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Category Archives: Seventies

The Vampyres Of New York

Clip 9

A Novel

By

R.E. Prindle

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: The ride’s on me Lessing.

Ragnar: Sure. The ferry’s free.

Me: Aren’t you the spoil sport Ragnar.

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

Ange: Me neither.

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

Ange: Any idea how long it takes?

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

Lessing: What are the San Juans?

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

Once aboard Lessing had a puzzling experience.

Lessing: Hello Angeline. Do you remember me?

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

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

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

Lessing: Maybe or maybe not. But I seem…

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

 

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

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

Ragnar: We chauffeurs have our ways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ange: Ooh, a snob.

Lessing: A man of distinction and taste.

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

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

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

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

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

Lessing: Because Partly told me to call him Perry.

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

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

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

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

Me: Ooh, that far West?

Lessing: And you don’t remember me Angeline?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lessing: I’m sorry Angeline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ange: Boy, this is one spooky place.

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

Ragnar: Not overgrown, returned to nature.

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Sounds great.

Ange: What is the Serapion Brethren?

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

Ange: Where did you get the name Lessing?

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

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

Lessing: That one’s called Mademoiselle Scudery.

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

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

Ange: You better come back.

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

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

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

Where do matters rest now?

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

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

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

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

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

Lessing: No, I’m free.

 

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

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

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

Me: I was otherwise employed.

Ange: Let me see that Partly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ragnar: How’s that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

Ange: I’m ready Dearest Partly.

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adelstein: Not you ass, her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Today. We want our men out.

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ragnar: I don’t think so.

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

 

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

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

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

Me: Yes. What kind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Exactly, Ange, my darling girl.

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

 

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Complete and entire in one clip. Approx. 50 pages.

The Hole In Black Mountain

A Novelette

by

R.E. Prindle

You can’t trust your eyes

When your imagination is out of focus.

–Mark Twain

     On the West Coast of the United States lying between the Coast Range and the Cascade Mountains in the State of Oregon is the Willamette Valley. (Pronounced Will-am-ette) The Valley is about a hundred miles long, twenty to thirty miles wide.  The bulk of Oregon’s population lies in this big valley.  To the north along the once mighty Columbia River, now ‘tamed’ by man’s ingenuity, is Portland, the metropolis of the State.  Sprinkled throughout the Willamette Valley are numerous small towns.  The most important are Salem, which is the State capitol, Albany-Corvallis, the home of Oregon State University and Eugene at the extreme southern end where the mountain chains join and rise.

     Eugene is a fair city.  Luxuriantly green in summer and mild and wet during the winter.  The lordly Willamette River bisects the town as it does all the important towns of the Valley.  Eugene is dominated by two buttes; Skinner’s to the East and Spencer’s to the West.  The soul of Eugeneans is bisected by the dichotomy of good and evil just as the river divides the town and the buttes are its poles.

     Eugene, much to the chagrin of some of its citizens purports to be a Christian town.  It is the intolerant Christianity of the fundamentalist sects.  The town’s more ardent Christian devotees wished to have a symbol of their Christianity above them.  They longed to erect a cross on Skinner’s Butte plainly visible to all the residents on the West Side of the river.  Those Christians less ardent and the non-Christians opposed such a monument.  Whether a heritage of the frontier past or merely an expression innate to their souls, or whether they were possessed by Satan, the ardent Christians in the still of the night erected a huge concrete cross in despite of their neighbors and possibly the law.  This created a furor.  The other citizens demanded the cross be removed.  The fundamentalist Christians defied them to take it down.  Armed patrols paraded the site at night prepared to gun down their neighbors if necessary to protect their cross.  Over the years attempts were made or talk was bruited to dynamite the cross but all efforts were detected and foiled or never came to fruition.

     Thus it was never clear whether the ardent fundamentalists represented God or Satan.  They professed to be one but acted the other.  They believed that evil could be perpetrated for the sake of good.

     In addition to their souls being bisected the souls were also consumed by envy, an unChristian attribute.  They knew how unhappy they were.  They therefore desired that none others should be happier than they.  At about the same time the cross was erected a pop singer by the name of Connie Francis was reachig the apex of an unparalled career.  She had gone from peak to peak of a record of unblemished success.  She was a symbol of wholesomeness and purity.  Too wholesome and pure thought some Eugeneans; no one can be that good.

      Now, at about this time Connie Francis was appearing in New York.  Just prior to going on she was brutally raped.  The consequence was that she was psychologically unable to recover. Her mental equilibrium was destroyed.  She never performed again.  Her brilliant career was turned to dust.  Envy had triumphed.

      A number of young Eugeneans took great pleasure in this sad occurrence.  They were pleased that that symbol of success had been destroyed.  They went so far in their minds as to transpose the situation to Eugene believing that Miss Francis was about to go on stage in Eugene and that one of them had committed the atrocity.  They could point out the motel she stayed at and everything.  The story was confidently and intimately told to others.

     Dewey Trueman drove into town with high academic hopes.  He hoped for a brilliant post-graduate career.  Dewey came up from California where he had lived for the previous six years.  Those six years coincided with the first six years of the fabulous sixties.  Years of unparalleled prosperity; years of maturation of world popular music; years of cultural changes that moved too fast for hide bound minds to contemplate.  The Beat movement of post-war years had developed into the Hippie counter-culture.  Inexplicably men had begun to grow long hair.  Complex ethnic problems had created student unrest on the college campuses.  The storm had centered on the campus of the University of California at Berkeley.

     Envy caused Eugeneans to profess to despise California.  Cars carried bumper stickers that read:  Don’t Californicate Oregon.  The very thought of Berkeley terrified Oregonians both on and off campus.  The fear was that those damned radicals might come up to Oregon.  Dewey had not attended U.C. Berkeley but had gone through the State college system in Hayward just to the South of Berkeley.  He had formerly had long hair but informed of the narrow attitude in Oregon he had trimmed it to above the collar in back and just touching the ears.  This was not good enough;  Oregon was whitewall country.  Trueman did not respond well to the bullying he received to show whitewalls.  He defied them.  He let his hair grow back.  The locks fell not only down over his collar but over his ears.  His situation deteriorated further.  He soon realized that his college career was going to be cut short shorn of brilliance.  He had better create a new dream.  At the end of his second year the axe fell.  He recieved a letter advising him that he was not of an academic disposition.

     This was probably not untrue although not reason for dismissal.  But then Trueman was not of a corporate disposition either or, indeed, any other.  He was a lone carrot growing in a potato patch.  A very good carrot and worth cultivating but not a potato.  Dewey took the news more sullenly.  He thought, and this was not incorrect either, that the reason for his dismissal was that he wouldn’t get down on his knees for the professors.  In fact the history department was studded with homosexuals.  These gentlemen did have the casting couch mentality.  As all power corrupts they had determined to break Dewey down to his knees.  But there is no changing history; Dewey was out.

     He had anticipated this development.  He was neither a stupid nor obtuse man.  He also knew from experience that he had little hope of success in a corporate environment.  He was now thirty; there was no reason to look for a job.  Consequently he had opened a record store at the beginning of his second year.  His store was now prospering.  He gave up his dream and took up a hope.

     Dewey’s store was downtown on Eleventh Street, actually in the shadow of the famous cross upon the hill.  Not Calvary, but Skinner’s Butte.  Selling records meant selling Rock n’ Roll.  Fundamentalist Christians saw Rock n’ Roll as the Devil’s music.  One who sold the Devil’s music must be a Son of Satan.  A few years on the Fundamentalists would invent the concept and seriously propound it on TV that by playing records backward one could hear Satan talking to you.

     Well, this is more serious than an intelligent person might think.  I don’t want to laugh when I tell you this although it is sublimely ridiculous.  Every store must have a name.  Dewey’s Records was out.  Dewey was a fan of an astonishing rock group named The Doors.  He especially adimired two songs off the first album.  Soul Kitchen and Crystal Ship.  He inclined toward Soul Kitchen, if you’re hip chuckle, but his wife persuaded him, wisely one believes, to call it The Crystal Ship.  This was too simple and straightforward for Trueman who inclined toward the religious or mystical.  Also it was the fashion of the day to change the spelling of common words as the rock groups had changed Beetles to Beatles and birds to Byrds.  Dewey dropped the article and changed the spelling to Chrystalship.  The similarity to Christ was intentional but ill-advised.  Music to Dewey had that connotation of salvation.  Indeed, if Chrystalship was successful it would carry him to salvation.

     It was not his intention to offend the Boxtop Clergy but they construed the spelling as an intentional insult.  And this by a Son of Satan selling the Devil’s music in the Shadow of the Cross.  Not only did Trueman offend the Boxtoppers (Very few of these guys who called themselves Ministers had ever seen the inside of a seminary or had theological training or even elementary education.  For ten dollars or less you could answer advertisements in newspapers for ordination in some bizarre church.  Hence for a cereal boxtop and a few dollars you could wear a collar.)  with Chrystalship but he astounded the Hippies with his daring.  Unknown to Trueman crystal was a term to designate the drug speed, or, by its proper name, amphetamines.  They thought the store was a cover to sell speed.  The Boxtoppers and citizens got wind of this definition before Trueman and converted the term to mean heroin.  You can see Trueman’s predicament.

     Thus exalted by their cross combined with their natural malignancy and envy they immediately outlawed Trueman and made him a non-person.  No one was to acknowledge his existence.  They also loaded him with all their sins which were so numerous he could only carry a portion at a time.  He was confirmed in their minds as a degenerate and pervert not only capable of anything but actually doing everything they wanted to and enjoying it.

     These were stressful times.  Even educated people set aside their critical faculties and believed their worst fears.  Because Trueman had come up from California and because he was first on campus with long hair and because student unrest reached Oregon with Dewey the faculty had cast Trueman in the role of mastermind.  This was absurd.  There was absolutely no evidence to confirm the opinion, but then when one wants to see what one wants to see none is needed.  This reputation on campus was converted into the notion that Trueman was certainly masterminding the drug trade of Eugene, probably Oregon and possibly the whole world.  A twenty-four hour a day watch was set on him.

     All Hippies were deemed stupid.  It was thought that none could succeed in business.  Indeed, a few Hippie businessmen had come and gone before Trueman.  He had been given what was thought to be an impossible location.  In ordinary circumstances it may have been but for a counter culture business the location was perfect.  The store prospered.  Trueman extended his store into an adjacent space in the deserted building.  This made the town fathers uneasy.  They expected him to close up not expand.  Then Trueman approached the landlord to rent the large vacant space formerly occupied by the town’s leading men’s clothier.  That space fronted the main street.  Willamette was the main drag,  the street down which every Friday and Saturday night the town’s teenagers drove their cars.  The street was a dragster’s dream.  Twenty-four blocks, nearly, from Butte to Butte. 

     Urban renewal was ubiquitous during the sixties.  Even little Eugene had such a thing.  There was little to renew but it was fashionable and provided jobs for dependents.  Urban renewal bought the building the month after Dewey’s inquiry.  Dewey was given thirty days to vacate, even before the deal was out of escrow.  He was told there was no room downtown for the likes of him.  The building was immediately demolished leaving a huge gaping hole in the ground that filled with water and existed for years in that manner.  There was no room in Eugene for Dewey.  Very likely it was hoped there was no room in Oregon for him.

     Trueman was in a desperate frame of mind.  In the two years at the location he had gone from a deficit of one month to an income by which his wife could quit working for what he called ‘the slugs of the Oregon Department of Employment.’  It was true that it was a very good thing for those boys that sexual harassment was not yet an issue for they were an evil crew.

     The thought that his independence was to be taken away from him drove him into a frenzy of activity.  There was only one suitable space available downtown.  That was a dilapidated building on the edge of respectability next to the main branch of the Universal National Bank of Oregon.  A mighty triple contradictions of terms that typified the mentality we are dealing with.

     The employees of UNB would have done anything to keep Dewey out.  The building was owned by a Mrs. Winsome.  She would have honored UNB’s request but for the fact that in their lawless disregard of other people’s rights they had trampled on hers.  While digging the foundations for their bank they had undermined the foundations of Mrs. Winsome’s building.  The brick wall had begun to buckle.  The repairs cost a vast amount not to correct but merely to arrest the collapse.  The wall now bulged inward noticeably.  Her recourse to law had been futile and expensive.  According to her the bank had said:  Stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.  She may have been exaggerating nevertheless it was with a fair amount of pleasure that she installed Dewey next to her enemies at the Universal National Bank Of Oregon.

     The new space was twice as big as the former store.  Trueman’s sales more than doubled.  It soon became apparent to the town fathers that Trueman might survive the move and actually expansion.  In the meantime they lost a golden opportunity to destroy him through their own shortsightedness.  Urban Renewal had decided to make a mall of downtown.  Thus three blocks each of Willamette and Broadway were torn up to make a pedestrian mall.  To spite Trueman the mall was stopped short of his building ostensibly leaving him outside the blessing.  Thus his business was not disturbed by construction and the parking spaces in front of his store were left intact.  Had they included his space they could have heaped an eight foot mound of earth in front of his door as they had done to one or two others who were also in disfavor.

      Realizing their mistake too late, after the mall was completed Urban Renewal condemned the building, gave Mrs. Winsome nothing for it as punishment for having rented to Trueman and gave Dewey thirty days notice.  Now, at this time there were no suitable vacant spaces downtown.  The faces of the town fathers tilted back and looked down their noses at Trueman with a warm smile of spite.

     Dewey’s brow knitted with care.  He no longer had just independence but an income which gave him some enjoyment of life.  He didn’t want it taken from him.  As he assayed the situation he noted that a women’s clothing store called the Orange Garden had just opened a new large store on Willamette and retained an original store two block away on Broadway.  They were at an impasse with the landlord over rent.  Dewey reasoned that Eugene was too small to support two stores two blocks apart, especially as a shopping mall was on the books for across town,  and that he would be doing them a favor if he could get the space.  As it turned out he was as the Orange Garden shut down two years later.

     Dewey approached the landlord.  He agreed to the landlord’s terms.  The landlord, in what he called fairness to the Orange Garden gave them a last offer which they refused.  The landlord then rented to Dewey.  The new location was twice as large as the former location.  Dewey had taken the lease with some trepidation but his sales immediately doubled and continued to rise.  Dewey tried to be cool but he was ecstatic.  The towns people looked on sourly.  As Dogie Doudous put it:  No one should look that prosperous.

     For the first time in Trueman’s life everything seemed to be going his way.   The town fathers turned their backs to him and grew pensive.  There was little they could do to his business now.  His building was up to code.  He was in the new mall across from the prestigious department store called the Bonne Chance.  They still tried a few things.  Dead rabbits were stowed in the power tunnel beneath the front of his store which gave off a fetid odor across the front of the store but Trueman’s business still flourished.  It was after all the heyday of the record industry.  People who had never bought records before now did and lots of them.  Trueman had avoided giving the store a head shop image.  Everyone could shop in comfort in his store.  It had an ecumenical atmosphere.

1o pages.

     The town fathers now knitted their brows sitting around in deep concentration.  It was decided unanimously and without a word of discussion,  Dewey Trueman must die.  This was no joke.

     Plans were made; the delivery of the ‘Death Warrant’ was entrusted to Teddy Tetou.  Teddy was on the staff of KGEN radio.  He had his own time slot from 8:00 to 12:00 AM as well as serving as a salesman.  KGEN was the official radio station of the town fathers.  No Rock n’ Roll disgraced its wavelength.  Neither did many listeners tune in except for the very old and cantankerous.  This rankled the town fathers who deplored the degradation of youth.  KGEN served as call letters for both the radio and TV stations.  The company had petitioned the FCC for the call letters KEUGENE.  This would have made them the only seven letter station in America.  The FCC refused.  The refusal was met indignantly by the station owners.  They didn’t see how it would hurt the FCC to change their entire system just for them.  As they were wont to say:  Where is it written in stone that call letters could only number four?  They were correct.  It wasn’t written in stone anywhere, but the FCC still maintained it was the rule and the FCC made the rule.  The FCC was a hated arbitrary authority figure in Eugene.

     Tueman’s success had not been accidental.  He had applied intelligence.  He had taken chances.  In his way he had overturned the way of doing business in Eugene.  He had proven that their rules weren’t written in stone either.  They took offence because they had meant to do that but just hadn’t gotten around to actually chiseling the letters.  In Dewey’s case it was noted that he was a disturber of the peace and an unwholesome presence.

     The merchants of Eugene believed they were dependent upon the University Of Oregon for most of their business.  Thus in the summer months when school was out of session they reduced their inventories to bare bones and waited for September.  In Trueman’s first year he was just beginning to do well when June rolled around.  He was cordially advised to reduce his inventory.   But in the record industry new releases come out continually.  Keeping up with them financially is the most difficult part of the business.  It doesn’t take long to lose your rhythm and fall behind.  Besides Dewey was too inexperienced to know how to reduce his inventory.  The hits would sell off and slow moving catalog would remain.

     Dewey plowed ahead amidst the laughter of more knowing heads.  But his business didn’t decrease, it expanded at an incredible rate.  At the end of the first August Dewey’s head was reaching for the clouds.  When the U of O returned his business shot into what he then thought was the stratosphere.  Dewey Trueman followed along.  He bought and sold, sold and bought.  His second summer was just as successful.  By the third summer the other merchants had learned their lesson from him, but they didn’t like him any the more for their increased prosperity.  They learned their lesson from him painfully.  They hated him for it.  Quite innocently and without intention he had proved them wrong.

     Dewey wanted to do big business in a bad way.  Perhaps as a joke they sent the towns top Rock n’ Roll, or rather Top Forty DJ, Bob Deal, ‘Your Fifth Wheel’ as he styled himself, to sell Dewey radio time.  Dewey hadn’t inquired because he thought advertising on the radio would be too expensive.  This was in 1968, but he found from Bob Deal that thirty second spots only cost three dollars each.  For a hundred dollars a week he could, as the saying goes, own the station.  As he was rapt in thought Deal laughingly excused himself thinking he had played a good joke.  He was out the door when Trueman recovered himself shouting:  ‘No, no, Bob.  Don’t leave.  Come back.  I’ll take a hundred dollars a week.’

     The Fifth Wheel stopped on a dime.  There were few, heck there were no, merchants buying a hundred dollars a week. 

     ‘The first week’s in advance.’  He blurted.

     Trueman did his own copy and on air delivery.  The advertising was instrumental in his success.  But the Son Of Satan in the Shadow Of The Cross drove his enemies mad with his ‘constant bleating’ on the air.

     The success of his radio advertising made Trueman want to try TV.  It was thought that TV was prohibitively expensive.  This was 1971.  As Trueman saw it ten dollars for thirty seconds could be made to pay.  As soon as he opened on Broadway he began a TV campaign.  He did his own spots on the tube also.  Thus not only had he succeeded despite all efforts to eliminate him but he now appeared nightly in the living rooms of the very people who hated him the most.  Compared to what had happened to Connie Francis, Trueman, they thought, would not be treated so tenderly.

     On February 14, St. Valentine’s Day, Teddy Tetou showed up at Chrystalship at closing time with Trueman’s ‘Death Warrant’ in his pocket.  He entered with an air of hostility and undertones of viciousness which characterized the heralds sent to deal with Dewey.  The general rule was that only the lowest of the low were to communicate directly with Trueman.  He had been slandered to such an extent as a sexual pervert, whatever that might have meant in Eugene,  and drug addict that no one except those of such a mind would try to talk to him.  Since he was not a drug addict or a sexual pervert he ignored any attempts of this sort to communicate with him.  As a radio time salesman Tetou had reason to talk to him, but Tetou had made himself so obnoxious toTrueman by his denunciation of Rock n’ Roll that he was no longer welcome even as a salesman.

     Accordingly as he truculently burst the swinging doors open he was greeted with an equally truculent:  ‘What do you want here in the House of Rock n’ Roll, Tetou?’

     As the townsfolk invariably mispronounced his own name in a variety of ways such as Divi Traubman, Dewey who fought to be cool under pressure, but despised the principle of mispronunciation, nevertheless broke down from time to time and imitated his enemies.  Even then it was difficult to distinguish whether he had said Teddy or Titty.  Tetou winced but as he had been through it before and now anticipated it he said nothing.

     ‘I just came down here as someone in the same industry to talk music.’  Tetou offered as the cash register noisily closed out another day.

