literary evocation of the homosexual dilemma is in the final scene  of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick.

     In that scene which takes place on the great wide bosom of the ocean, or feminine symbol of the unconscious Capt. Ahab has confronted the great white whale of homosexuality and lost.  Now, Moby Dick is a story of a man’s or, several different men’s, struggle with their homosexuality which takes place on many levels.  Ahab himself has lost a leg, a substitute for his penis, to the great white penis, Moby Dick, which is a symbol of the cause of his homosexuality.

page 1730.

Next

Advertisements

Disco Donn Demands Deliverance

by

R.E. Prindle

Part II-4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 151.

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

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

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

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

     ‘Yes. Yes, they are.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 153. 

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

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

page 154.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 156.

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

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

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

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

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

page 157.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 159.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 160.

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

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

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

page 161.

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

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

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

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

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

page 162.

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

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

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

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

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

page 163.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 164.

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

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

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

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

page 165.

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

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

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

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

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

page 166.

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

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

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

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

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

page 167.

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

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

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

page 169.

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

     ‘Why me?

      What did I do?

      What did I do?

      What did I do?’

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

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

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

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

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

     ‘What?’  Said the birdwatcher in amazement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 170.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 171.

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

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

page 172.

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

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

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

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

page 173.

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

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

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

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

page 174.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 175.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 176.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 177.

V.

Somebody Shoot Out The Jukebox

I don’t want you under my roof

with your eighty-six proof

Watered down till it tastes like tea;

If you’re going to pull my string

Make it the real thing

for me.

-Chip Taylor

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

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

     ‘Get off me.’   Donn demanded.

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

page 178.

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

     ‘Back off.’

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

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

     ‘What band?’

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

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

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

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

page 179.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 180.

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

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

page 181.

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

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

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

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

page 182.

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

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

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

page 183.

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

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

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

 page 184.

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

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

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

page 185.

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

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

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

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

page 186.

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

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

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

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

page 187.

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

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

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

page 188.

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

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

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

page 189.

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

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

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

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

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

page 190.

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

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

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

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

 page 191.

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

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

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

page 192.

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

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

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

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

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

page 193.

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

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

page 194.

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

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

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

page 195.

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

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

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

page 196.

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

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

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

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

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

page 197.

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

page 197.

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

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

     So you know from one side they’re tellin’ us about freedom of speech and from the other side they’re tellin’ if we don’t say what they want they’ll make us hurt.  Who cares, when you get old you lose, I wanta live fast, die young and leave a beautiful corpse.  (Daddy would get two out of three and two out of three ain’t bad.)  So they used to stage these mock debates, everything’s mock in America, there ain’t nothin’ real, over whether Blacks are naturally inferior or not, then they wouldn’t invite the Blacks so as not to hurt their feelins.  White only affair.  Why they did I don’t know because nobody was goin’ around sayin’ Blacks was inferior.  Wouldn’t dare, they’d expel anyone who did.  So they tap me to take the side about Blacks are naturally inferior.

     Oh yeah, but I forgot.  First I’m in this political science class where they tell you what to think, you know, party line, why call it education for chrissakes, and I’m next to this old buck, Black guy about forty, so we get this test back, I got a C and this black guy gets a B, but I look over at his paper and see I’ve got a higher score.  Well, you know, I can’t take that without a squawk so I point out that if this guy should have a B I should have a A, don’t want to take nothin’ away from the old blood, so this guy, this so-called prof, looks me right in the eye and says that because of the bell curve he’s only got so many As and Bs to hand out, that because this Black guy’s had it tougher than a White guy like me who’s had all this ‘White skin privilege’ he gets a B and I gotta take a C.  Bull Shit!  I’ve had it plenty tough.  If you wanta compare tough with tough I’ve probably had it tougher.  I mean, I don’t know whether I’m comin’ or goin’.  So this so-called prof says shut up or I’m out of the class.  Boy, I am plenty burned, but so what?  What can I do about it?  Nothin’.

page 199.

     So, then they tap me for this debate, probably because this asshole tells ’em I’m a bigot or something, and I’m told to lay down, take a fall , you know.  Fuck that shit!  If I’m in it I’m in it to win.  So I give ’em holy hell, used statistics and everything, so  they order me off the dais right in mid debate and call me in for a chat.  I defend myself because, man, I mean, I’ve had enough.  They tapped me I didn’t go to them.  But then I notice the administration is pretty cool to me and I can’t get good grades no longer.  Guys are always challenging me in class, provoking me.

     So I wrote this prayer for racial harmony.  The only problem was I started out ‘Oh Lord…’   Not only did they bar my poem on religious grounds but when the hailed me before the board as a trouble maker, get this, some Black guy who was a Muslim objected on the grounds that I was talking about a Christian god, he assumes because I’m White I’m a Christian, which discriminated against Allah, and this Jewish guy nods his head in agreement because my prayer might be taken as anti-Semitic on the same grounds.

page 200.

 End of clip Part II-4.  Go to clip Part II-5 which is the last clip.

The Sonderman Constellation

by

R.E. Prindle

Chapter IV-2

Continued from Chap. IV-1

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

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

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

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

page 1.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 2.

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

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

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

page 3.

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

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

3.

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

I was still there.

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

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

page 4.

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

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

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

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

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

page 5.

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

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

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

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

page 6.

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

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

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

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

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

page 7.

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

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

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

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

page 8.

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

4.

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

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

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

page 9.

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

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

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

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

page 10.

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

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

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

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

page 11.

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

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

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

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

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

page 12.

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

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

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

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

page 13.

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

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

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

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

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

page 14.

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

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

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

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

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

page 15.

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

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

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

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

page 16.

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

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

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

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

page 17.

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

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

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

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

page 18.

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

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

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

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

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

page 19.

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

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

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

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

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

page 20.

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

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

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

You sit there a cryin’,

Right in your beer.

You think you got troubles?

My friend listen here:

Now, there stands a blind man-

A man who can’t see-

He’s not complainin’

Why should you or me?

Don’t tell me your troubles,

I got enough of my own.

Be thankful you’re livin’

Drink up and go home.

 page 21.

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

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

     Freddie Hart was playing that weekend.

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

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

page 22.

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

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

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

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

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

page 23.

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

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

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

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

page 24.

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

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

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

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

page 25.

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

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

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

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

page 26.

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

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

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

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

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

p. 27.

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

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

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

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

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

page 28.

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

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

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

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

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

page 29.

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

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

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

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

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

page 30.

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

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

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

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

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

page 31.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 32.

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

5.

…O Zeus and Athena and Apollo

If only death would take every Trojan

And all the Achaeans except us two,

So we alone might win that Sacred City.

–Homer

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

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

page 33.

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

     But then Freud was a pioneer and not a developer.

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

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

page 34.

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

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

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

     But I know my brothers.

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

page 35.

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

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

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

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

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

page 36.

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

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

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

page 37.

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

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

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

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

page 38.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 39,

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

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

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

page 40.

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

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

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

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

page 41.

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

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

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

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

page 42.

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

     Shortly thereafter I began to organize my baggage better.

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

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

page 43.

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

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

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

page 44.

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

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

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

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

page 45.

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

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

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

page 46.

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

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

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

page 47.

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

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

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

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

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

page 48.

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

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

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

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

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

page 49.

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

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

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

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

page 50.

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

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

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

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

page 51.

     In contrast, my wife and I had no children.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 52.

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

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

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

page 53.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 54.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 55.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    What, me worry?

The End Of The Sonderman Constellation,