     ‘What’s to talk about, Titty?  You reject the culture of your day for an atavistic attachment to the tunes of yesteryear.  You want to live in your Daddy’s world rather than your own.  Why don’t you go back to KEUGENE?  I live in a different world.’

     Tetou disregarded everything Trueman had said.

     ‘Yeah, well, you know, just because Creedence Clearwater Revival has had five hits in a row doesn’t mean they’re going to go on forever.’  Tetou foamed.  ‘Nobody has more than five hits before they miss.  Even your Rock n’ Rollers.  Just watch, Clarence Clangwater Removal if going to fall on their ass next time out.’

     Tetou who shared the prejudices of his fellow Eugeneans despised the notion of continued success.  He hated prosperity in others.  CCR could have been Johnny Mathis or Andy Willians for all that matter.  Tetou didn’t really care.  The important thing was that any success fade away.

     ‘I wouldn’t be surprised, Titty.  No one has ever gone on forever.  Even your hero Bing Crosby told Pat Boone of the white bucks that he would only be popular for seven years.  That’s how Crosby who knew a hell of a lot more about the cycle than you do appraised it.  Besides Titty, future failure does not wipe out past success.’  Trueman went on misunderstanding Tetou’s real objection.  Tetou on his part was hoping Trueman would affirm his point of view.

     Tetou glared at Trueman.  His kind was only successful in their dreams.  Even then it was only a petty kind of success equal to their abilities.  Brows knit, hands in pockets, legs spread Tetou abusively changed the subject without admitting his defeat.

     ‘Yeah?  If you’re finished here Trueman, come with me.  I want to show you something.’  Tetou ordered.  He tried to cover his lack of manhood by bullying.

     ‘Oh, you want to show me something.  I’m sure anything you’ve got to show me shouldn’t be seen by mortal man…or woman.’  Trueman chuckled, insultingly, laughing appreciatively at his own joke.

     ‘Close this place up and come with me.’  Tetou ordered roughly.  They had created such an image of their own virtue and Trueman’s vice in their minds that they were quite unable to distinguish between fiction and reality.

     ‘Who the hell do you think you are to order me around, Tetou?  You’re nothing but a time salesman for the crummiest radio station in town.  Nobody advertises with you but your stooges.  I’m not going to, so take your schedule and get out of here.  Leave.’

     Tetou realized his error and now cajoled and implored Trueman to come lest he fail in his mission.  Trueman perceived the reason for the urgency behind his voice.  Something’s up.  Trueman thought,  I think I’ll see what.

     ‘Lead on, MacDuff.’  He said in his most contemptuous tone.  ‘Let’s see what you know, Tetou.’

     Trueman turned the key in the lock as Tetou pointed vaguely in the direction of what turned out to be Railroad Avenue.  Tetou led the way to a house that has since been demolished, as though that could destroy a bad memory, for freeway construction.  They stood on the corner beneath a stree light.  The corner lot was vacant.  They looked across the vacant lot at a two story rectangular house.  The house had been divided into apartments above and below.  The upstairs apartment was reached by a staircase along the side of the house.

     What Trueman saw was a long line of people stretching from the top of the stairs along the side of the house and turning down the sidewalk to the end of the block.  Occasionally the line turned the corner.  Those who entered the door at the top of the stairs quickly emerged and raced down the stairs and away.  As quickly as the line moved forward others took a place at the end of the line.

     Tetou gave Trueman a malevolent look of satisfaction as though Trueman were responsible.

     ‘You know what’s going on there, Trueman?’  He said smugly, expecting a guilty reaction from him.

     ‘No, Titty, what’s going on there?’  Trueman replied his derision overcome by wonder.

     Tetou gave him a look that implied:  Coy to the end.

     ‘Do you know lives upstairs there, Trueman?’

     ‘Aw skip it, Tetou, just get to the point.  How can I ever know what you people are talking about?’

     ‘Jim James lives up there.  Do you know what he does for a living, Trueman?’

     Trueman turned to leave.  ‘Aw, for Christ’s sake Tetou, can’t you people ever get to the point?’

     Tetou grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.

     ‘I’ll tell you what he’s doing, Trueman.  He’s selling marijuana.  What do you think of that?’

     Trueman’s jaw unhinged as he stopped in his tracks.  He perceived in a flash the entire situation.  He gave Tetou an incredulous look.  Tetou gave Trueman a vicious nod of affirmation.  Trueman realized that Tetou was ignorant of who his masters were.

     ‘What do you think is going on there, Titty?’  Trueman asked with malicious satisfaction.

     Tetou responded with a knowing look at Trueman.

     ‘Someone’s making a lot of money and it’s not just Jimmy James.’

     ‘Who do you think it is, Tetou?’

     Tetou just sneered and gazed at Trueman knowingly.

     ‘Me?  Oh no, Titty, oh no.  I don’t have anything to do with drugs, regardless of what you think.  Do you really think I would be walking around free if I were involved in that?  Do you really think I have contacts to get away with that?’  Tetou blinked.  ‘No, Titty, no, of course not.  Look at that line.  Does this go on every night?  Night in and night out?’  Tetou blinked yes.  ‘Then you aren’t going to tell me that the DA and the police don’t know about this are you?’

      Tetou thought a minute.  ‘They must not or they’d arrest him.’  He said lamely.

     ‘How do you know about it, Tetou?’

     ‘The guys down at the station talk about it all the time.’

     ‘So the owners of the station know about it?’

     Tetou assented. 

     ‘The owners of the station know about and they’re big men in town.  A word from them to the police…hell, it wouldn’t even take a word to the police, all it would take is a TV camera down here and all those people would scatter.  It doesn’t happen.  Doesn’t that tell you something, Tetou?’

     Tetou had realized the truth but had gone into a state of panicked denial.  He was busy rearranging reality to fit his prejudices.  Trueman on his part realized why Tetou had been directed to show him this scene.  Drugs was big business.  At certain points in the distribution line big money was to be made.  The town fathers thought that Trueman was surreptitiously making a fortune from drugs.  They now wished to show him their power to make fortunes without fear of arrest.  As Trueman understood it they were telling him to stick that up his nose.

     ‘You know why the cops don’t bust this guy, Tetou?’  Tetou was sweating from the shock, he weakly nodded no.  ‘Because they’re in on it.  Because they’re getting their share of the Big Money.  Look at that line, Tetou.  How many lids do you think that guy sells every night?  Three, five, ten kilos worth?  You know what that means Tetou?  No, huh?  In business terms that means that there are probably three hundred kilos in transit every month just for him.  He must have ten, twenty or thirty kilos in the house at all times.  There must be a warehouse with at least a hundred kilos in storage.  That’s enough to fill a semi or maybe the trunks of hundred cars.  The cops can’t break this?

     Have you ever read any history, Titty?  I wouldn’t think so.  There is no illegal or subversive organization that has ever existed at any time in the world that wasn’t half spies.  There was no labor union that wasn’t half labor spies.  The Communist Party was always half government agents.  They always shoot for secretary of the organization and they always get it.  Do you believe that half the dope dealers in the country aren’t government agents?  Are you people really so stupid Tetou that you don’t think that I don’t know that half my employees are your own spies?  I don’t know anyone who talks to me that isn’t spying, present company not excepted.  You guys are sick; you never get evidence but you never give up your fantasy.  Now I see why.  You need me as a cover for this.

     A couple of years ago I was taken to see some yo-yos who were conspiring to ‘overthrow the government.’  Do you know how many of his ‘organization’ weren’t spies?  Spies were the only ones involved.

     So the cops can bust this guy anytime they want.  You could bust me anytime if I were doing anything.  So why don’t they bust him?  You got any idea how much money they’re making at fifteen dollars a lid, Titty?  Probably somewhere between two or three million a year.  Who’s making it?  I don’t know many people in town Titty, but you can be sure that several shares are distributed to the DA and cops.  Harry Grabstein and Natty Segal who run downtown are getting theirs.  The TV and radio stations are silent so they must be getting theirs.  You don’t see any ‘crusading’ newspaper reporters trying to expose this, so what do you think that means?  Who the others are I don’t know but you can be sure that at least a couple hundred people are involved.  So you guys control the cops and judges.  I’m impressed, Tetou.  Bye bye.’

20 pages.

     Tetou’s mind was swimming as he dogged Trueman’s footsteps.  For a brief moment before denial secured his mind he realized the truth.  He also remembered the ‘death warrant’ he was to deliver.

     ‘Yeha, well, hey, Trueman,’ he said padding after the rapidly striding figure before him, ‘they want your business at KGEN-TV so they told me to give you this.’  He said holding out a folded paper at Trueman’s back.  Trueman didn’t pause.  Tetou ran after him, catching up he thrust the paper in front of Dewey.  Trueman grabbed it and threw it on the ground in disgust.  Tetou quickly snatched it up running after Trueman.  this time he stuffed it in Trueman’s jacket pocket.  Trueman turned with raised fist in the dark.  ‘Get away from me, Tetou, you scumbag, or I’ll deck you with one punch, so help me God.’

     ‘That’s a certificate for a free weekend at the Hole In Black Mountain, Trueman.  Use it.’  Tetou said, scurrying away into the black having gotten the certificate onto Trueman’s person.  He was able to say that he had accomplished his mission.

     Trueman stormed home to pur himself a drink, dangerous habit, to calm himself so as not to offend his wife Angie by his violent mental agitation.  He had no intention of using his ‘death warrant’; the ‘free’ weekend at the Hole In Black Mountain.  He should have thrown the certificate into the trash but some plebian trait of mind ascribed value to the thing.  He couldn’t bring himself to throw something of value away.  He stuffed it into a drawer of papers.

     He knew that some humiliation had been devised for him at the Black Mountain Resort.  He feared assassination attempts but the notion was unreal in his mind, more a premonition of paranoia then anything else.  Yet he was right to be apprehensive, there was no paranoia involved.

     It had been supposed that Trueman would jump at the offer; use it that very same weekend.  All the preparations for his murder had been made.  When no reservation was made the whole plan remained in suspended animation in the minds of the conspirators.

     They had met some weeks before when it became apparent to them that Trueman had evaded their snares.  When they saw his very apparent increased success they knew then that something positive would have to be done.

     Half by election and half by self-selection a band of four evolved who were entrusted by their community to execute its wishes.  They in turn by a series of chance meetings in restaurants and on streets came to recognize and accept each other as co-conspirators.

     Once they recognized each other a series of meetings was held in the law offices of Joshua L. Babycakes to determine a course of action.  The final decision had been reached the week before the unconsciously held deadline of St. Valentine’s Day on which Trueman had been shown their money machine on Railroad Avenue.

     The four were not of the first water, that is that they were not of the inner circle of the inner circle, but they were of the circle.  They had the same walk and knew the same talk.  There would be no questioning of their decision; it would not require consent.  They were trustworthy fellows.

     Joshua Babycakes had achieved his pre-eminence despite very limited material success.  He was a native of Eugene.  This placed his father and grandfather before the turn of the century.  Oregon towns only developed in the latter quarter of the nineteenth century so that seventy-five to a hundred years of residence gave a family antiquity.

    Babycakes’ family had been in on the landgrab.  They had had a couple thousand acres of high timber which they had sold to the Western Timberlands Corp. before it had become practicable to clearcut the land.  Joshua had gone to the U of O law school where he had somehow found the discipline, or, at least, he had the contacts, to graduate.

     Babycakes was not of a settled or subtle mind.  In one of those incredible twists of the human mind his stumbled over the question of small distinctions.  He couldn’t bring his mind to accept small distinctions.  His character had formed around the nucleus of an incident when he was twelve years old just as puberty shot its growth hormones throughout his body and mind.

     Joshua’s father was a stamp collector.  He had an extensive collection of US stamps.  Not a philatelist’s dream necessarily but enough to knock your socks off.  Joshua had one day needed postage to mail a small package.  Since he couldn’t find stamps in the drawer he got out his father’s stamp collection and sent his addressee a very valuable collection of rare postage stamps.  Well, you can imagine his father’s reaction when he discovered his loss.  It wasn’t visceral, it was genetic.  His A! gene became detached.  His rage was communicated to Joshua as a disease.

     Joshua had never been able to comprehend his father’s reaction.  To him, a stamp was a stamp.  Three cents printed on one was the same as three cents printed on another.  Except that the pictures were different they all looked the same.  Joshua in his turn became chronically enraged; nor did his understanding improve.  He failed to understand why one bottle of wine should cost fifty dollars while another bottle of wine should sell for three.  ‘There, look at the label,’ he would say to himself or anyone chancing to stand by him in a store, ‘They both have the same alcoholic content.  One bottles gets you as drunk as the other.  What kind of fool would take the one for fifty dollars?’

    He therefore concluded that only big fools would pay more than three dollars and he despised ‘fools’ of any quality.  If Joshua Babycakes thought you were a fool he thought you were fair game.  As Babycakes set his own ignorance as the standard of conduct you may be sure that he had yet to find a man who wasn’t a fool.  Therefore in his rage he lashed out at everyone.

     The fact is that most people weren’t fools except in the sense of Puck’s:  Oh, what fools ye mortals be.  People accordingly gave Babycakes a wide berth.

     Notwithstanding his graduation, the fine points of the law eluded Babycake’s grasp.  He was therefore so unreasonable before judges, all of whom he knew well, that he was really not welcome in court.  As he treated his clients in the same way his success as an attorney was very limited.

     He was slowly ruining the estate his father had passed down.  He was soon to use Urban Renewal to buy the properties downtown his father had left him.  They sat vacant and rundown because no one would deal with him after they had met him.

     In his rage however he was dangerous so nobody ever called him.  He was treated with kid gloves.  He was able to use his rage to maintain his position.  He was, in fact, a dangerous man.  His second floor office facing Willamette was enshrouded in perpetual gloom as he never allowed light to enter.  Even his lamp was of the dimmest so that, actually without business, he sat in the dark and brooded.  The room hadn’t been cleaned for years.  Papers dating back perhaps two decades were scattered about.

     Seated with him in this depressing setting was the owner of KGEN Radio and TV, Jeremiah (Jerry) Durkin.  His ownership of KGEN must be qualified.  He had been a salesman when the station was under its former management.  It had been bought by a general partnership headquartered in Seattle about three hundred miles to the North.  Jerry had been offered a ten per cent share in the ownership if he would manage the channel at a salary well below the industry norm.  Jerry jumped at the chance.  He mortgaged himself to the hilt to buy his share.  He was in fact now worth less than nothing.  It was a pleasure to him to be in the company of, associated with the big men.  He honestly had no idea he was a stooge.  He had been in his position for over a year now having realized no material advantages.  By the end of the year he would be on the street with nothing but a load of debt.

     There was a rumor that General Motors would build an assembly plant in Eugene as well as the entry of a couple of other large concerns.  The resultant growth of Eugene would make KGEN-TV a relatively valuable property.  It was decided by the Seattle big men to snap up Jerry’s ten per cent and get him out so as not to have to share the bonanza.  A series of losses were then manufactured for the partnership.  Jerry was not able to meet the levy and thus went to work tending bar.

     If the Seattle people had known the strength of the Little Eugene Party they would have let Jerry alone.  The Little Eugene Party was against change or growth of any kind.  They controlled the town.  Thus neither GM nor any one else was permitted to locate in Eugene.  Even aggressive local concerns were driven out.  The Seattle big men outmaneuvered themselves at fair cost.

     But that was in the future.  For the present Jerry Durkin reveled in his new found position of authority.  His life was a salesman’s dream.  Jerry didn’t realize he was a stooge in this instance either.  He was only included as a fall guy.  He was the expendable one in case anything misfired.  If it all came down, it would come down on him.  But there was actually no chance of that.

     He was a physical contrast to Joshua Babycakes.  the latter was a rough uncouth unkempt man given to wearing his clothes as though he crawled into them.  Durkin was a very precise dresser.  Small and thin he might have been seen as prissy.  He wore a double knit leisure suit in such a manner that the jacket resembled a Nehru jacket.  Even while sitting the opening was only about two inches wide.  The collar was high.  To show an unconventionality that no one would question he knotted his tie four-in-hand rather than Windsor, which latter style was de rigeur.

     Babycakes on the other hand wore a pinkish maroon pair of double knit pants topped by a garishly loud giant houndstooth pattern in the same tones.  His tie may have been knotted in some way or not, it may have been of a color that could be associated with a palette, who could tell.

     Next to Durkin was the Reverend Jim Jones.  I would call Jones a Fundamentalist but the boxtop he sent in for ordination may not even have been affiliated with religion of any kind.  His certificate just made him a generic religious type.  He did use the Bible however.  At any rate the Old Testament which he ostentatiously carried with him had the cover conspicuously torn off so that his Bible, like himself, had one cover missing.  Jones was virtually illiterate like all his kind.  He hadn’t even graduated from high school.  Still, as he said, when he received the call he knew he had to answer it.  His message was vengeance and hate disguised as patriotism and conservatism.  He didn’t lack an audience.

     The fourth member of the party was the Patriarch of Downtown, Harry Grabstein.  Harry was the Jewish member.  He was there to listen and observe for the Community lest anything happen that wasn’t good for the Jews.

     There was no point in describing Jones’ dress; beyond the absurdity of the clerical collar one would be hard put to say he was dressed.  The others were dressed in varying degrees of bad taste.  Harry was the exception.  He was a very meticulous dresser from his carefully combed and parted hair to the glowing polished wingtips encasing his feet.  Wingtips look bad after a lot of wear.  Harry never wore his more than thirty times before they were discarded.

     He wore a pair of charcoal grey pants of the finest wool lined in real silk.  His white shirt was of the finest sea island cotton.  His tie cost thirty dollars, a lot at the time.  It was of a woven tiny latticework design which viewed in one light seemed of one color but with a small shift in posture the recessed areas changed through one or two other tones while the original color always dominated.  It was a masterpiece of deviousness.  The knot was an impeccable Windsor.  The jacket was a magnificent plaid symphony of grays in kashmere.  Harry’s clothes always looked like they had just come back from the cleaners.  An impossibly precise trimmed mustache resided beneath his nose.  His face was stolid, grave and composed but betrayed un undertone of anxiety beneath the facade which indicated a deeply seated insecurity.  His knees were crossed, over which lay his right arm, the hand of which lightly held an unlighted straight stemmed polished briar pipe.  His was a carefully structured appearance to instill confidence.  Harry was, in fact, a confidence man.  Harry, as he smilingly observed the others was quite content with himself.

     Grabstein owned a furniture store downtown, since out of business.  He had helped his father build it.  He was not a good buyer.  His retailing methods, if ever sound, were antiquated.  Still, he was one of only two shows in town.  The other was the House of Segal owned by Nachman, Nahum to any Hebraists reading, Segal.  He was known as Natty.  The two of them regulated the Jewish community, which was of some size in Eugene, as well as controlling affairs downtown.

     The Jewish world at the time was being revolutionized by a crazy Rabbi by the name of Meir Kahane.  Kahane could really talk and write convincingly.  Even if crazy he expressed his ideas clearly and forcibly.  The Jewish establishment disclaimed him and, I think, truly despised him but his impact was immense.  He forced the Jewish establishment to go his way.  He had formed an organization called the Jewish Defense League, or JDL.  Its avowed purpose was to assassinate ‘anti-Semites.’  The extermination of the Jews was a bleeding wound to Kahane and the JDL.  The notion was that if Hitler had been assassinated in the twenties millions of Jews would be alive today.  It therefore behooved the JDL to assassinate any incipient ‘Hitlers’ before these ‘Hitlers’ had a chance to contrive to exterminate the Jews again.  Kahane had no historical perspective.

     Well, of course, several attempts had been made on Hitler’s life but they all had failed.  The attempts hadn’t even been made by Jews so far as we know.  Even then one couldn’t be sure that Hitler would do what he did or even imagine it.  Hind sight is always twenty-twenty.  But, you know,  Hitler was not only one in a billion but he lived in a historical milieu which made his actions possible.  That milieu had been created largely by Jews.  Both Hitler and the milieu vanished into Trotsky’s famous ashcan.  Hitler was no longer possible.  There was nothing for rational man to fear.

     Even though the Jewish Establishment disavowed Kahane the fear of another Hitler pervaded the Jewish mind.  Witness the movies from ‘Hitler’s Brain’ to ‘The Boys From Brazil’ to ‘The Exterminator.’

     Harry Grabstein was afflicted with this paranoid fear.  He and Natty Segal were constantly on the lookout for…’The anti-Semite.’  Now every goi in town had to come to Harry to submit their manhood to him to pledge their troth that they would not become the next Hitler.

     Dewey Trueman hadn’t.  He couldn’t.  He had been outlawed, made a non-person from the outset.  Grabstein had actually expressed his displeasure of the little hippie boy.  He had refused to even discuss renting one of his properties to him.  As a transplant from California Dewey had had only the vaguest notion of who Harry Grabstein was.  He had been pushed in Harry’s direction.  He had been advised of the power of the ‘Jewish Mafia.’  But a non-person has no obligations.  Thus he had never pledged his submission to the Jewish people.  Harry could draw only one conclusion.

30 pages.

     ‘He is an anti-Semite.’  Harry said in a calm voice just above a whisper.  ‘We can’t take any chances of another Hitler developing.’

     You should be laughing but you’re not.  Harry didn’t mean it as a joke but it is funny, even ludicrous.  Dewey Trueman had no political ambitions.  Another Hitler?

     No one of the conspirators even smiled.  They looked at Harry, swallowed and blinked.  To have offered an objection would have been to confess anti-Semitism.  They didn’t even know what an anti-Semite was.  Nobody does.  It has never been defined, legally or otherwise.  The term has no, or had, things have changed since this was first written, no legal status nor should it.  Nevertheless it has immense social status; it is the kiss of death in American society.  ‘He is an anti-Semite.’  He is beyond the pale of society.  No proof is necessary, none is asked for.  Send a torpedo at him.  Sink him.  Does anyone here remember the McCarthy era?

     Thus the decision to kill Trueman had been reached.  The code word placing Trueman beyond the Pale had been uttered.  ‘Anti-Semite.’  Prior to 1950 the gois had placed Jews beyond the pale when the word ‘Jew’ showed up as the religion of the applicant.  Since 1950 Jewish bigotry had replaced goi bigotry.  With the simple utterance of the word ‘anti-Semite’ an American could be excommunicated in his own land by his own people in favor of a foreign and enemy nation.

     The three looked again at Harry Grabstein, blinked again in acquiescence then began to order their minds to justify their action.  It wasn’t hard to do.  Morality had been corrupted by the notion that you have to fight fire with fire.  Dirty Harrys roamed the streets enforcing their personal brand of ‘justice.’  Trueman stood as a symbol of their frustrations.  There was little to do but load them on him and drive him to the slaughter.

     The only one present who knew who he was, where he had come from, where he wanted to be and how to get there was Harry Grabstein.  He could do a fair job of recounting the four thousand year record of the Jews.  He knew the pitfalls and the goals.  His one little candle was burning bright.

     The others were beset by vague fears and apprehensions.  None of them had ever cogitated on anything but ‘beer.’  The American history of the last seventy years was closed to them.  O, they knew heroes and villains.  The knew enough to applaud Roosevelt and hiss McCarthy but beyond that they were out of their depth.

     They were incapable of analyzing the effect of immigration or race on themselves.  All they knew was that White guys were bad and everyone else was good.  White guys had dropped the Atom Bomb hadn’t they?  They knew so little that they thought Werner Von Braun had developed the A-Bomb.  The fact the the A-Bomb was a Jewish development would have been vigorously denied by them.  They didn’t know that Von Braun was a rocket scientist.  Their thinking was so shabby they couldn’t even connect the fact that Von Braun had come to the United States after the Bomb had been dropped.  They thought the jet plane just happened.  Much in the way an egg yolk appears when you crack the shell.

     Communism which was linked to the A-Bomb in their minds was merely a visceral reaction.  A troubling one but an us versus them situation.  It was a matter of moral systems.  We had refrigerators and they didn’t. 

     The emergence of pharmaceutical drugs disturbed them.  Which brings us to the physical manifestation of their fears.  The Hippies.  They had no idea of how the Hippies ‘happened.’  The evolution from post-war Bohos to Beats to Hippies was beyond them.  Those people were all ‘weirdos.’  They did know that boys with long hair disgusted them.  Trueman was a Hippie with hair all the way down to here.

     This fact alone made him a kingpin in the drug trade.  Drugs!  One of the most amusing topics of an amusing period.  The major herbals- marijuana, hashish, opium, cocaine had been around from time immemorial.  I know, Iknow, but heroin is refined opium.  They had all been used in modern times by the well-to-do and Bohemians.  In the sixties they were democratized.  They were disseminated not only among the less and least affluent but sent into middle class neighborhoods.  The herbals would not have been a real problem.  The real problem was the man made stuff, the pharmaceuticals.  Industry had created a whole new class of potent drugs after 1950.  Barbituates and amphetamines had come into existence.  Whew!  The Peyote button and its derivative mescaline had come into prominence to confuse the issue.  Philosophies had even arisen about their use.  Sacred stuff, if you believed all that BS.

     The pharmaceuticals were prescription drugs.  All the men in Babycakes office had used or were using pharmaceuticals.  They had all used barbituates to one degree or another.  Jerry Durkin used Valium to ‘help’ him deal with the stresses of his new position.  In the early sixties when men such as John Kennedy, the President of the United States, were receiving regular injections of amphetamines, Joshua Babycakes had even received a series.  You may imagine the effect of that combination.

     But those uses were prescribed by a doctor and were therefore ‘medicine’ not ‘drugs.’  The kids used drugs.  Nor did one have to go to a doctor to obtain drugs.  With a few chemicals anyone could manufacture any of the pharmaceuticals.  ‘Better Living Through Chemistry’ as the Hippie wags put it.  The best illicit LSD was produced by a guy from Berkeley name Owsley.  Got started when LSD was legal and just didn’t quit after the deadline.

     The Bomb, Communists, Hippies, drugs.  They weighed heavily, misunderstood on their minds.  The worst was LSD.  The drug, or more properly, Hallucinatory, was a fearful entity to them.

     At the time the Hippie war cry was ‘Don’t trust anyone over thirty.’  Many saw the humor in it and had a good laugh.  Many others tooke the slogan very seriously.  Their fears were given a visible form by the movie ‘Wild In The Streets.’  In the argument whether movies are pure entertainment or whether they have an effect on society, this one had an effect on society.  A society which was completely devoid of a sense of humor.  Seven words that could no longer be mentioned in polite company.

     In the movie a Rock n’ Roll singer who it was believed was based on Jim Morrison of the Doors is elected President at an age below thirty.  Already the movie is a farce.  He then proceeds to round up the entire population of the United States over thirty and puts them in a concentration, or perhaps, retirement camp, in which they are kept perpetually doped up from LSD in their drinking water.  On any Sunday afternoon you could visit the camp where they could be seen walking around like zombies.  In fact, their children did just that oblivious to the fact that they would joining their parents in just a few years.

     How hysterical would you have to be to take this movie literally?  Well, listen.  A rumor developed that the hippies would soon pour LSD into the reservoir supplying Eugene’s water.  A watch was established on the reservoir to prevent such an occurence.  Young men were recruited to patrol the shores.  No one came to pour LSD into the reservoir.

     But, it was reasoned, if anyone would do it, Dewey Trueman would.  But Trueman closely watched never went near the reservoir, probably didn’t even know it was there.  Accordingly Trueman was lured out to Dexter Lake where the crystal waters come tumbling down from the mountains.  It was only with a great deal of effort that he was persuaded to leave the car to walk along the shore.  As he approached the shore a hurtling form came from nowhere to throw him to the ground.  As he gathered his senses he perceived six men, or ‘youths’ standing over him.

     One was holding up what he called a ‘vial’ but looked more like a gallon jug which he said held pure LSD that Trueman was going to pour into the water supply.  He said that Trueman was under arrest.  At the sight of the gallon jug of ‘LSD’ Dewey Trueman began laughing uproariously which was unexpected.  The thought of all the fish in Dexter Lake under the influence of that much LSD seemed so comical to him that he couldn’t stop laughing.  It was an incongruous thought but the laughter was misinterpreted by the young vigilantes cum lynchers.

     The transparency of their ruse embarrassed even them.

     ‘Well, we’re not going to press charges this time, but if you try anything like this again, it’s jail for you.’

     Yes, these were strange and wonderful times.  There were marvels and portents in the air.  You didn’t even need LSD or the DTs to see them.  the jug sat on a shelf in Babycakes office as a reminder of how close the city had come.

     Reality had indeed become a blurry vision to their overloaded imaginations.  Unable to relate facts to their existences they attempted to use bluster to balance the scales in their favor.  Politeness, manners and fairness which had never been overly conspicuous in American mores had been completely eliminated in their consciousnesses by the interfaces between the other immigrants and competing ideological systems.  On the one hand they bullied each other in an attempt to maintain their positions while groveling before the various ‘minorities’ who built this great land of ours.

     The Communist and Criminal belief systems had demonstrated the incapacityof law and order in their minds.  The Constitution perverted by hostile elements had become a tool to be used against the very ideals it expressed.  Without any real moral fibre they adopted the criminal methods of their opponents.  As they put it:  They fought fire with fire.

     Thus American society was becoming completely criminalized.  Criminal ethics were the order of the day.

     Trueman had succeeded in spite of all their efforts to foil him.  Thus in their eyes he had blunted their manhood, emasculated them.  They were only capable of functioning within the support of a group.  They all needed the permission or assent of the others to do what they did.  In a metaphorical mixing of vital body fluids, they all had shares in each other.

     The group assigned places and opportunities.  Legion were the number who were waiting pateintly for a chance at their shot which would never come.  In their minds Trueman had overleaped all those waiting.

     Trueman had not only succeeded against their wishes as a retailer, in their eyes he was making it big.  He thus made them feel less virile, less manly in relation to him.  His individual manhood transcended their collective manhood.  They had to bring that Hippie down.

     In a society in which the once dominant caste had been compelled to outlaw ‘bigotry’, or in other words its own innate beliefs, they were left with no class against which it was legitimate to discriminate.  All the other ‘minorities’  could discriminate against them and they were defenceless.  ‘Bigotry’ prevented their retaliation.  The Hippies were a godsend.  They could be hated without fear of reprisals.  They could be discriminated against.  The word creed was quickly eliminated from the litany race, religion or creed.  The Hippies could be cast as inferiors, their creed was not allowed.

     The Hippies took the lowest rung on the social ladder.  Even the Negroes who had prviously been on the bottom could look down on the Hippies who, in addition, were White.  As the Black rhythm and blues singer Bobby Womack sang it:  ‘I’d like to help you Harry Hippie; but how can I when you’re laying on the ground.’  Thanks Bobby but, no thanks.

     Trueman represented all their fears and woes; all their shortcomings and failings.  They loaded him up to be driven into the desert to die for their sins.

     Grabstein had said Trueman must die.  Having made his contribution, played his part, he now sat back to wait for the others to plan and execute the deed.  As with Christ and the Rosenberg’s, he and his fellow Jews would be innocent of Trueman’s killing.

     Jerry provided the method to lure Trueman out of town with the free weekend at the Hole In Black Mountain.

     Babycakes provided the method.  They never allowed facts to interfere with their fantasies.  They thought Trueman must be dealing drugs, therefore he was.

     ‘He named his store after heroin.’  Babycakes mused.  ‘So he’s gotta die by heroin.’

     Jones noted that God sanctioned such a solution as He Himself had said an eye for an eye.  The others looked at Boxtop Jim and nodded.

     It was decided to give one of Trueman’s tires a slow leak which would leave him with a flat somewhere, they envisioned, between the lava flows and the turn at Highway 20 down to Bend.  The Hell’s Angels Motorcycle Club was much feared in Oregon.  Sometime after the Angels trashed Hollister, California they had tried to move into Oregon but had been successfully driven out.  It was decided that Trueman was the kind that would hang out with ‘those guys.’  Durkin had read Tom Wolfe, being a progressive sort of guy, and had been astounded at the gangbangs Wolfe had described.  Therefore a group riding motorcycles and wearing Angel-like colors would abduct Trueman and his wife from the road.  To make sure that he couldn’t change his tire before they got there his tire iron was removed from his car.  As a joke a useless four lug iron would be substituted.  Trueman and his wife would be taken into the woods where all would rape his wife while Trueman struggled helplessly.  Then both would be given hot shots.  Their dead bodies would be left to be discovered by whoever might at whatever time that might be.

     During the discussion Babycakes had unconsciously written Connie Francis several times and triple underlined each.

     Boxtop Jim murmured:  ‘He who lives by the needle dies by the needle.’

     Harry took a suck or two on his dry pipe as he contemplated the end of another ‘incipient Hitler.’  The Jews would be safe for another little while.

     Accordingly the ‘death warrant’ had been delivered to Trueman by Tetou.  The conspirators naively believed that their plan would be promptly executed.  But as has been wisely said:  Man proposes, God disposes.  Trueman was suspicious; he didn’t make any reservations.

     Thus the contingent of faux Hell’s Angels wheeled aimlessly about the highway on that Friday afternoon.  The matter remained open in their minds; there was no closure.

     Trueman was a hard worker.  Running his store took all his time.  Wives are seldom understanding of what they construe as neglect.  Angie Trueman was no exception.  She liked the material advantages of success but she didn’t want to pay the fare.  She pressured Dewey to take some time off.  Dewey realized that they had only just begun to make it.  He was fully aware of the precariousness of the situation.  He had his enemies, natural external forces had to be dealt with, internal company forces had to be balanced, he had his own intense personal reactions to contend with.

     Angie nevertheless had to be placated.  Along about early May Dewey bethought himself of the certificate to the Hole In Black Mountain which he had thrown in the drawer rather than the waste basket.  He thought he could be away for the weekend.

     He was still apprehensive but he thought that since he hadn’t used the certificate when intended that their guard might be down.  Still he wanted as complete a surprise as possible.  Thus he called for reservations on the Wednesday previous to his Friday departure.  Word was immediately flashed back.  The conspirators only had time to improvise.

     There were two ways over the Cascades from Eugene.  One was the regular route along the spine of on 126 then down 20 to Bend; the other was a rough seldom used road across the lava beds at the top of the McKenzie Highway.  The Cascades are of volcanic origin.  A large lava flow exists at the junction of 126 and the McKenzie Highway.

     It was decided to lure Trueman onto this road by the lava beds where he would be despatched.  In this case a band of local toughs would be used to beat him to death.  Not artistic, but in administrative murders no inquiry will ever be made.

     As there had been no mental closure a couple of details from the earlier plan were performed automatically.  The tire iron had never been replaced so Trueman was still without a jack.  The right front tire was doctored to produce a slow leak.

40 pages.

     The suggestion of the lava bed route had been made to Trueman.  He had shown interest and said he would take the route.  Indeed, the idea appealed to him a great deal.  He did intend to go that way.

     He and Angie left at noon on that Friday.  His way had been prepared for him.  He was already a TV personality in the area so that there was no trouble identifying him.  His streaming hair would justify any hostility in the rural population who were still years away from adopting long hair in what would be their stringy unwashed fashion.  Folks on the rural routes are the last to adopt a fashion and the last to give it up.

     From the McKenzie Bridge in Eugene’s twin city of Springfield all along the river to the ridge road Trueman was met by unremitting hostility.  People actually lined the road to glare at him.  At the juncture of the McKenzie Highway and 126 the road, really almost a path, across the lava beds was plainly visible.

     Also visible was a row of thugs ranged along the crest at the first flow like a band of indians in a cowboy movie.  As he approached he could see a car parked across the roadway at the far crest of the flow.  He could see the car waiting to be driven across the road to block his retreat.

     ‘How stupid do they think I am.’  Dewey thought.  He knew the answer and dismissed it.

     Trueman saw the handwriting on the wall.  He knew he should turn back.  He also knew that Angie wouldn’t understand nor would he be able to explain it to her.  His enemies always had the advantage because there are few who understand and fewer still who acknowledge the structure of society.  Few are they who have the nerve to look beneath the surface.  Dewey had been born there so he always knew the score.  His rejection of the lava bed route would be construed by his enemies as that he had told a lie.  He had said he would take the road but now he hadn’t.  In their minds he had labeled himself a liar.  They so thought of him and this is the reason why.

     He had many misgivings but plowed ahead along the ridge.  The question is always how far will they go.  Trueman hadn’t yet the experience to be absolutely sure of his interpretation of the details nor could he understand how people who had never met him would do such things.

     The highway was virtually deserted.  The road was his until the turn down to Bend.  He was astounded that there was absolutely no traffic.  On the descent there were no cars before or behind.  A car or two passed on the other side of the road.   The drivers seemed to glare hatred.  In fact they were.  When word was received that the lava bed plan had misfired a couple of people had set out from Sisters and Bend to snarl at him on the highway.

     Trueman and Angie passed Hoodoo Ski Bowl.  Three Fingered Jack conveniently faced the Three Sisters across the highway.  They rolled by the road leading down to the springs of the Metolius River.  The Metolius is one of the wonders of the West.  The river emerges from the mountain side in huge springs which form a significant river in just a couple hundred yards.  It is a sight worth seeing.

     As they descended Trueman’s defective tire began to assert itself.  Trueman had a new Volvo.  The front tire on the driver’s side began to pound, bouncing and hammering.  Trueman had no idea what was happening.  Before he was able to slow down the tire burst as it slammed into the pavement.

     Trueman immediately divined that he had been had.  The fact that it was the left front immediately made his suspicious.  He could see himself on the highway butt out into the roadway to be run down by a passing car.  He kept driving slowly down the road.  He was still some way from Sisters, the first town.  He didn’t think the tire would even stay on the rim that far.  The rim probably wouldn’t stay on the hub.  He’d really been had when as if by a miracle a sign reading:  Jack’s U-Auto Stop appeared by a driveway by the side of the road.  ‘I auto stop.’ said Dewey

     The way was down an embankment a little way from the road.  Trueman thought it dangerous to leave the highway but the lesser of two evils.  He entered the ruts to slide to a stop before a little shack.  Some guy, hopefully a mechanic, was leaning over the fender of an old wreck to the left.  He straigtened up, eyed the Volvo, then bent over the fender again.

     Dewey blew out a breath, opened the door, got out and walked over to the wreck.

     ‘Hi!’ He said announcing his presence.

     He was ignored.

     ‘Hi!’ Dewey repeated.  ‘You work here?’

     The guy straigtened up looking at Dewey uncomprehendingly with his face half averted.

     ‘You Jack?’  Dewey asked.

     The guy twitched once, then said:  ‘No, Bill.’

     ‘Where’s Jack?’

     ‘There ain’t no Jack.  I’m Bill.  I just call it Jack’s because I’m shy.’

     Dewey thought better than to make any jokes.  He thought it better to play it straight and get out of there.

     ‘Can you fix tires, Bill?’ Dewey asked.

     ‘There ain’t nothin’ wrong with these tires.’  Bill replied mystified.

     ‘No. No, Bill, I don’t mean on that car.  I mean on my car over there.’

     Bill looked over at the Volvo and nodded:  ‘Oh sure. Yeah.  Easy.’

     ‘Well, how about fixing that tire?’

     ‘Can’t.’

     ‘Why not?’

     ‘Well, looka here.  See how it’s blown.  That’s one dead tire.  Can’t be fixed.’  He said looking at Dewey as though he were stupid.

     ‘Well, then, how about putting on the spare?’

     ‘Won’t do no good.’

     ‘Why not?’

     ‘This here Volvo’s got one of those new temporary spares.  You know, they only inflate halfway up.  Soft.  You’d never make it into town.’

     ‘Well, here’s an idea.  Can you sell me a tire?’

     ‘Sure.’  Said Bill without stirring.

     ‘O.K.  I’ll buy a tire from you.’

     ‘Well, I don’t have any tires.’

     ‘Uh huh. But you said you could sell me one.’

    ‘Of course I can.’  Bill said indignantly.  ‘But I have to go into town to buy it.’

     ‘Well, OK Bill.  I can’t go anywhere without a tire.  Do you think you could to into town to get one to sell to me?’

     ‘Sure, I could do that.  It’ll take a couple hours, maybe more.’

     ‘OK Bill.  As the saying goes:  I’ve got nothing but time.  I don’t have any choice but to wait.’

     ‘You want me to then?’

     ‘Yes, I do.’

     Bill got on the phone.  ‘Hi, this is Bill from Jack’s Jim.  I’m gonna need a tire.’

     A conversation ensued during which Bill was questioned as to who wanted the tire.  He described Dewey.  Words were spoken.  Bill looked at Dewey around the door with an extra shy grin.

     ‘I’ll be back.’ He said sheepishly.

     Dewey grinned and waved goodbye.  ‘Don’t take your time.’  He jokingly laughed.

     But Bill did take his time.  While he did a car left its garage in Eugene to speed to Jack’s U-Auto Stop.

     The day was nice, even delicious.  A warm sun beamed out of a sky with fluffy clouds lazing across it.  Jack’s was on a little level shelf of land against the hillside with a delightful valley below.  The shelf abutted the hillside about fifteen feet below the roadway.  As Dewey looked at the sharp descent he was uncertain whether the Volvo could even make it up it. 

     Dewey instructed Angie to stay in the car, keeping the door locked.  He was conversing with her through the window when he heard a car slowing down.  He looked up to see a bumper and under carriage as the car lurched into Jack’s U-Auto Stop.  It wasn’t Bill.  Dewey’s fears were confirmed.  He got the keys from Angie to open the trunk to get his tire iron out for a weapon.  He was somewhat dismayed to find the four pronged lug wrench but the not the appropriate tire iron.  The lug wrench was not an ideal weapon.  While he was studying the wrench in a quandary the car slid to a stop fifteen feet from him.

     Autry Outrey got out.  Autry had been given the crash assignment of despatching Trueman and Angie.  Autry stood six-three, trim and athletic.  His black wingtips were immaculate.  He wore his suit pants with precision.  The cuffs just touched his shoes.  The crease was a razor edge.  The pleatless pants rested smoothly and snugly across his hips and waist.  His belt was evenly spaced between the tops and bottoms of the loops.  The buckle was in the exact center of his body.  The waist of his pants formed a perfect circle around him.  They were not higher in the back and lower in the front.  His white shirt, even after just getting out of the car did not billow at the waistline.  His grey shaded rep stripe matching his pants and socks had a perfect Windsor knot.  the collar ends were not starched but didn’t curl.

     Autry was Arrow shirt ad handsome.  He could have modeled for a German postage stamp of the thirties.  His thick, luxuriant mustache which projected beyond his lip about a quarter inch exuded manliness.  It was impeccably trimmed, so fastidiously as to arouse your admiration and suspicion.

     Autry Outry stood eyeing Trueman who stood there looking stupid with the lug wrench in his hands.  Outrey’s gaze went to Trueman’s soft loafers.  He lifted his toes slightly as a sign that hard wingtips were more manly than soft loafers.

     He unconsciously hoped to emasculate Trueman with his shoes.  As Autry eyed the lug wrench he realized that his assignment wouldn’t be that easy.  While others described Trueman as a paranoid they apparently didn’t know what paranoia meant.  Trueman had had his finger on them since being shown the pot shack.  The image that was held by the townspeople of Trueman was, of course, erroneous.  the image that he was an abject coward who would never fight but cravenly beg for mercy was merely a projection of their fantasy.  Thus the notion had been that Autry would put his arm around Trueman’s shoulder and strangle him to death.  Why not?

     Autry had been chosen for the assignment because he had put it about that he had known Trueman well at the U of O.  This was a figment of Outrey’s imagination.  Outrey was a homosexual.  He had formed an intense mental fixation on Trueman, had railed at him but never actually met him.

     Outrey had been turned by a retired army officer who lived on his block.  Autry at eight had been a beautiful boy.  He had been befriended by his neighbor who had seduced him.  His seducer had been a model of military deportment.  The liaison had lasted two years until Autry had been discarded for another eight year old.  Autry had loved and respected his seducer.  It was from him that Autry learned to wear his clothes, trim his hair and mustache.  It was from that man Autry learned his lessons in manhood.  From the day of his seduction his father had ceased to have an influence on him.  His exterior would have been a model for a Marine advertisement.  His interior had been corrupted by his rejection which Autry had never been able to understand.  The pain of it haunted him night and day.

     Autry was still young enough to be seeking another older man as a companion and lover.  That was why he attached himself to the big men of Eugene and was willing, even overjoyed, to do their dirty work.  Within a few years a relationship with an older man would no longer please him, he would seek to duplicate his experience by finding eight year old boys.

     When Autry had seen Trueman in college he was both enraged and in love.  Trueman violated every concept of manhood that Autry cherished.  Dewey had had long hair, wore love beads, shaved clean and worn his clothes in an ambiguous manner with loafers that infuriated Autry.  At the same time he represented the internal Autry to himself.  Autry had thought him beautiful.  He also believed Trueman was a homosexual and ought to respond to him.

     But Trueman was not a homosexual.  He even spoke disparagingly of homos.  Trueman didn’t hesitate to call them fags.  Thus Outrey was faced with the perennial homosexual problem: unrequited love.  He knew he could never have Trueman.  Autry, as a frustrated lover, had taken to hurling abuse at Trueman, as a substitute for affection.  First from around the corners of hallways, then from behind trees, finally from a distance of five or ten feet.  For various reasons Trueman had ignored him.  He didn’t recognize Outrey now.  Autry was dumbfounded.  their relationship was real in his mind.

     Autry’s classically chiseled features that looked so good at rest dissolved into the marshmallow of his interior when he spoke.  His head reared back while in some strange fashion his features turned globular moving up and to the side of his face leaving the center with the appearance of being hollow.

     As they studied each other, Trueman moved to put his back to the far drop off with the shack on his left.  He held the lug wrench tommy gun style, grasping the lower and rear prongs.  As a child he had been floored with a punch to the solar plexus that he had never forgotten.  Unconsciously he intended now to avenge this incident.  It was his intention to thrust the lead prong under the ribs up into Autry’s heart.

     Autry looked at him baffled by the intended resistance.  This wasn’t in the script of his movie; he didn’t know what to do.  He feared the wrench.  His head reared back, his features dissolved as he began to articulate a phrase.  He changed his mind.  The classic Arrow, German postage stamp face appeared again.  Autry looked denyingly at Trueman for a few moments then turned to walk back to his car.

     Unsure of Autry’s intent Trueman dogged his steps with the wrench at the ready.  Without turning his head Autry sensed Trueman behind him.  Autry couldn’t be sure Trueman wouldn’t club him from behind.  He did a fatal thing.  His fear made him take a half skip into a run before he checked himself.  At the signal of submission Trueman stopped following him.  Autry immediately broke out into a copious perspiration.  He had confessed weakness.  There was now no chance he could go through with it.  He had failed the men he respected and loved, expecially his seducer.  He hadn’t been able to perform as a man.

     Within the next few steps his shirt darkened between his shoulder blades.  The sweat poured down the small of his back soaking the top of his pants and down between the cheeks to his sphincter.  Autry Outrey choked back a sob.  He couldn’t face his men in Eugene again.  Unseeing, blind he got behind the wheel, backed up in a roaring cloud of dust to speed East down the highway.  He roared through Sisters in blind panic onto 395.  He lost five pounds in a fast and furious drive from Bend to Boise.

     Shortly thereafter Bill returned to Jack’s U-Auto Stop with a tire.  Trueman stared at the tire in disbelief.

50 pages.

     ‘Why didn’t you get a new one?’  He asked.

     As in the Hank William’s song:  The tire was doing fine but the air was showing through.  The tire was three rotations past bald.

     ‘This was all they had.’  Bill said lamely.

     ‘What do you mean?  In all of Bend they only had this one lousy tire?’  Dewey said indignantly.

     ‘I didn’t go to Bend.  I only went to Sisters.  You either take this tire or you get nothing.  If you get nasty I won’t even sell you this one and can get your broken down car off my property.’

     Dewey saw his bind but he wasn’t going to give in easily.  Bill had already paid for the tire.

     ‘God, from the looks of that tire I would think you would give it to me.  How much are you going to charge me for it?’

     ‘Thirty dollars.’

     ‘Thirty dollars?  I can get new ones cheaper than that.’

     ‘Well, don’t buy it then.’

     ‘No. No.  I’ll take it.’  Necessity is the mother of surrender.

     ‘I know it’s bald and it probably won’t last till Bend.  But as you enter Sisters there’s a gas station on the left hand side of the road.  Go in there.  They’ll fix you up.’

     ‘I’m sure they will.’  Dewey said to Bill, adding to himself:  In more ways than one.

     Angie was not a fearless rider.  She hated the road.  She saw problems when none existed.  She had seen how bald the tire was, which was at least something to worry about.  Thus as they approached Sisters she was anxiously scanning the other side of the road for the gas station.

     ‘There it is.’  She excitedly exclaimed.

     ‘Nooo.  Nooo.’  Dewey said looking back to see the gang shaking their fists at him.

     ‘What if this tire explodes too.?’

     ‘We go into Bend on the rim, the hub.  I know where we are now.’

     He’d also picked up his tail who he noticed in the rear view mirror.  He wasn’t too worried about things in Bend, he didn’t think they would hit him in town.  But he did still need a new tire.

     He pulled into a tire shop off the highway onto the road through Bend to Mt. Bachelor.  He was met with overt hostility.

     ‘I don’t have that size tire.’  He was curtly told.

     ‘Well, can’t you call around.  Someone in Bend must have one.  If not, we’ll be in town a couple days, have one sent from the warehouse in Eugene.’

     The attendant’s boss who was watching with compressed lips heard Dewey and called the attendant over.

     The attendant returned.  ‘I can’t sell you a radial like you’ve got but I got a regular tire that will fit pretty well.’

     Trueman had already spent thrity with Bill at Jack’s and he’d have to replace the tire when he got back to Eugene.  Also he would look stupid with three radials and this oversized tire.  He considered the difficulty of his situation then consented.

     While the tire was being changed Dewey looked down the road toward Bachelor trying to figure out his enemies next move.  He decided it could only be to get him into an accident.  Dewey was learning his way around.  As he passed thrugh the center of town he could see he was being eyed.  He was good on the road.  There was no way to surprise him without hurting themselves.  Of course it was always possible that someone could be found who might not mind hurting themselves or might be too stupid to be aware of the consequences of their actions.

     Dewey made it safely through the core.  He had sped up as he approached the edge of town.  Suddenly a car flahsed out of an intersection in front of him.  He slammed on the brakes.  They don’t if they get hurt, he thought, because if his reflexes had been less quick he would have rammed the car between the wheels killing the driver.

     A car was waiting at the next intersectdion too but Dewey was prepared.  He had slowed in anticipation.  the earlier cars had flashed out and then turned toward town.  At the third intersection the car wheeled out in front of him and stepped on its brakes then floored it.  Billows of acrid black smoke blew out the exhaust.  The driver then immediately screeched to a halt forcing Dewey to do the same.  Dewey knew the game and he knew he couldn’t win but he had to play.  He crossed the center line to pass.  The driver gunned ahead across the line blocking Dewey’s passage still emitting billows of smoke which drifted through the clear air across the blue sky above the neighborhood.  Dewey drew back across the line slowing in anticipation of the driver’s screeching stop.  This time dewey was a few car lengths back.  The drive, thoroughly enjoying himself was laughing insanely.  He was unable to bee Trueman through the smoke.  He imagined that he was right behind him.

     Trueman anticipated the next move also.  A stream of cars was now passing slowly in the opposite direction so passing was out of the question.  His effort would only be frustrated anyway which was the intention.  Trueman had begun some time before to adjust his mentality to their methods.  The thought they were criminal or insane so that whatever they did was characteristic of their mentality.  Their acts were no reflection on himself.  In fact he was developing the attitude of a doctor in an insane asylum.  The attitude infuriated them more.  Dewey hadn’t flown onver the cuckoo’s nest he had landed in it.

     The driver before him now made several false starts.  Dewey remained motionless as the lead car now several blocks ahead of him rocked bac and forth in isolation after each stop.  The driver finally had the sence to use his side mirror.  He was humiliated to find himself alone out there.  He now drove slowly forward.  Trueman had no choice but to follow.  There was no chance to pass as a car came by at thousand foot intervals.   Dewey knew any attempt to pass would be foiled.  All he would do would be to get himself worked up to the point where he might do something stupid.  No car came upbehind Dewey as he drove into the smoke at ten miles an hour.

     Then to his left he saw the sign of The Hole In Black Mountain.  As he drew abreast his escort emitted a horse laugh which he could hear and sped off toward Mt. Bachelor.  The driver turned off the gimmick he had used to create the smoke screen.  His exhaust cleared as he sped away.

     It was quite clear to Dewey that none of this was coincidence.  But, if he told the story everyone would say so.  He resolved to keep the whole trip to himself.  He marveled that these people had no more life to lead than to spend ours, use dozens of cars and spend money in their attempt to torment him.  In its own way it was a supreme compliment to his superior manhood but one which he didn’t appreciate.  He was lost in this reverie as a car edged across the entrance of the lot in front of him.  The car had started too late.  Dewey kept going forcing the other driver to an abrupt stop a hair from the side of Dewey’s car.

      Dewey would have won that one except that Angie began to berate him for placing her in jeopardy.  There was merit in her argument.  It had been a long trip but Dewey kept his temper.  He ignored the obscenity hurled at him as the other car raced through the lot.

     He now looked at the building before him.  It was a conventional two story wooden inn streching some two or three hundred feet along the road.  He’d taken the bag from the trunk before he saw the entrance.  A large black structure closely resembling a cowl had been built over the doorway apparently in imitation of a cave.  Its black constrasted sharply with the natural finish of the building while blending into the asphalt of the parking lot.

     ‘This must be the actual hole in Black Mountain.’  Dewey said with a laugh as the smile on Angie’s face erupted into a matching laugh.

     ‘Business must have been so bad they tried to Disney the place up.’  She said.

     Still laughing they passed through the black hole into the lobby.

     ‘Hmmm.’  Said Angie.

     ‘Yeah.’  Dewey replied.  ‘And this place has a great reputation too.  It doesn’t look like they clean up in between seasons.  I guess they’re trying to save money by not turning the lights on too.’

     There was no clerk in sight.  Dewey rang the bell.  Minutes later he rang the bell again to no avail.

     ‘Hey, hello.  Anybody here?’  He called out some time later. 

     Still no one showed.

     About half an hour later he picked up the bag.  He told Angie that they might as well leave.  As though picking up his bag was a signal a slovenly, surly young woman appeared fromt he office.  She looked at him blankly.

     ‘We’d like to check in.’  Dewey said with mock suavity.

     ‘Do you have a reservation?’  The clerk asked in stilted tones as though she might have failed in finishing school.

     The game was clear to Dewey but he had enough experience to be patient.  He was a long way from home base.

     ‘Oh yes.’  He replied.  ‘Trueman?  We’re here on a certificate from KGEN.’

     ‘KGEN?’  She said blankly.

     ‘Yes, KGEN.  It’s a TV station in Eugene.  I’m sure you’ve heard of it.  Here’s the certificate.  Trueman.  They said to be sure to mention them and who I was.’

     ‘I’m not sure this is any good.’  She said stiffly.

     ‘Sure it is.’  Dewey said grimly.  ‘Just check it out.  We’ll be here till Sunday.  You’ve got time.’

    The clerk looked at him, blinked, then gave up the masquerade.

     ‘You’ll have to carry your own baggage.’  She said.  ‘We don’t have nayone to help you.’

     ‘Or clean up.’  Dewey said snidely, unaware of what was before him.

     The Hole was vacant May not being high season in the skiing industry.  Black Mountain was seriously mis-managed.  It didn’t even do well in the high season except on overflow weekends.  They were led to the most distant room.

     ‘This room hasn’t even been cleaned.’  Angie said indignantly.

     ‘Truly.’  Added Dewey.  ‘The ash trays, look at them,  at least six, they’re heaped with butts.  This room reeks of cigarette and cigar smoke.  The bed clothes haven’t even been changed.’

     Dewey and Angie were astonished to see splotches of semen stains on the sheets.  The floor was gritty as though dirt had been brought in for the occasion.

     ‘Very untidy.’  Dewey said, feigning urbanitywhile being deeply offended at the insult.  ‘Why don’t you give us another room?’

     ‘The resort is full.  This is the only room we have available.’

     ‘Well, clean it up and we’ll be back in an hour.’

     ‘No.  This is good enough for the likes of you.’

     ‘We’ll go elsewhere.’  Angie sniffed.

     ‘Go ahead and try.’  The girl said spitefuly.  ‘There isn’t a available room in Bend for you.  When youcome back this one won’t be here either.’

     Dewey sensed that this was true.  As the sun was setting he didn’t dare attempt the drive back to Eugene in the dark.  He could easily be forced from the road.  He and Angie were stuck.

     ‘Well, loot at those ashtrays and that bed.’  Dewey said tensely.  ‘They’re filthy.

 

     ‘All right.’  She said.  ‘We’ll empty the ash trays and make the bed.  But that’s all.’

     ‘We’ll come back after you’ve changed the bed.’

     ‘No.  I said make the bed, not change it.  You’ve got to take it the way it is.’

     So saying she dumped the contents of the ashtrays into the wastebasket and threw the blanket and bedspread up covering the sheets.

     ‘There.’  She said.  ‘That’s good enough for you.’

     So saying she slammed the door and left them.

     Joshua Babycakes had occupied the room the night before.  As he had anticipated Trueman’s death in the lava beds he had occupied the the bed intended for him the night before.  It was a macabre joke.  In his ecstasy at Trueman’s anticipated demise he had spent the morning masturbating into the empty bed as though he had Trueman before him.  When word had been flashed that the plan had misfired he ordered that the room and bed be left so that Trueman as he imagined would have to sleep in Babycake’s own filth.

     Dewey didn’t know hwo but he intuited the intent.  Angie was so disturbed that she became ill.  Thus Dewey went to dinner alone.  He was the sole diner in the restaurant.  As there was no one in sight he selected a table and took a seat.  Immediately a waiter appeared to tell him that section was closed.  He was led to a table in front of the men’s restroom.

     ‘Oh, come now.’  Dewey said as diplomatically as possible.  ‘I’m not going to sit her.  I’ll go back to where I was.’

     ‘I told you, buddy, that section is closed.’  The waiter lisped severely.

    Well, listen, pal, there’s no one else in the restaurant.  Either all sections are closed or any one I choose to open.  Only one waiter is required.  Do you follow my logic or do you follow any logic?’

      ‘Read my lips.  The section you want is closed.  This is your table.  Take it or leave it.’

     ‘I’ll sit here.’  Dewey said moving over two tables.  The waiter capitulated.

     ‘We get all kinds of boors in here.’  The waiter groaned.

     Dewey never got into arguments with stupid people so he let the comment pass with a snort and a contemptuous dismissal.  The waiter had no shame so he did a corn cob walk into the kitchen as though he had scored a great triumph.

     Dewey ordered without hope.  His dinner was served accordingly.  The food was improperly cooked.  It had just been thrown unappetizingly on the plaate.  Dewey could only imagine what adulteration had been done to it.  It  had been spit in.  Dewey sat looking at it dumbly for some few minutes, the he threw his napkin on the table in disgust and got up to leave.

     ‘You didn’t eat your dinner.’  The waiter said as though offended.

     ‘Not hungry.’  Dewey said.  ‘You can have it.’

     ‘I’m not going to eat that.’  The waiter said with evident disgust.

     ‘See.’  Dewey said ironically, which was, of course, wasted on the waiter.

     He went back to the room to find Angie sitting disconsolately in the chair.

     ‘How are we going to sleep?’  She asked.  ‘I’n not going to get into that filthy bed.’

     Dewey thought for a moment.  ‘They probably forgot to remove the extra blanket, I’ll bet.’  He said going to the closet.  ‘We’ll just have to lay on top of the bedspread.  Oh look, two extra blankets.  One under us, one over us.  Perfect solution to a bad situation.’

     And so they spent the night at The Hole In Black Mountain.  The inn certainly deserved its name.

60 pages.

     They didn’t bother to check out the next morning; they just got in the car and drove off.

     ‘If they’ve got anything to say they can say it to KGEN.’  Trueman said as they drove back through town.  He pulled into a gas station to fill it up.  While the attendant was checking the oill he punctured the radiator.

     Dewey had turned unto the ridge road before he noticed that the car was running hot.  He pulled over to take a look.  He quickly spotted the puncture.  The attendant had made it near the top of the radiator so that while the engine overheated it wouldn’t burn up.  Satisfied that there would be no trouble getting back Dewey lowered the hood to see a car pulling to a stop behind him.  In all his life no had ever volunteered to help him so Dewey realized that his enemies were still behind him.  He hurriedly got back in the car and drove off.

     The rhododendrons were blooming cheerily in the dappled sunlight of the forest as they turned down the McKenzie Highway.  As they crossed the McKenzie Bridge Dewey began to feel secure again.

     It was only Saturday but he decided to stay home until Monday to as not to give the impression that he had been had.  Everyone knew, of course, but Trueman didn’t know they knew.  He was not yet that familiar with the system.

     The ‘free’ weekend had been an expensive one.  Between the tires, the radiator and other repair work he paid out several hundreds of dollars.  He also lost several hundred dollars of merchandise.  Harry Grabstein had had a small collection of classical records delivered to his house.  The employees had helped themselves to merchandise and cash.  Generous discounts had been given to their friends.

     As Dewey walked in Monday they were all in their places which was such a rarity that Dewey immediately guessed the truth.

     ‘How was your weekend?’  They chirped knowingly.

     ‘Hey, it was terrific.’  Dewey said breezily, unwilling to give anyone a triumph.

     ‘It was?  No kidding?  Nothing happened?’  They said incredulously.

     ‘Yeah!  Why not?  You know anything I don’t?’  Dewey replied.

   Dewey didn’t wait for a reply as he mounted the stairs to the office.

     He had just begun to open drawers when Jim James who ran the marijuana operation on Railroad Ave. came in to request to see him.  Dewey had never met James but he came down to see what he wanted.  James had formed a serious relationship with Trueman from television, from the fact that Trueman was prominent in the conversation of the people he knew, because he owned the record store and because James also considered himself a successful businessman.

     ‘Hey, Dewey,’  James said grabbing his hand in both of his as though he really was an old dear friend,  ‘I just came in to say good-bye.  I’ve got to leave town now.’

    ‘Oh, sorry to hear that.’  Dewey said only vaguely aware of who he was talking to.  ‘How come?’

     ‘Oh, they told me it’s getting to hot for the business.  If we keep it up much longer the police will have to act; they won’t be able to hold them back any longer.  So I gotta get outta town.  Well, Buddy, it’s been fun.  See you around.’

     ‘Uh, yeah, take care, see you around.’  Dewey replied amicably waving good-bye.

    With an affectionate wave good-bye to everyone in the store who all seemed to know him, James left.  Astonished at his openness and amazed that James thought him a buddy, Trueman trailed outside behind him.  James went down the street shaking hands with everyone he met, addressing them all by name and telling them it was too hot to continue.  The house would be dark from now on.

     ‘How does he get away with it?’  Trueman muttered to himself.  ‘That’s way too open.  There’s no way to conceal that, not even under the cover of darkness.’

     The citizenry had been aroused over the last few months, not so much by James’ operation as to the outrageous doings in the so-called massage parlors.  Prostitution had began to flourish in Oregon under the guise of massage parlors.  The parlors were owned by combines of various big men in town.  The men they employed to run them were real wild cowboys.  Rivalries had developed.  Parlors were raided by shot gun toting competitiors.  Parlor after parlor had been burst into and shot up.  A couple of cowboys had died.  The last straw had been when one of the managers, as the newspaper had reported, had fallen asleep at the wheel, missed the McKenzie Bridge, gone down a steep embankment, which should have arrested the progress of the car, careened across a hundred feet of sandbank, which was clearly impossible, to drown in three feet of water, which was incredible.  The case was closed as accidental death.   Perhaps his murder was not intended.

     James’ operation had been a casualty of the massage parlor warfare and the accidental death.  James was only a very naive eighteen.  Had he been wiser he would have taken his cash and run for his life.  Instead he became the sacrificial lamb.  After completing his all too obvious farewell tour, his friends gave him a little party, put a thousand dollars in his hand, ten kilos of grass in his trunk to help him get started in California and waved a fond farewell.

     A crime had been committed;  It was necessary to expiate the sin.  Someone had to pay.  The punishment of James would serve for all.  James heart was agow with fellowship and he sped past Roseburg, through Medford and Grant’s Pass to the Oregon border just beyond Ashland.  He was simple enough to think he was going to repeat his performance in Sacramento.  As he crossed the border he didn’t see the Highway Patrol car that whelled off the sideroad behind him.

     He did see the red light in his rear view mirror as it flashed behind him.  The Patrolman didn’t even ask to see his license he just said:  ‘Open the trunk.’  You can hear the train whistle blow in Folsom Prison on the American River just outside Sacramento.  That’s where Jimmy James spent the next twenty years of his life.

     Back in Eugene the conspirators gathered once again in Joshua Babycakes’ office.  There had been great satisfaction in the rape of Connie Francis that had gone off without a hitch.  Trueman had foiled their hopes and dreams.  Babycakes hand fondled his groin as he considered the failure.  A frown crowded the humanity out of his face as he subconsiously acknowledged his defeated manhood.  He cleared his throat as all looked up in anticipation.  But Babycakes was just clearing his throat, he had nothing to say.  Their minds flailed about in the seim-darkness in the Shadow Of The Cross as they sought the next move.

     Is it our imaginations or was the Cross actually installed upside down?

The End Of The Hole In Black Mountain

    

 

 

 

    

 

    

The Swimming Hole

by

R.E. Prindle

Clip 2: Continuation and Conclusion

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

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

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

page 51.

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

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

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

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

pae 52.

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

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

page 53.

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

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

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

page 54.

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

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

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

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

page 55.

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

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

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

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

page 56.

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

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

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

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

page 57.

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

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

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

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

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

page 58.

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

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

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

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

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

page 59.

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

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

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

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

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

page 60

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

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

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

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

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

page 61.

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

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

     ‘Oh well, what camp were you in?’

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

     ‘No?  Where were you during the war?’

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

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

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

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

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

     ‘That is absolutely not true.’  Dewey stated.

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

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

page 62.

     ‘That’s nonsense.’  Jorge retorted indignantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 65.

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

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

     ‘No, I’m not.  But I am Polish…’

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

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

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

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

page 66.

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

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

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

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

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

     Don’t you sneer at my experience, Sukamoto.

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

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

page 68.

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

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

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

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

page 69.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 70.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 72

IV.

Why am I stumbling down the highway

When I shoud be rolling cross the skyways

On my

Cosmic Wheels?

–Donovan

 

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

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

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

page 73.

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

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

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

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

page 74.

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

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

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

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

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

page 75.

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

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

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

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

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

page 76.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 77.

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

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

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

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

page 78.

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

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

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

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

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

page 79.

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

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

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

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

page 80.

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 81.

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

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

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

page 82.

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

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

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

page 83.

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

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

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

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

page 84.

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

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

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

page 85.

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

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

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

page 86.

     ‘Hey, Big B.’

     ‘Hi there, Owney.  How goes it?’

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

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

page 87.

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

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

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

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

page 88.

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

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

     Dewey pushed Madmun’s shoulder with his open hand.

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

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

     ‘You heard me.  Are you?’

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

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

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

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

page 89.

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

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

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

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

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

page 90.

    V.

I’m going away, yes today,

Behind the wheel of a stolen Chevrolet.

I’m going to get a little high

And see if I can hotwire reality.

-Jackson Browne

 

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

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

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

page 91.

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

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

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

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

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

     ‘Why?’

     ‘Why, what?’  Toni asked, startled.

page 92.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 93.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 95.

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

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

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

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

page 96.

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

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

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

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

page 97.

     ‘Your neighbor, Dewey Trueman.’

     ‘What do you want.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     He pulled the door open to find the porch empty.

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

page 99.

VI.

Standing like a hobo in the morning rain,

Staring down the rusty tracks

For one more train.

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

But I ain’t got no choice

Unless I die today.

–Mickey Newbury

 

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

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

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

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

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

     ‘So?  We can get a survey.

page 100.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     ‘Sure, Pig.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 101

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

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

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

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

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

page 102.

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

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

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

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

page 103.

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

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

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

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

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

page 104.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

page 107.

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

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

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

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

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

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

     ‘You think it’s fair?’

     ‘Yes, I do.’

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

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

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

     ‘You have to be crazy, Trueman…’

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

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

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

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

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

page 109.

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Trueman turned to reenter his house.

     ‘Busy, don’t have time.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

     ‘Madmun.  Yeah, why?’

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

     Owney opened his mouth to speak.

     ‘Don’t do it.’ 

page 111.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Dewey studied Owney cooly.

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

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

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

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

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

 

     The next morning Angeline was reading the Daily Assassin.

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

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

Finis

This story takes place in the mid 1970s in Portland, Oregon. About 100 pages.

The Swimming Hole

by

R.E. Prindle

 

…the only service to God is not to be evil.

–Hermes Trismegistus

Each man is his own absolute lawgiver, the dispenser of glory or doom to himself, the decreer of his life, his reward, his punishment.

–Idyll Of The White Lotus

Hey, Friend.  Wake up! I’m throwing rocks at your windowpane…

Scott McKenzie

 

     Owney Madmun looked across the table at his wife Toni.  ‘I’m going to put a swimming pool in the backyard.’  He said emphatically.  ‘How about that?’

     Owney spoke impetuously as he always did.  The notion had occurred to him just then as he looked at a picture of a pool in the Assassin and his mind was firmly made up.  It was as though the pool already existed.  In his mind it did, without the intervening steps of planning and execution.

page 2.

      ‘Just like in the paper here.  Solar panels and all.  Cutting edge of technology.  Save the ecology.’

     ‘Sounds terrific.’  Toni said, adding a touch of polish to the edge of her nail, third finger, right hand.  ‘Let’s get started.’

     Toni was Owney’s second marriage; he her third husband.  Owney was thirty-five; Toni twenty-eight.  She was one of those party girls who traded on their looks.  She was much faster than Owney, but she was considered so desirable that in the frenzy to win her third time favors Owney’s financial status had bested several of his fellows.  He had the means; Toni had the ways.

     She was not strikingly beautiful but she had one of those taut firm, fully packed, well formed bodies, without being overly shapely, that drives some men mad.  There was not any real affection between them.  Owney had gotten one of the most desirable women of his group while Toni had gotten an ample meal ticket.  Owney was a well-to-do nephew.  Financially he had been a good catch.  Toni, who had no desire at the time to lose a good thing, not having another one ready, deferred to his opinion by habit.

     And so Owney nodded over to her and set about to build his pool.  There were serious obstacles to the construction of the pool but Owney with his complete lack of intellection gave them no mind, which is just about how much he had to give.  His main problem he was told was that his lot was not the right configuration for an economic installation.

page 2.

     Owney’s house was on a hillside lot in Portland, Oregon.  He lived in a section called the ‘Cams.’  All the streets in the subdivision began with the syllable Cam after the developer’s son.  Cambenic descended from the hillside from the main road which was called Cam.   Camelot angled off to the right and down the hill to rejoin Cambenic which had descended and curved around.  Cambria crossed Cambenic just before it rejoined Cam.  Cambridge Court angled off Cambria.  Owney’s lot reached from the upper street, Camelot to the lower street, Cambenic, twenty-five feel below.  His house faced the lower street, Cambenic, while the backyard reached up to Camelot.  A sharp drop of fifteen feet graded up to his back porch.  The lot was inaccessible to the West from his neighbor Brace Harcourt’s lot.  To the East, Owney’s house sat less than six feet from the line with Dewey Trueman’s house.  Trueman’s house faced Camelot leaving a gap between the backs of the two houses just big enough to drive a truck through.

     The sharp drop of Owney’s backyard would have to be terraced.  Thus the dirt from the terracing and the excavation of the pool would have to be lifted up to Camelot Street.  The catch was the backhoe couldn’t be got down the incline and if down couldn’t be got back up without a crane.  Owney was told that the cost would be prohibitive.

     Owney thought it could be done cheaper.  The hoe and trucks would just fit between the back of his house and Trueman’s.  If the equipment was brought up Trueman’s backyard thousands of dollars could be saved.  The contractor agreed that the job could be done much more cheaply that way, but he wasn’t sure that Madmun’s neighbor would approve.  Owney told them to go ahead, he would take care of it.  Owney didn’t bother to consult Trueman because he didn’t think that anything he did was Trueman’s business.  Besides, he thought, let him see Trueman try to stop him.

page 3.

     Dewey Trueman awakened from a sound sleep as the grading equipment roared and lurched below his bedroom window onto Madmun’s lot.  Dressing, he looked out at Madmun’s presumption.  He was indignant that Madmun hadn’t consulted him.  While he sat brooding a knock came on his door.  He was greeted by Madmun’s contractor.

    ‘Listen, I’ve been in things like this before and I don’t like it.  I don’t want to get started and have to stop.’  He said, beginning in media res.

     ‘Who are you and what are you talking about?’  Dewey asked with just a trace of irritation.  It seemed of late that everyone Dewey talked to spoke in broken disconnected thoughts.  One incomprehensible non-sequitur followed another.

     ‘Who am I?’ said the contractor rearing back incredulously, as though everyone should know him.  ‘I’m Owney Madmun’s contractor.’  He said omitting his own name.  ‘Say, if you’re not interested I don’t have to tell you.  After all, this is for your own benefit.’

page 4.

     Dewey was in a certain amount of turmoil over the trucks plus he hadn’t had his coffee yet.  He remained patient in the face of such obtuseness.

     ‘All right, all right.  You’re the contractor who owns the trucks next door?  What is it?’  Dewey asked, thinking that he would ask for permission to cross his lot.  Dewey had never met Owney.  He didn’t even know his name.

     ‘Well, Owney’s going to build his pump house on your land.  I want you to know so you can do what you have to.  I don’t want trouble.’

     Dewey was dumbfounded.  He forget about the trucks.  ‘Oh, no.  Build on my lot?  I’ve never heard of such a thing.  You must be mistaken.’

     The contractor looked at Dewey indignant that Trueman found his information preposterous.  ‘Well, I’m telling you the plans call for him to build the pump house eighteen inches onto your property.  there, I’ve told you.’  He finished Oliver Hardy style.

     ‘Thank-you.’  Dewey replied, still dumbfounded.  ‘I’ll talk to him.’

     Dewey found it incredible that a man would usurp another’s land.  The next day he was standing on Camelot looking down at the lot line.  As he studied the layout of the pool it seemed clear that the pump house would definitely have to be right on the property line instead of set back six feet as the law required.  Dewey didn’t know that Madmun thought of the law as something to be disregarded or baffled.  The law was for other people;  Owney’s self interest was lawless.  ‘There are no rules.’  He would say reflecting a popular Oregon notion.

page 5.

     ‘Well, what do you think?’  Brace Harcourt said, spitting at Trueman’s feet.  Harcourt lived on the corner lot where Cambenic and Camelot divided.  He was sixty-nine, stood six-four, dyed his hair black but was trim and athletic looking.  He had a slight resemblance to Ronald Reagan which he cultivated.  He was just retiring from SSSAP, one the bigger advertising firms in Portland.  He was contemptuous of and hated Trueman although he knew him in only the most casual way.

     Trueman owned the biggest record store in the city, Chrystalship.  Dewey spent vast sums on advertising on radio and television all of which he handled himself.  Dewey spent more than most car agencies or any of the big retailers.  In the retail hierarchy, record stores were classed well below car dealers and retail chains.  Dewey was thought presumptuous if not insane.  In the envy he aroused it was definitely thought that he was too big for his britches.  Retail is as full of penis envy as any other industry.  Thus, Solly Valentine’s, a chain with a dozen huge general merchandise and grocery stores in Portland was shifting money from its newspaper advertising onto TV and radio so that the large firm would have a greater electronic presence than Dewey’s much smaller almost miniscule company.  In many ways, Dewey’s presence was a bonanza for the electronic media although they were too myopic to see it.

     Trueman wrote his own ads, doing the man on camera work.  Naturally Harcourt and the people of the other ad agencies despised and belittled Trueman’s work because they thought his account belonged by rights to them.

page 6.

     As Dewey owned a record store, Harcourt believed that Trueman was deep into drugs.  At that time it was universally believed that record stores were covers for drug operations.  In TV shows the addicts always went into record stores to buy drugs.  As on TV so in real life apparently.  In actuality one of the refrains in the music business was:  ‘Sex, drugs and Rock n’ Roll.’  But neither Dewey or his firm had anything to do with drugs.

     Harcourt’s son was something of a ne’er-do-well in his father’s eyes.  Harcourt suffered a great disappointment in his son Brice.  To explain his disappointment, withour incriminating his own rearing, he invented the story that Brice suffered from brain damage because someone had put drugs in his drink at a party.  Not being a clear thinker, but needing a scapegoat, he believed, not thought but sincerely convinced himself, that as Dewey was associated with records and therefore drugs, Dewey was responsible for Brice’s ‘brain damage.’

     That was a great leap, for Dewey had not even been in town when Brice suffered his alleged ‘brain damage’ but by the late seventies Americans no longer believed in logic or even validation of their notions.  If they thought it, it must be true.  In point of fact, Harcourt’s son considered himself an artist and lived what he considered to be the artist’s live.  So?

     Harcourt spat at Trueman’s feet every time he saw him.  Trueman had spoken to him about it previously.  Harcourt had been taking barbituates for twenty years ‘to calm his nerves’.  The drug had deteriorated his mentality so far that he was unconscious of spitting.  Since he was not conscious of doing it, he was even capable of denying it with the evidence before him.  Trueman had no choice but to think him the most brazen of liars.

page 7.

     Trueman pretended he hadn’t heard Harcourt distinctly.

     ‘What’s that Mr. Harcourt?’  He said with some irritation but politely in defference to the other’s age, but definitely, he thought, not his merit.  As he held Harcourt in some contempt he refused to call him by the nickname Harcourt preferred.  He liked to be called the Big B, or just B.  Dewey thought the guy was so insolent he should have been a waiter.

     ‘I said, what do you think?  Open up your eyes. boy.’ Brace said naming the wrong organ.

    ‘I see you’re as irascible as ever old buck.  I think it’s going to cost him lots of money with little return.  How many days a year can you use a pool in Portland?  Two?’

     ‘Oh, that.  I dont’ mean that.’  Harcourt replied, sneering down his nose at Trueman.

     ‘Well, Mr. Harcourt, you don’t really think I can read your mind, do you?’  Trueman asked.  ‘What then?’

     ‘I see your dirt is being spilled all over you.’

     Dewey was confused by the reference.  He thought Harcourt was referring to the excavation.

     ‘Uh, well, I’ll talk to him about it, Harcourt.’

     ‘Him?  You mean them.’

     ‘Them?  Them who, Harcourt?  What the hell are you talking about?’

page 8.

      ‘The paper.  The paper, boy.  They’re showing you up for the crook I always knew you were.’  Truculently spilled from Harcourt’s mouth.

     Dewey blew out his breath bringing his hand to the back of his to work out the riddle.

      ‘The paper?  Do you mean the Daily Assassin and that story a couple weeks ago?  What about it?’

     ‘Using lie detectors is against the law, boy.  Guilty, you’re guilty, just like I always thought so.’

     Dewey passed his hand from the back of his head across his face as the whole unpleasant two or three years of confrontation jumbled through his mind nearly undecipherable in its compressed psychic code.  He had only the most meager notion of how to intrepret the whirling maelstrom of events.

     The story Brace Harcourt referred to had been printed by the Assassin two weeks previously.  A year before the State legislature had passed a law forbidding the use of polygraphs by private agencies.  Trueman had employed an agency for employee testing prior to the law.  In an effort to live up to its name the Assassin was making an effort to assassinate his character.  The paper had printed the story about his use of polygraphs without making clear when.

     The Daily Assassin was now the sole paper in town.  It was the result of the combination of the Oregon Daily Hatchet and the Portland Daily Assassin.  the Hatchet was named in reference to George Washington, who, with his trusty hatchet in hand couldn’t tell a lie.

     The ownership, which was in New York, shied away from calling the combination paper the Daily Hatchet-Assassin, in which name there was a certain amount of ironic humor and truth.  They settled on the Oregon Daily Assassin which most accurately reflected the attitude or  Mingo Miybriy, its editor. 

page 9.

      Mingo believed it was her responsiblity to assassinate the character of anyone who failed to meet her standard of political correctness.  All was done in the spirit of the biblical promise to the Israelites:  I will bless them that bless thee and curse them that curse thee- or fail to bless thee.

     The article had been written by a lesbian to anathematize Trueman who had run afoul of the homosexual community.  Not only was the Assassin pro homosexual but their quarrel with Trueman had further ramifications.  Trueman was on the list of persons to be given the silent treatment because of the social unacceptability of his Hippie background and his association with the record business.

     Even more fundamental was his refusal to advertise in the paper.  Trueman had put all his advertising dollars into the electronic media which did a terrific job for him.  The Assassin was aware that Castle Records in San Francisco ran a double truck every Sunday in the Chronicle.  This represented a very nice piece of change.  They projected the same scenario for themselves and Chrystalship.

page 10.

     The Daily Assassin was now a monopoly.  In the best of circumstances they were arrogant, haughty and condescending.  In addition their obvious contempt for Trueman was so insulting that he coudn’t do business with them and maintain his self-respect.

     The electronic media were competetive, sympathetic to the product and more attentive to his needs.  Trueman had no need for the paper’s services so he treated them as contemptuously as they treated him.  They being the larger business found him merely presumptuous.  The management seethed in resentment.  They longed for his store to be replaced by Castle which was aggressively expanding across the country.  While it would be extreme to say that the paper could put him out of business it was in their power to assassinate his character.  Their story was slanderous with criminal intent.  It had obviously been successful.

     The story had its origins in events beginning three years earlier.  These years were as tumultuous as any in the tumultuous history of the United States.  Fostered by the immigrant past of America every ethnic group, social group or even viewpoint was operating with autonomous desires.  In varying degrees they attempted to operate as entities above the law of the land.  In other words they attempted to transfer the determination of justice from the many to the few.

     The attitude would become most clearly expressed with the anti-abortionists of the nineteen-eighties and nineties during which individuals took it upon themselves to assassinate doctors who performed abortions.  These people were still capable of claiming to be against capital punishment.  Their argument was the hoary one that ‘God’s’ law is higher than man’s law.

page 11.

     In the same manner lesbians and homosexuals began to twist society and law to meet their specific needs as opposed to general needs.  They declared themselves a minority that in some manner was being deprived of its rights.  Not a clear argument but it passed.  Following the Jewish model of the Anti-Defamation League of B’nai B’rith they began to intimidate publishers and broadcasters  who wrote or spoke unapprovingly of homosexuality.  They began the process of choking off objective study of homosexuality.

     Homosexuals are men.  There is no physical difference between homosexual and heterosexual men.  Homosexuals figure among shot-putters and football linemen.  They number powerful businessmen, judges and lawyers.  They are quite capable of taking care of themselves without special protective legislation.

     In the act of soliciting sexual favors from heterosexual men they are sometimes punched out.  But then a man who called a policeman because he had his ass grabbed would be thought ridiculous or unmanly.  The manly thing is to punch one’s assailants lights out.  A very large percentage of homos are masochists, which is a psychological corollary of violation, who desire a beating.  If it may be said that heterosexual men have an unreasoning hatred of homosexuals then the reverse is also true.  As the Bible says of Ishmael, his hand is raised against every man and every man’s against him.  To enfranchise one group of men over the other is to tilt the playing field.  If homosexuals can’t compete on a level field they should stay on the sidelines.

page 12.

     Contrary to these public declarations homosexuals are not discriminated against unless they adopt a weird persona, wear dresses or speak like Marilyn Monroe.  Most people are unconcerned about sexual orientation so that it is impossible for them to distinguish homosexuals.

     Homosexuals thus form a species of secret society.  They are, in fact, a brotherhood.  To be a brother in good standing is absolutely essential.  Thus one’s independence is destroyed; one must conform or face ruin as one can have no sex life having made oneself inaccessible to women.  Of course, there’s always sheep.  In the work place the heterosexual functions as an independent individual.  One or the other group must control the work place and establish its mores.  The homosexual brotherhood having solidarity must easily gain control of the workplace. 

     Even though forced to be covert, history is replete with homosexuals in every line of endeavor.  The arts are an especially favorable field for homosexuals.  Especially the record business.

     Homosexuals came out of the closet in 1969.  the open practice of homosexuality progressed rapidly to enter what is called the Candy Store Era of homosexualtity.  By the late seventies before AIDS choked it off the Candy Store Era was in full swing.  Being a ‘guy’ was openly indicated.

     During the sixties many record performers began to hint that they were homosexuals, or, at least bi-guys which as an intermediate step was considered more acceptable.  Such nonsense as:  ‘Why should I exclude one half the world from my bed?’ was prevalent.  Earrings began to appear on men.  The outre clothing fashions of the Hippies lent cover to garb not so discreetly feminine.  There was an effort made to make skirts acceptable for men.

page 13.

     By the late sixties artist’s began to discreetly acknowledge the truth.  By the mid-seventies it was openly proclaimed; by the late seventies proudly so.

     The unalterable fact of the matter is that homosexuality disgusts and revolts men who aren’t homosexual and, more importantly, those who refuse to acknowledge their own infirmity.

     As the seventies progressed the vitality which had characterized Rock n’ Roll began to fade away.  As it did homosexual entertainers came to the fore as heterosexual interest faded.  Groups began to simulate fellatio on stage.  This in turn drove heterosexual men away in disgust.  At the same time overtly homosexual Disco music began its rise driving Rock n’ Roll into further eclipse.  Thus the record market was decidedly tilted toward the homosexual influence.

     Homosexuality is a psychotic reaction to sexual abuse.  The victim is psychologically emasculated.  Hence homosexuality is expressed in gross pornographic imagery and practice.

     Because mankind never wishes to assume responsibility for its actions an objection may be raised to the notion of psychotic reaction.  Early in man’s development the belief was that the stars guided men’s actions.  When the astrological theory became untenable people wished to believe that their anti-social actions were caused by possession by evil spirits.  Demons, or the devil made them act against their inclinations.  Society even went so far as to empower people to exorcise the demons.

page 14.

     When science came to the fore after the Great Revolution, the idea that man himself was responsible for his actions became dominant.  The science of psychology developed the notion that man could alter his behavior by plumbing the depths of his psyche.

     This view caused an extreme reaction as people rejected the notion of personal responsibility.  Oddly enough science was called into play to nullify its own discovery.  Anti-social behavior was caused, some said, by brain tumors.  Failing brain tumors, then a chemical imbalance in the brain.

     Recently these theories have been thrown overboard in favor of genetics.  Genetics is a tough, imprecise field.  No one can actually prove that genes influence behavior; no one can actually disprove it at present.  To placate the skeptics believers claim that the defective A1 gene has to be activated by an objective event.  Once activated, of course, it can’t be deactivated.  Not even by chemicals that might restore the balance.  One accepts the theory on faith or not.

     The believers claim that psychotic behavior such as alcoholism, homosexuality and criminality is caused by the defective A1 gene.  Thus from the stars to the A1 gene man refuses to accept responsibility for the inability to control himself.

     Nevertheless homosexuality is expressed through a violent demeaning attitude toward sex.  This attitude began to dominate the record industry by 1976.  The attitude was perfected when the Disco rage took over  the industry, dominating it for several years.  Songs celebrated homosexuality.  Whole records celebrated it.  Homosexuals still couldn’t show it on the beach but they could do it on record covers.  The gay group, The Village People put out a twenty minute song entitled:  The YMCA which coyly celebrated the homosexual joys to be found there.  Oddly enough the Y never called for the record to be suppressed which they certainly had the right to do.  The Beegee’s recorded the double entendre: More Than A Woman To Me.  Sly and obscure enough to go unrecognized except by the initiated.

     The Headhunters were on the move.  Nowhere was the aggressive attitude more explicit than on the cover art.  Giorgio Moroder who, had been using the Black woman, Disco Donna Summer, as a cover for his projections, stepped into the open issuing records under his own name.  His ‘Knights In White Satin’ threw down the gauntlet for the straight males of the world.  The cover art featured Moroder fronting a bunch of ‘guys’ dressed in white satin lounging around a gleaming white toilet.  The toilet is the focal point of the homosexual ideology.

     During the Candy Store Era public baths became gathering places for homosexuals.  Essentially large toilets Portland had at least two of them.  Thus anytime night or day a lonely homo could joust with fellows in the toilet.

     The symbolism of ‘Knights In White Satin’ is clear.  In the Arthurian corpus Lancelot, the most formidable knight of his or any day, issues forth from under the lake dressed in white satin on a white charger with white accoutrements.  White is Gnostic symbolism for the color of purity and grace.  The Wonder Rabbis of eighteenth century Neo-Hasidism also wore white satin as chosen and leaders of the chosen.  Thus Moroder was saying that homosexuals were the best men preferred by God.  The Homosexual Revolution was on.

page 16.

     But, in point of fact, homosexuals are only the chosen losers.  When they were emasculated as children or during the course of their lives they became dominated.  They had been compelled to submit.  The humiliation of submission, forced submission, is too much for their psyches.  Hence they turn to a vicious brutal attempt to reverse their roles. Within the brotherhood ‘boys’ and ‘girls’ practice sado-masochistic rites.

     Among heteros, with whom they cannot compete they wage interminable warfare.  Unable to confront masculinity they lie, sneak and cheat hoping to gain the upper hand by subterfuge.  Since they cannot hope to win on their own merits they seek the State to give them a handicap in laws which suppress the superiority of heteros.  They seek a handicap that makes heteros submit and allows homosexual dominance.

     As emasculated men they can no longer act as whole men.  Thus they love the very idea of manhood which they have been denied.  They study men; watch them, bringing all the most admirable traits together in an impossible cartoon image of manhood.  Thus the Village People posed as ‘macho men.’  They adopted stage personae of the most virile men; but they were merely actors playing a role.

     While the knights of old sought dominance by charging across the greensward with their lances leveled to sink the point in another’s flesh so Moroder and his brotherhood charged across the toilet with a different lance leveled to sink it in their brother’s flesh.  Headhunters shoulder jousted down the street trying to prove their dominance of others by walking into them if they didn’t step aside.  Defective A1 genes or mental disturbance?

page 17.

     Cover designs frequently accentuated the sado-masochistic elements of this dominance-submission.  the fire down below expressed the sickness above.  Homo separate themselves into ‘boys’ and ‘girls.’  Male dominance over female submission in its most brutal form.  Thus a Disco Donna Summer was a surrogate for Disco Giorgio Moroder when homoseuxal songs refer to girls they mean submissive men.  Women on cover art are surrogates for men.  When they are meant to be women they stand with ardent longing around a male who ignoring them altogether has no use for them.  ‘Boys’ are more than a woman to him,

    By one of those twists of fate Pilgrim’s Center in which Trueman’s store was located was on Stark St.  The homosexual center of Portland was on a wedge of streets that began where Stark and Burnside met at Twelfth St. widening as it approached the river.  Most of the homo hangouts were in this wedge.  The Great Gotham Hotel anchored the wedge on the triangular block that began it.  The Gotham had been converted into a bath house of which the toilet was the community room.  God help the hetero who stumbled into the place to stay or eat at the restaurant.

page 18.

     Just up the street was The Mama Tried.  Across the street was the Darby Ram.  Both were homosexual restaurants and bars.  Above the Pilgrim Center between West and East Park was Daddy Cool’s on the corner.  An empty space, which was soon to be filled inervened.  next to that was the Black Bottom, a place owned by a little Black guy about five feet four who went by the name of Jimmy Jack Speedo.  Another hangout, the Bottom Half was up on Yamhill and East Park.

     The Pilgrim’s Center and Chrystalship were thus in the Homosexual center of the city.  Concomitant with the ‘coming out’ of the homosexuals was the coming out of lesbians.  Even if they couldn’t show it on the beach they could demonstrate anywhere.  Suddenly two girls would stop in the middle of Dewey’s store and begin tounging each other for long slobbery minutes.  The lesbians too were looking for a fight.  They needed some way to draw sympathy for their psychological infirmity.

     The femininst movement was at one of its historic peaks.  The women’s movement was sensitive about how women were portrayed in art.  The enemy to the homosexuals, the lesbians and the women’s movement was the hetorosexual male in lesbian minds.  While censoring references to themselves they felt free to voice the most bigoted sentiments about whole men or even balanced women.

     Thus, while the sado-masochistic cover art was perpetrated by homosexual interests, heterosexual men were blamed for it by the lesbians.

     Trueman, who really loved the record business, watched with dismay as the homosexual element with their pornographic approach to cover art came to dominate the industry.  He was already in an unhappy frame of mind when the storm burst directly over his head.  The lesbian sisterhood chose to make cover art a social issue.

page 19.

     They needed a vehicle to bring their plaint to the fore.  Both Trueman and Chrystalship loomed large in their minds.  Sex, drugs and records filled the void of their minds.  They identified Trueman with the ‘ruling class.’  They neither knew of his origins as an orphan, the least privileged of any caste, nor did they understand that he was an outlaw with no status with the privileged class.  When Trueman had told one of these beat up femmies of his origins he had been called a liar because, as she said, he couldn’t have built the business he had if he had come from an orphan’s background.

     His supposed prominence and the size and actual prominence of his store made him the natural target.  Dewey’s own attitude as the matter developed was more confrontational than diplomatic.  He gave what he had gotten in life.  Neither attitude would have mattered as the former would have exacerbated the situation  and the latter circumvented it.  The only possible solution with bigots is submission.  The situation was so far from the American ideals of his youth that he was incapable of putting things into a historical or social context.  His original conciliatory attitude soon developed into a confrontational one which set the tone of the dispute.

     The mere frustration of their wishes was enough to drive the lesbians to extreme measures.  They decided to begin gently with Dewey.  Over the course of a few weeks various lesbians stopped Dewey in the store to complain about certain record covers.  Dewey could, and genuinely tried, to sympathize with them.  He didn’t like the direction cover art was going either, but for different reasons.  When they insisted, he would give the reasonable counter that this was a world he never made; he wasn’t present at the creation and no one had asked his opinion since.

page 20

     They thought Dewey was part of the ‘white male power structure.’  In their minds he was indued with great powers.  Dewey was amazed that they thought he was capable of having the covers withdrawn.  Dewey tried to patient with them.  He explained that he, too, didn’t like a lot of the covers, not necessarily the ones they objected to.  He showed them the Giorgio Moroder cover which offended him greately but bothered them not at all.  He showed them several other homosexual and lesbian covers.  He showed them the selection of Olivia records.  The Olivia label was a lesbian label with lesbian lyrics and photos.  He tried to explain to them that America was a land of free speech which protected the right of all to express any point of view.  He tried to explain…

     But they were narrow and single minded in their zeal and bigotry.  They pointed out that he could refuse to sell records of which they disapproved.  He pointed out that homosexuals themselves were designing the covers.  Many homosexuals were part of the ‘White male power structure’ as were many lesbians.  He tried to show them that the world was not a heterosexual plot against homosexuals.  He pointed out that it would be suicide for him to refuse to stock the records that they or any other group might object to.  He pointed out…oh, but it goes on and on.  Reason cannot influence bigotry.

page 21.

     Finally the lesbians began to mutter about ‘justice.’  Dewey pointed out that the law was on his side.  ‘Law! Law! We’re talking about justice man, not Law!’

     Justice in a well ordered state is the prerogative of the state not individuals or sub-cultures.  But, at this time in American history sub-cultures frustrated with the greater culture began taking ‘justice’ into their own hands.  They became vigilante lynch mobs.

     They also wanted maximum publicity for their beliefs, none for the other.  So, one night between ten and twelve, Linda Delmurkwasser and two confederates entered the store.  Linda, like a female Charles Manson, supervised as the others slashed a hundred offending covers with criss-cross designs using nail files and left, smiling triumphantly at the lesbian behind the counter who gave them the high sign.

     Over the years Dewey as a retailer had to deal with many inexplicable occurrences such as razor blades concealed among the records or tear gas sprayed into the air conditioning vents.  Retailers are compelled to suffer an endless list of such petty but potentially dangerous crimes.  Spiteful religious people had been mashing half eaten ice cream cones between records for months.  In the crush of happenings when Dewey had the covers pointed out to him he marked it down as yet one more bizarre occurrence and forgot about it.

     The lesbians had expected Dewey to go to the p0lice so that they could make a row about the covers.  Sure that the action would be top news they had planned to step forward, explain their terrorist action and vindicate their cause before the world.  This could be big, they thought.

 page 22.

     When nothing happened they printed an account of in the Sapphite, their monthly paper.  Linda Delmurkwasser, who doubled as an agent provocateur for the police as well as being a lesbian had already informed the police.  She now brought the article to their attention pointing out that this time the lesbians had gone too far.  While the police had a benign attitude toward infra community crimes, perhaps because the lesbian article boasted of taking ‘justice’ into their own hands, which was an infringement of the police prerogative, they thought to offer Trueman a hand.

     Linda Delmurkwasser was also a reporter for the Daily Assassin.  In her role as double agent she would be able to give the lesbian views maximum exposure in the event of legal action.  A Sergeant Pappas called Trueman to advise him that they had read the article.

     ‘Now,’ he chuckled, ‘we can only let you people go so far before these things get out of hand.  So, we can take action in this instance against those lesbians if you want it.’

     Trueman was well aware that he had been outlawed.  The police did more to hurt than help him.  Any offer of assistance from the police made him suspicious.  He ran through the bag of tricks looking for the setup.  He couldn’t imagine one besides he had completely forgotten the incident.  He told Sergeant Pappas that the incident had never happened, no matter what the Sapphite said.  Pappas was dumbfounded.  They thought he was lying but couldn’t understand why he was protecting the lesbians.

page 23.

     Linda Delmurkwasser was also disappointed.  She sat down, tapped the table with the fingernails of her right hand twice as a new plan entered her head.  She had connections at KGRU radio.  It was the gangbuster number one station at the time.  KGRU Radio was staffed predominantly with lesbians and homosexuals.

     Trueman, in his conversations around the station discussed record covers in the terms of artwork.  Moderns always disparage the present in favor of the past.  His opinion was therefore disparaged.  But, he pointed out, the art of the past has been presorted for moderns.  The worst had disappeared into the trashcan of history; only the best has survived.  The thrill of the present, he would say, waxing enthusiastic, is that some is good, some bad, some in better taste, some worse.  The joy of it all is sorting through the material to select that which is best, or at least, to your taste.  Besides, he would say, there is such a flood of material that little of it will be remembered no matter how high the quality and the quality was high indeed.  So much was being done today that was equal to or better than anything done in the past.  In Philistia his notions flew right over the heads of his listeners who believed that anything in the past was better than anything in the present.  Trueman was willing to expound on the subject to anyone who would listen.  The boy did like to talk.

     Linda was sitting around the New Improved Granny’s Sewing Circle and Enlightened Cafe snorting a few lines when several lesbians from KGRU came in.  They greeted each other and began discussing the problems of the exploitation of women by men which soon turned to the portrayal of women as sex objects in art which devolved to record covers.  Dewey and his beliefs entered the conversation.  The notion of making a news item of cover art occurred simultaneously to each.  It was a true group epiphany.

page 24.

     KGRU news, or a ‘roving’ human interest team, called Trueman explaining that they wanted to do a special on cover art.  His store was perfectly arranged for such a TV story.  Unlike most record stores which shove bins against the walls, Trueman’s bins were in the center of the store.  Shelves seven feet high lined his walls displaying a thousand albums face out.

     Trueman was neither blind, stupid or slow.  He knew that the station was heavily homosexual.  He was aware of the lesbians’ attitude t0ward the covers.  As he was under a ban of ‘dynamic silence’ from the establishment he knew that something was afoot to discredit him.  But, if they wanted to film record covers, he told them to go ahead.

     Dewey knew exactly what they would do.  When the crew entered they immediately focused on the cover the lesbians thought was most controversial.  The record, which had a very tame cover, was Montrose’s Jump On It.  The cover featured a coy abstract design that could be interpretated as part of the midriff and thighs of a human being.  Or it could be interpreted as a two dimensional abstract design.  It could also be interpreted as a derriere and thighs.  The content was actually provided by the title and one’s prurient imagination.

page 25.

     Artists being the quirky little tricksters they are had merely provided an implied sexual innuendo, there was no indication that the design represented a woman. Homosexuals were very busy at the time putting all kinds of ambiguous designs on covers that at first glance seemed to be women’s anatomy.  One’s prurient interest aroused, on closer inspection the picture would turn out to be the juncture of a man’s arm and chest upside down made to look like cleavage.   Thus supposedly the sexual line between male and female was obliterated.  The picture ‘proved’ that a man could be aroused by another man.  This was real locker room stuff; women were not invited.  Unwilling to be duped, when Dewey looked at the Montrose cover he saw a picture of only colors and a two dimensional abstract design.  Ideologically one could see a unisex crotch.

     The TV crew was lesbian and homosexual.  As Dewey stood watching Linda Delmurkwasser motioned him over.

     ‘Dewey?  It is Dewey, isn’t it?’  She said pretending not to know so as not to have to acknowledge his existence.  ‘Come over here, Dewey, and give us some of your comments on this here ‘art.’  Linda was one of those egocentrics who thought that if she didn’t like it it wasn’t art.

     Dewey had a policy to never be on camera when he couldn’t control the content.  He was certainly not going to offer himself as a sacrifical lamb to this crew.

     ‘You don’t think I’m going to be on camera with you, do you?’  He asked staring absentmindedly across the store reciprocating Linda’s disrespect.

page 26.

     ‘Yes, oh yes.  We want you and your opinions as the important element of this picture.’  Delmurkwasser cooed in that lesbian parody of feminine coquetry.  It is interesting that homos and lesbians who are reacting to the same characteristic in men evidence their reaction in opposite ways.  They both worship the idea of manhood.  Homos despise themselves but are capable of an adoring caricature that is better than the original while lesbians despise women rejecting all their ways in favor of a manly style they cannot obtain.  Dewey smiled at Linda’s parody of of a coquette.

     ‘No, no, no.’  Dewey replied.  ‘Photograph whatever you like but I’m not going on camera.  I thought you had your own story written.’

     ‘Well, then, this won’t work.’

     ‘I guess not.’

     Frustrated again the lesbians lost their ability to concentrate.  No new ideas were forthcoming.  Then one Saturday night Linda, Casey Wingit and Donna Dancin, two newsperson women from KGRU, were at the Disco Deep Elum where they ran into Clint Devery, the morning jock on KGRU.

     Newsperson women may seem like a gross redundancy, which it is.  First the sexual revolution demanded unisex titles, so newsperson replaced newsman and newswoman.  Then sexual preferences reasserted themselves.  Unable to go back to ‘sexist’ newsman or newswoman the term was strung out to newsperson guy or woman.  Thus language is corrupted by well-intentioned stupidity.

page 27.

     Disco Deep Elum was the largest, fanciest disco in Portland.  Discos were the bacchic churches of homosexuals.  There they could party, revel and show it till the cows came home, provided they come home before 2:00 AM when the state liquor laws take effect.

     The central feature was, of course, the giant ball of mirrors rotating in a dazzling display of lights.  The layout was a large square thirty feet high.  The dance floor curved from right to left with the tables on the perimeter out to the walls.  The disc jockey and his nonstop multiple turntables were in the right back corner amid a blaze of spotlights.

     As homosexuality is centered on dominance and submission the men’s toilet was given fantastic prominence.  This was a toilet that homosexual dreams are made of.  The toilet door was high on the right wall fifteen fleet above the floor.  A long narrow rampway, not wide enough for two abreast led from behind the turntables up to the toilet door.  Banks of spotlights illuminated the ramp.  The ramp and toilet was the focal point of Disco Deep Elum.  It was where the real action was.

     The game of dominance and submission was played out on the ramp.  When a ‘knight in white satin’ went to the toilet another knight might take it in his mind to challenge him.  When the first knight came out of the toilet the challenger raced up the ramp.  One or the other party must give way in those shoulder jousts or a confrontation must result.  Thus to the thudding of one hundred twenty beats to the minute, that’s two beats per second, in the full glare of hundreds of spotlights the ‘better’ man vanquished the other before the whole Disco Deep Elum.  This was the real show.  A ‘manly’ pecking order was established.  Here was the very essence of genetic A1 homosexuality.

page 28.

     Linda, Casey and Donna were snorting lines bought from one of the numerous dealers in the place- you’ve got to get up to get down, disco buddy- and talking about things to Clint when their frustration over record covers came up yet again.  Clint had a fecund mind to go with his sense of justice.  He had just about finished explaining to them how a row could be got up by picketing Chrystalship when there was an uproar on the toilet ramp.

      Terry Trenkar had seen Billy Botman head up the ramp to the toilet.  They were both macho men of good size.  ‘I’m going to show that guy’s chicken shit.’  Trenkar muttered under his breath.  Bill Bailey at the turntables picked up the on the incipient psychodrama with the telepathy of a born irritator.  His adrenalin soared.  As the previous record had ended he picked up a tape he had set to a disco beat of ‘Big Balls In Cow Town’ by the great Bob Wills.  As Trenkar grabbed the rail and pulled himself up his first few steps, Bailey set the already high volume up a notch.  At this signal all eyes turned toward the ramp.

     Bill Botman came out of the toilet to be surpised by Trenkar coming up the ramp like a steamroller for the shoulder joust.  Botman wasn’t going to give way.  He edged over into Trenkar as they slammed together.  ‘Big Balls In Cowtown’ was turned up another thundering notch as Botman and Trenkar grappled fifteen feet above the floor now featured along with the music and dancing.

page 29.

     With a heave Trenkar raised Botman up and thrust him over the rail.  Botman grabbed the lapels of Trenkar’s shirt trying to pull him over too.  Bailey turned the volume up yet again.  The mirror ball began to quiver as well as rotate sending shafts of spectrums in every direction.  The struggle assumed titanic proportions in the intense noise and light.  Trenkar pulled back his fist to belt Botman.  As he did so Botman let go of one lapel to grab hold of Trenkar’s abundant hair.  He took a fist in the head as he put his weight into pulling Trenkar over.  Trenkar’s scream as his scalp tore loose from his skull was lost in the pounding thud of one hundred twenty to the minute.  He involuntarily pitched over the railing landing head first with what would have been a sickening thud if it could have been heard.  It was eerie.  You knew there was noise from the scuffle but the volume cut you off from reality.

     Botman who was wearing cowboy boots landed on the side of his heel giving his ankle a violent twist.  Looking over at Trenkar in the thunder whose head was crushed into the floor butt in air, Botman thought he was dead.  Rising to his feet Botman hobbled out of Deep Elum as fast as he could go.

     In the sequel Trenkar who had lost fair and square, so to speak, refused to abide by the result of the trial by combat.  He appealed to the homo community for sanctions against Botman.  As the spectacle had been performed under lights before the world the community just told him to get lost.  Trenkar then tried legal charges but strange to say there were no witnesses.  It ain’t easy being a macho guy.

page 30.

     Their plans having been formulated Linda, Casey, Donna and Clint issued out into the street as Bill Bailey played a mix of his own of Lonnie Donegan’s Dixie Darlin’ and the Beatles Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds set to the one-twenty beat.  He called the result, Disco Darlin’.  He had only combined other people’s creative efforts but with cool effrontery he considered himself the creative equal of the incomparable Lonnie Donnegan and The Beatles.  Unfortunately Bill was way too far out ahead of the crowd that night.  His effort failed with a thud and a half.

     Outside Clint and the girls stood watching as the ambulance carted the ‘Knight In White Satin’ away.

     ‘Wow, wasn’t that terrific?’  Donna shouted in awed tones her ear drums still numbed by the volume inside.

     ‘Yeah.  I never guessed it would end that way.’  Casey yelled as though she had been watching a TV show.

     ‘Yeah, man! Deep Elum’s a boffo place.  You can always count on action like that.’  Clint finished.

 

     Dewey was driving to work the following Saturday when Clint Devery announced during the news break that there would be a lesbian desmonstration against Chrystalship beginning at noon.

     ‘That’s not news!’  Dewey said aloud.  ‘You can’t announce riots before they happen.  That’s incitement.  Besides I didn’t pay for that announcement.’

     Dewey knew Devery from having taped his radio commercials at KGRU.  He stopped at the station to get an explanation.  Devery contemptuously and silently shrugged off Dewey’s question.  There is little you can do in such a rebuff.  If you get angry your anger will be used against you.  Devery was expert in homosexual confrontations, but he…oh, that’s another story.  Devery had the advantage and the microphone.  Had Dewey pleaded with him he would only have demeaned himself.  Whatever he did he could only draw the chuckle.  Trueman had already gratified Devery by responding to the message.  He merely turned and walked away.  Devery leaned out the door of his cage watching Dewey’s retreating figure.  He reached down and gave his penis a little loving squeeze as he emitted a squeal of delight because, in his mind, he had triumphed over Trueman’s manhood and asserted his own.

page 31.

     But forewarned is forearmed.  Dewey knew what they wanted.  He worked out three probable scenarios.  He knew that they didn’t have a news story; no one really cared what lesbians thought of record covers.  He knew that on TV he would get more sympathy than not.  At best lesbians represented a small fraction of women’s opinion even if they had captured the women’s movements and spoke as if they talked for all.  As a non-person Dewey knew the authorities would never let the story reach the tube. Too much free advertising.  All he had to do was keep his mouth shut and be cool.

     But Dewey had emotional problems of his own.  The psychological compression of his childhood experience had begun to decompress rapidly at the first sign of his success.  Dewey had had his orginal personality murdered on the recess yard in the second grade.  The patchwork personality he had put together amid the constant psychological battering from second grade to graduation was rapidly deteriorating.  Dewey was aware of this and aiding the process.  He was working desperately to regain his original personality or develop a suitable alternative new personality.

page 32

     The constant battering he was taking as an outlaw was taking its toll.  He knew that whatever he gained something would be lost.  He was prepared to gain himself if he lost the world.

     He was intelligent and incredibly tough mentally but alone in what might be described as behind enemy lines.  The only thing that would make the lesbians’ demonstration would be a visual confrontation between the demonstrators and himself.  He wouldn’t leave his store.

     The demonstration was more wish than reality.

     There were only half a dozen lesbians who showed up to protest.  Linda Delmurkwasser and her friends who had jobs to protect watched from across the street and down the block.  Only one cameramen and one sound man from KGRU were used.  They intended to overdub commentary at the studio.

     The six who showed waved their signs and chanted but to their dismay they were totally ignored  It was, it is, very difficult for homosexuals and lesbians to generate sympathy except in the abstract.  No one wants to go ‘queer.’

     Many women were openly contemptuous.  Some who had no intention of entering the store did so in spite.  There were many who thought the demonstration was merely a publicity stunt of Trueman’s.  Frustrated outside the demonstrators decided to invade the store.

    The store was very busy as it always was on Saturdays.  As a good field marshall Clint Devery had several knights in the store alert to the situation who would have the advantage of directing the flow of events.  As anonymous operatives their homosexuality concealed their acts would appear as disinterested or nonpartisan if anyone actually noticed what they were doing in the confusion.

page 33.

     Dolly Vargas burst into the store, threw her sign on the floor, climbed up on a rack wearing a house dress worn over levis with big combat boots to begin declaiming; ‘Listen people…’  People being the magic word that unites all ‘right thinking’ people behind the orator.  ‘Listen, people, do you know you’re supporting sexism?’  She screamed over the loud speakers from which bellowed the Rolling Stones ‘Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown.’

    In point of fact the customers couldn’t relate buying their favorite records with sexism.  Most of them thought they were watching a promotional stunt as Dewey was considered to be a publicity hound.  Had Dewey been dispassionate the knowledge would have been cold comfort for it was publicity he did not seek.

     Dewey was at the other end of the store from Dolly.  As he turned at the sound of her voice, Bobbye Dorley rushed through the left entrance behind him to push him hard in the back.  She was followed by the cameraman hoping for a violent response from Trueman.  When Dewey turned the first thing he saw was the cameraman.  Dewey knew that the cameraman would know his responsibilities.  As politely as he could with Bobbye clawing at him he asked the cameraman to leave.  A request isn’t an order so the cameraman smiled and filmed on.  Dewey ordered him to leave.  An order is something to be resisted.  The cameraman began to give Dewey an argument when a coordinator understanding the jeopardy to the station grabbed him by the arm directing him to the door.

page 34.

     Turning back, Dewey found Bobbye Dorley screaming insults into his face.  Dewey sensed the presence of Devery’s Headhunters more than identified them.  He could practically feel their hands on him as he tried to back away from Dorley.  He kept his hands at his sides as he knew that if he raised them he would be blindsided to the floor by one of Devery’s anonymous terrorists.  After that who would know.

     His requests to his employees to call the police were ignored.  Dewey managed to extricate himself from Dorley so that he got into the back to call the police.

     The police, who were observing just down the block, were prompt.  Asked to leave the lesbians refused.  They insisted that the store was a public place.  Perhaps, but a riot is illegal anywhere.  They refused to listen to the policeman’s explanation that a store is not a public place but only open to those wishing to do business there.  Order was restored only when the police began threatening to arrest any who wouldn’t leave.

     The lesbians, who  arrogated justice to their affliction, found any opposition unjust.  Opposition was not a difference of opinion in their minds but a willful disregard of justice, never mind law.  Thus they believed that Trueman and the police were in criminal collaboration to defeat their idea of justice.  Trueman was condemned in their system of justice as an inveterate and willful malefactor.  As he would not bend to their will he became in their eyes an ‘arch-homophobe.’  Work on the implications of that word for a while.  As a criminal homophobe Trueman must be punished.  Trueman was therefore entered on the homo and lesbian blacklist as an enemy.  Borrowing ideology from the Jewish network they would bless them that blessed them and curse them who wouldn’t bless them.

page 35.

     Trueman was already blacklisted by both the Old Boy and Jewish Networks.  All his efforts would now by thwarted by the Homosexual Network.  The word was put out to harass him at every step.  Ordinarily his picture would be put out and he would be tailed so that wherever he went the tail would notify his contacts that Trueman’s requests should be frustrated as much as possible.  As Trueman was on TV the picture was not necessary as everyone could recognize him on sight.  An eye for an eye.  If he would frustrate their efforts then they would frustrate his.  Hate is such a terrible thing.  Don’t you agree?

     The homosexual and lesbian network was a formidable network.  A member must comply or be expelled.  Homosexuals and lesbians are distributed throughout society in every profession and on every social level.  They function as a secret society.  Even if one could identify each one there would be no way to defend oneself as, along with Blacks, Jews and Women they have arrogated to themselves the role of the innocent victim.  Legal and social prejudices are in their favor.  In the workplace they can and do create infinite difficulties for ‘homophobes.’  Bear in mind that all that is necessary to be classed as a homophobe is to be neutral.  With the current advances in technology there is nowhere in the world that one can evade the toils of the homosexual or any other network.

page 36.

     Dewey soon found that his difficulties increased to the point where it was impossible for him to get good service.  He was treated most disrespectfully at all restaurants, waiter staffs being entirely homosexual.  Urine, feces, spit, semen and drugs were placed in his food and drink.  He began to be sick the day after eating out.  He resorted to making reservations under assumed names which did him no good as he was easily recognized at sight.

     The Old Boy Network had been tampering with his cars for years.  He had bought a car from Leuni Cadillac.  They had disconnected his back brakes, destroyed his emergency brake and set the engine to idle at forty miles an hour.  No one in town would correct the idle, Trueman wasn’t aware of the brakes.  He was laughingly told that all Cadillacs were designed to idle at that speed.  As he was still struggling with this problem, which was actually attempted murder, offenses against his car began to occur regularly.

     More importantly the lesbians and homosexuals decided Trueman was making a fortune off them.  This must be stopped and at least some of the money recovered.  The American way would have been opening their own store going into competition with him.  But the American way was fast disappearing.  The constitutional guarantees are an impediment to the doctrine of Political Correctness to which the advocacy of homosexuality is fundamental.

page 37.

     It was not enough to compete with him.  In their minds he had ‘stolen’ profits from them.  He must be cheated and robbed as they, in their minds, had been by him.  The money must be recovered.  Rudy Walling did set up a small shop between Daddy Cool’s and the Black Bottom called Reddy Rudy’s.  The name was more than a double entendre.  On one hand it traded on the electric industry’s trademark of Reddy Kilowatt.  On another it had the implication of the homosexual’s being always ready for sex.  On yet another it was a reference to Little Richard’s lyric:  Tutti Frutti, I want Rudy.

     A very curious campaign of sabotage against Trueman began.  Every effort was made to undermine his operation.  Homos and lesbians filtered in to dominate the staff.  In the Candy Store Era before the advent of AIDS very heavy homosexual proselytization was conducted.  Frequently one could identify men who had been recently seducees by the Headhunters.  A concentrated campaign was conducted to seduce Opie Wooley Trueman’s manager.  As Wooley was a cocaine addict and weak minded the task was not too difficult.  Wolley’s loyalty was transferred from Trueman to the homos.

     Reddy Rudy’s inventory was then transferred from Chrystalship to his store on a daily basis.  It was a homosexual’s dream.  They were screwing Trueman  from behind and he didn’t even know it.  The staff practiced offending the customers, trying to drive them away.  Trueman found to his dismay that his male customers were being solicited.  Leo Levi without looking up to identify who was before him tried to solicit Trueman.  When Trueman fired Levi eight of the staff quit in protest while charges of discrimination were attempted to be filed against Trueman.

page 38.

     Trueman’s turnover, always high, became ferocious.  Some hired in the morning left at lunch and never came back.  A week or two became a long term employee.

     Trueman, who was not aware of the nature of the problem was baffled by what was happening.  The morality he had been raised with was no longer valid.  Something was happening but he couldn’t identify it.  Actually it was a stage in the war between Judeo-Christian morality and Revolutionary morality.  The disciplined Judeo-Christian behavioral ideals were being replaced by the self-indulgent undisciplined ideals of the Revolution.  The Constitution was falling before Revolutionary Political Correctness.  The embattled Catholic and Protestant forces either couldn’t identify the problem or were powerless to resist it .  At any rate there was no evidence that the problem was comprehended at all by society.  There was only a call for a larger police force, an even more invasive State.

     The old ideal of freedom of speech was being replaced by a system of censorship imposed by the PC factions.  The world was dividing into Us and Them.  Semites and anti-Semities, homos and homophobes, Black Racists and White Racists, factionalists against universalists.  If one belong to the former groups one had freedom to belabor one’s opponents; if to the latter one was automatically guilty of anti-social behavior.  One’s opinion became invalid and criminal.  While censorship was theoretically deplored the notion of censorship applied only to the right to publish pornography.

page 39.

     Trueman was of the old school of American thought.  He saw no harm in anyone saying anything they wanted.  Words are cheap; only deeds count.  While he sensed a change in the direction of American mores he was not quick enough to identify the problem.  While Trueman was not so ardent in his belief that he would defend to the death anyone’s right to say what they chose he believed they had a right to say it.  He didn’t censor his record inventory.  The inventory represented all shades of opinion.  Irish revolutionaries with absurd clandestine style even sold him records by the Wolfetones.  Wolfe Tone was an eighteenth century Protestant Irish revolutionary.  The Irish were so insular in their beliefs that they were aghast when Trueman placed the records prominently in view in the racks.  They quite seriously thought he would be arrested.

     Trueman took the broad view, the lesbians didn’t.  While he carried the covers to which the lesbians objected he also carried the Olivia label of lesbian artistes.  He carried the whole line as a service to the audience as only one record by Chris Williamson had any commercial value.

     The lesbians decided that Dewey shouldn’t be allowed to carry Olivia.  The ‘profits’ should not go to benefit a person they considered a proven male chauvinist pig and homophobe.  Dewey suddenly found that he couldn’t get his orders filled.  He couldn’t get anyone at Olivia to come to the phone and his rep was always in China or Siam.

     Politically Correct groups were beginning to do real violence to political and social ideals as found in the Constitution.  They had no tolerance for opposing points of view while demanding unconditional acceptance of their own.  In the actual context of law the lesbians’ act was illegal but as the Olivia line had little commerical value Trueman let the issue drop while retaining a lingering sense of resentment.

page 40.

     All of these groups harbor large numbers of mentally unbalanced individuals who find legitimization under the cover of the group organization.  Their sense of right and wrong is so skewed in favor of their ideological ‘justice’ as to be indistinguishable from criminality by traditional standards.  many of these lesbians were outraged that ‘their’ music still remained in a ‘bigoted homophobes’ shop.  Thus one day a mentally overwrought, hysterical Sally Ferguson marched into Trueman’s store, scooped up the remains of the Olivia section and marched defiantly out the door clutching her precious cargo to her breast.  The sympathetic lesbian at the counter gave Sally an approving high sign as she marched past.

     Trueman, who watched his inventory very closely, was mystified by the disappearance of the section, although no one would tell him what had happened.  The word of Sally’s action spread throughout the lesbian community to their general satisfaction.  The lesbians of course had close ties to the Women’s Movement.  The story when told to women not involved in the lesbian movement didn’t receive the same sort of approval.  In fact the story elicited strong disapproval as it was, after all, theft.  Certain of the lesbians reflected on this disapproval.  While they still didn’t think it wrong to expropriate their records from a homophobe they wished to absolve themselves in the eyes of the normal women.  To rectify matters the Olivia rep was authorized to issue Trueman a credit for thirty dollars.

page 41.

     ‘Mr. Trueman sir, we’re very sorry for what happened.  Even though we’re not responsible here’s a credit for thirty dollars.’

     Dewey looked at the credit a moment, then said:  ‘Your friend took a hundred fifty dollars worth.  I can’t accept a credit for thirty dollars.  Besides which unless you give cash the credit is worthless.  You won’t sell me records and if you did your people would only steal them back.  So thanks for a meaningless gesture that is probably only meant to absolve your people’s guilt.  Keep your credit and a pox on you and yours.’

     The rep, who was really a pleasant person but caught up in an ideology no different than Judaism, Communism or Nazism was overweight by thirty-five pounds, dressed in long johns, bib overalls and the ubiquitous combat boots with turned down socks went by the name of ‘Belle Starre.’  She thrust out her lower lip which quivered slightly.  She and her fellows needed to expiate this guilt.  Trueman was refusing them their hypocritical satisfaction.

     Belle Starre turned with heartbroken rejection from Trueman.  She could now understand, she thought, how cruelly inconsiderate a man could be.  He really deserves his reputation, she added to herself.  As the passed the front counter she laid the credit on the desk.  She would at least be able to say that she left the credit at the store.  Trueman wouldn’t be able to honestly deny the fact; the lesbian behind the counter was her witness.

page 42.

     With the removal of the Olivia catalog the lesbians could think of no other way to draw Trueman into a feud over the covers.  It was a pyrrhic victory but Trueman had successfully sidestepped the issue.  The lesbian and homosexual communities still continued to work against Trueman’s interests.  A steady campaign of vilification was carried on.  Closet homosexuals who passed for straight carried the slander to all levels of society.

     The lesbian and homosexual communities had been in the van of the effort to  have the polygraph tests made illegal.  Interestingly enough neither honest people nor criminals object to polygraphs.  It is only the sneak and cheat who objects.  It is they who have something to conceal.  At the same time homosexual groups were parading their ‘sexual preference’ they were terrified that they would be discovered through polygraphs.  They made an issue of ‘invasion of privacy.’

     When the use of polygraphs for employee testing became illegal Trueman became, ipso facto, criminal in their eyes.  Closely after polygraphs were outlawed Linda Delmurkwasser conceived the notion of writing an article for the Assassin exposing the ‘real’ Dewey Trueman while concealing the ‘real’ Linda Delmurkwasser.  The goal being always to present a subjective need under the guise of objectivity.

     It is in the interest of any group pursuing a political agenda to infiltrate the news reporting agencies.  From within they can slant reporting and influence editorial policy toward their ends.  Of course, at the same time it is necessary to prevent any dissenters to their opinion being employed.  Actual ownership is unnecessary.  Lesbians and homosexuals had such a presence on the Daily Assassin that the paper no longer tried reporting the news objectively but was solidly in the homosexual camp.  All homosexuals were portrayed as saints while all  ‘homophobes’ were devils.  The paper openly endorsed homosexuality while conducting a terrorist defamatory campaign against anyone who voiced doubt or opposition.   The ‘freedom loving’ editor of the Daily Assassin, Mingo Miybriy, herself a closet lesbian who only indulged her passions on business trips and with pros who were paid, actively encouraged Linda to remove the blot on Oregon’s decency in the name of freedom and equality.

page 43.

     Linda knew Attorney Trashman, Attorney was his given name, who had been employed by Chrystalship.

     Attorney was a pasty faced sadist.  He died his hair jet black, greasing it into curls long before the style became fashionable.  He had been with Chrystalship an incredible eight months before he had been fired.  He had been a constant source of irritation.

     Trashman had taken full advantage of the Candy Store Era.  He was so active he merely went from one case of gonorrhea to another.  He had become so sensitive to penicillin that his doctor required him to wait an hour for possible reactions before releasing him.

     Trueman had sent him home on two occasions.  Once when he came to work wearing gauze pants with no underwear discharging copious amounts of gonorrheic pus.  The second time Attorney and another employee, Jim Frascatti, came to work wearing T-shirts emblazoned Slave and Master.  Frascatti who wore the Slave shirt was also searing black plastic manacles with a couple links of chain as bracelets.

     The second dismissal had caused a jarring argument about Trueman’s alleged bigotry and homophobia.  Trueman would have fired Attorney over either incident but he feared that if Trashman filed a suit the Old Boy Network would take delight in judging against him.  Also the reaction in the homosexual and lesbian communities would have been such that he wouldn’t have been able to walk across the street without interference.  This was almost the status quo as it was.  The homosexuals as the saying goes had him over a barrel.

     Atttorney Trashman was severely mentally unbalanced.  He decorated his bedroom with various harnesses and sexual devices.  He even had a real straight jacket stolen from Salem.  One wall was a display of ballpeen hammers from the tiniest to the largest.  Attorney delighted in a story he told of a pick-up being led into his bedroom.  The guy took one look at the hammers, turned in fright screaming:  Oh no.  Not me you don’t, I’m game for anything but not those hammers.’

     Attorney Trashman lingered on while employees turned over at a ferocious rate.  Trueman did not have a single dependable employee.  His so-called managers became mere conduits to carry out instructions which they failed to do.  When his manager quit Dewey was forced to give Trashman a chance.  Dewey had forgotten that he had sent Trashman home but Attorney continued to nurse a grudge against the ‘bigot.’

page 45.

     Drugs were the bane of Trueman’s existence.  Not that he used them but everyone who ever worked for Chrystalship was deep into them.  They argued that they needed drugs to get them through the day.  They thought they performed better under the influence.  During the Candy Store Era drugs were conspicuously everywhere.  The record indistry had deteriorated so badly that not only did the perverts control production and design but the reps used marijuana and cocaine to corrupt store employees.  Now, that means that the manufacturers supplied the wherewithal to purchase the drugs.

     Trueman’s purpose in having polygraph tests had been to keep out drug dealers and heroin addicts.  His great fear was that the efficiency of the store would be destroyed if drug dealers and addicts got the upper hand.  He spent a lot of money for nothing.  Opie Wooley was already there.  No sooner had he hired the polygraph administrator than Opie had corrupted him with free cocaine.  It seemed to the easiest thing to do no matter who the target was.

     Trueman had also had a confrontation with Hannah Cohen of the Big Carrot Record Group over her lavish distribution of cocaine to the employees.  Hannah had stoutly defended her ‘rights’ and refused to desist.  The resulting confrontation with Warren Morley, the sales manager of Big Carrot, had resulted in Hannah’s being sent back to LA, hardly a punishment to her, while Trueman had his credit cut off permanently.

     When he subsequently found his former employee from Eugene, Dobby, who now worked as rep for Individual Artists Group, trading records for cash with Wooley to buy some touring group cocaine he didn’t make anymore phone calls to the credit manager, he just told Dobby not to do it again.  Oddly enough it never occurred to him that Wooley was selling the cocaine.  Wooley had a clean polygraph test.

page 46.

     Between drugs and sex Dewey was revolted by Attorney’s habits of which Trashman kept him fully informed.  Still Attorney was the only employee with any seniority.  Dewey believed that Trashman was dishonest, therefore he made it a condition for Trashman’s advancement that he take another polygraph.  Attorney reluctantly accepted.

     Trashman was a thief; he failed the polygraph.  As one would expect of someone with ballpeen hammers on his bedroom wall Attorney was cooly insolent in denouncing the reliablitly of the tests.  Trueman was in a quandary.  The campaign against the polygraph, given maximum publicity and endorsement by the Assassin, was close to success.  The lesbian assembly woman, Greta Lafrenniere, would put the bill through in three month’s time.  Trueman was almost simple in the goodwill he bore people.  He probably would have given Attorney another chance anyway but as he was under heavy abuse for using the tests plus their imminent banning he did keep Attorney Trashman on.

     A week later five hundred dollars under Trashman’s supervision disappeared.  Through no one else had the opportunity to take it, Trashman cooly and contemptuously dismissed the notion he had taken it.  Nor would he discuss the matter further.

     Trueman took the matter as a test for dominance; he had no choice but to fire him.  Trashman then warned Trueman not to make trouble for him or else, making a hammering motion to emphasize his words.  As an Outlaw Trueman had no recourse to the law so he had to suffer the humiliation.  Unwilling to let matters rest there Attorney actually sought a lawyer to sue Trueman for defamation of character but was unable to find an attorney to represent him.

page 47.

     Trashman had then gone to work for the New Criterion Coffee Shop on the second floor of Pilgrim’s.  As the Candy Store Era progressed the homos became more bold.  Many and wondrous were the stories about the scene in New York.  One such influential story was that there was a place in the Big Apple where at lunchtime a man could put his penis in a hole in a curtain in a certain location and an anonymous party would minister to his need.  Partially in response to this story the locals made the second floor toilet their social club; the place was not so anonymous as the hole in the curtain.

     This was a hideous situation in a family shopping center.  It would have been an easy matter to restore order.  But the situation was complicated by one of those ugly little realities in American life that no one wishes to acknowledge.  Racism.  Pilgrim’s Center was owned by Jorge and Benito Sukamoto.  In terms of human interest stories the Sukamotos had an astounding one.  It is almost a shame to skim over it so briefly.

page 48.

III.

You sit there a cryin’

Right in your beer.

You think you’ve 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’ve got enough of my own.

Be thankful you’re livin’

Drink up and go home.

Freddie Hart

     The Sukamotos originally came from Nagasaki one of the two Christian centers of Japan.  They were Catholic, their family had been for three hundred years.  The Japanese had been converted by Portuguese and Spanish priests.  Hence Jorge and Benito were named after Iberian Catholic saints.  Both had been born in Japan.  Persecuted for their religion the Catholic Sukamotos responded to the governments request to emigrate to the East Pacific Rim.

     Entry to the United States by the twenties was impossible for them so the Sukamotos elected to go to South America.  They were destined for the Japanese colony in Brazil, but having landed in Peru they drifted up to Colon, Colombia.  They did not find Colombia congenial so they cast longing eyes toward the United States.  Father Ishi was an enterprising sort so gathering up his wife Eleanor and the boys he entered Mexico where he found a way to be smuggled into California.  Not really more difficult then than it is now.

page 49.

     Ishi wanted to farm but the Californians had passed a law forbidding ownership of land to non-citizens.  They also passed laws preventing the Japanese from becoming citizens.  Not so different from the way Japanese treated aliens.  All depends on which foot the shoe is on. 

     Ishi therefore, ignoring his consuls requests to stay in LA kept moving northward to Oregon where Japanese could own land.  By the late thirties he was a successful truck farmer.  He, Eleanor and the boys worked hard on the land.  Jorge and Benito excelled by dint of hard work at school.  In 1938 Benito was sent back to Japan to acquire a Japanese veneer.  He was trapped there after December 7, 1941 for the duration of the war.

     Jorge entered Harvard in September of ’41.

     In the Spring of ’42 the  order came for the Japanese of the Western Defense Command to be interned away from the Coast.  Camps were established in Colorado, Idaho and the desert regions of California.  It is erroneously believed that all Japanese were interned.  Japanese in the Heartland and the Eastern Defense Command were not disturbed.  Any Westerners who had a place to go were allowed to go there.  Thus Ishi and Eleanor joined Jorge in Boston where they worked at good paying jobs in defense plants.  Continuing to live frugally they returned to Oregon with more money than they had when they left.  Plus Jorge had his Harvard degree.

page 50

    End Of Clip 1, go to Clip 2 and Conclusion

Disco Donn Demands Deliverance

by

R.E. Prindle

Part II-5

     So I get this inspiration and jump and say ah yes, but all gods are one,  Jews, Christian and Muslims all worship the same god.

     So much for ecumenism, man.  Boy, did they come down on me.  I couldn’t believe it.  You won’t believe it.  They actually jumped up and down screaming at me that I’m disrespectful to their august persons, that I’m a bigot, a troublemaker, a disturber of the peace, I oughta be kicked out of school and so on.  They were disgraceful but I’ve found the older you are the geekier your act.  Screw ’em.  So they don’t have the balls to kick me out of school but I can read the handwriting and besides I have enough of so-called higher education.  I don’t have to be told what to think and that’s the only kind of education they’re capable of giving, the stupid Fascist bastards.

     So next thing you know, here I am bussin’ with the band from Charlevoix.  Hey, come on, have a swig, you’ll feel better.  With any luck you’ll look better.’

     Big Daddy’s story about himself was accurate but like most people he wasn’t aware of his major influences.  Raised in different circumstances Big Daddy would have been a very different person, maybe a couple hundred pounds lighter.  America’s story has become one of eating disorders.  He hadn’t made himself what he was, he was the product of his environment.  Congratulate yourself America.  The beating and hammering he took combined with the closing of opportunities to him by the racial and immigrant situation prevented his aspiring to success in the corporate world.  The same forces blunted his manhood so that on the one hand he sought redemption in homosexual adventures while on the other, in addition to being a clown, he became a fool.  Shut out by ‘polite society’ of his own race he had nowhere to turn but inward, or to strike out in blind rage.  Screamin’ Big Daddy Gargantua’s response was a combination of the two.

page 201.

     Big Daddy was an intelligent man.  He was even immensely talented.  He knew a great deal about music.  He was not original, but he was as gifted at arranging as the best at any point in musical history. The Bull Lee Band played some terrific sets.  As a dance band which means everything is played loud, no dynamics, they could go through four or five songs in a twenty minute set without anyone noticing rhythm changes.  The dances just fluidly moved from one song into the next.  Big Daddy was really hep to the rhythm section.  He learned from both disco and reggae how to play the melody off the beat.  The band could start with Question Mark And The Mysterians ‘Ninety-six Tears’ and combine it with Doug Sahm’s ‘Mendocino’ before slipping into ‘Unchained Melody’ and ending with the Rolling Stones’ ‘Get Offa My Cloud.’

     It may be difficult to visualize if you weren’t there but after six beers, a couple joints and whatever with a hot Sorority Sister on your arm I’m here to testify that there was no incentive to come back to earth.  I mean, MAN, that was done with four distinctive beats but you never knew where the changes happened.

page 202.

     In the fifties when big Daddy was small Kerouac and Burroughs began proselytizing society to their vision of anarchy.  Kerouac made the wider societal impact but Burroughs’ message hit hard in the music business.  All kinds of groups were named from his books.  Bull Lee was Kerouac’s name for Burroughs in ‘On The Road.’  The name was also punning as in ‘Bully Band’ meaning terrific in the Teddy Roosevelt sense as well as ‘Bully’ in the conventional sense.  ‘Steely Dan’, a very successful group was named after the dildo in ‘Naked Lunch.’  The Other Half, The Insect Trust, The Soft Machine and many others took their names, inspiration and philosophy from Burroughs.  They pushed drugs and homosexual anarchy.  The goal was to burn the ballroom down, tear it all down until society reflected their own inner reality which was a barren desert.

     Big Daddy didn’t even have to think about it, Burroughs made perfect sense to him.  Since Big Daddy rejected the cant of what passed for formal education he turned a deaf ear to school but drank in Burroughs.  He understood Burroughs’ comic strip style of writing perfectly.

     Wherever Big Daddy and the Bull Lee Band played drugs showed up in abundance.  There would be plenty on the SMU campus after the band left.  Big Daddy and the band preached foolishness from the bandstand.  When Big Daddy got going he moved his big belly around in monumentally foolish fashion.  When he was honkin’ sax he could swing the sax up and down to the right and left while he got his belly going up and down to the left then switch back and forth.  You had to be there.

page 203.

     The Bull Lees were as good as any band going.  They never got a contract for two reasons.  First, Big Daddy was terrified of success.  He’d rather complain about the injustice of the system than put his ego on the line.  Second, they were a copy band.  Big Daddy could arrange like crazy but he couldn’t compose.  No original material, no contract.  Augie Myron and Johnny and Jack did go on to successful careers in other bands though.

     So Big Daddy was on a collision course with the vanishing point.  But in the meantime he was thoroughly enjoying himself.  He offered Donn a drink again.

     Donn had been refusing Big Daddy for hundreds of miles but he broke down and took the pint from Cunningham.  The travelers, expecially a couple prim ladies had been complaining to the driver for hours.  But the driver was loath to take Big Daddy on.  Big Daddy knew this.  He also knew the driver would jump on Donn.  thus he cleared his throat loudly as he openly passed the bottle to Donn.  The driver braked the big bus to a stop.  Opening the door he stalked down the aisle to Donn:  ‘Alright, Buddy, that’s it.  There is no drinking on my bus.  Off! Now!’

     Big Daddy softly smiled:  ‘Sorry about that pal.  Come on by in Big D, I’ll see that you get in.’

page 204.

     Donn Stepped off in Plano to spend the next two days hitchhiking into Waco.

VI.

Out In Oregon

     Donn in his misery had almost forgotten that Oregon existed except for his nagging apprehension of Maggie Spingold.  In Donn’s absence many plots had come to fruition all in the same summer and fall.  Albert Morley had been driven from the state, Richard Dick had been railroaded into prison, Dewey Trueman had been driven from business and E.L. Shaddai had been destroyed.

     Albert Morley had displeased the Old Boy Network, most probably because he wasn’t a ‘team player.’  In other words he pursued his own goals for his own benefit regardless of the wishes of the Old Boys to pursue his goals for their benefit.  They have their plans and one is supposed to subordinate one’s desires to theirs.  One is supposed to wait one’s ‘turn.’  They will determine whose shot it is, not you.  Morley had seen his opportunity and gone for it.  He had founded a small electronics firm.  Through constant harassment he had fled the state to set up in North Carolina.  There he was to prosper.  From there he sent letters to the Daily Assassin complaining of the Old Boy attitude.  The Old Boys didn’t care, they just laughed.  After all they had won.  Morley was in North Carolina.

page 205.

     Richard Dick was a more curious case.  He was a Native Oregonian.  He had enjoyed a career as a minor sports figure.  After a lengthy minor league career he had actually played in two games as a Yankee.  The pinstripes must have a remarkable effect on a man because Dick considered himself an important man about town.  He wanted to be a member of the Grammercy Club which was hopelessly beyond his reach.  He couldn’t even obtain membership with the other twenty thousand in the Multnomah County Athletic Club.

     He was a wild and crazy guy.  He liked to think of himself as dancing madly backward on a sea of air beyond the edge.  His imagination was spent devising startling escapades.  Angered by his rejection he tried to offend his rejecters as much as possible.  Thus he opened a restaurant called Dick’s In with only one N.  That drew gasps of astonishment and notoriety.  But the attention had failed after a few months while not giving him any acceptance.

     He then opened a second restaurant called Dick’s Out.  Once again gasps of astonishment.  In the nature of his enterprise no one would work for him who was in the least respectable.  He therefor had recourse to the street girls who ran the streets of downtown.  These girls who slept in the underpasses and wherever were mostly fifteen and sixteen.  Runaways, naturally, they knew nothing of hygiene or even cleanliness.

     Had Dick been conscientious in running his restaurants he might very well have made at least an adequate living from them.  There were plenty of people rooting for him.  But he was unable to apply himself to the details of day to day affairs.  The restaurants were draining his resources.  In an attempt to save himself he opened yet another; a juice bar based on the model of the movie ‘A Clockwork Orange.’  This evil movie which is followed by a series of rapes and crimes everytime it is shown was hated by anyone of good sense.  This time Dick thoroughly outraged the Old Boys while offending thoses who had been sympathetic or neutral.

page 206.

     The juice bar failed ignominiously leaving Richard Dick with only his Dick’s Out.  Devoid of defense, the Old Boy Network moved in on him.  They followed the time honored method of sex and drugs.  Dick was desperate to recoup his finances.  Being short on morals as well as sense he was more than open to selling cocaine.  Shoot, ask John DeLorean.  An Old Boy was given a kilo to sell Dick.  Needless to say as soon as the money and dope changed hands the arm of the law grabbed hold of Dick.

     He had no money for a lawyer which was of no consequence as he would not have been properly defended if he had so he took a public defender.  The thing was obviously a clear cut case of police entrapment which Dick should have been able to beat.  Now at the mercy, or rather, in the clutches of the Old Boys, the Daily Assassin gave his story full coverage.  To show the full extent of his degeneracy he was depicted as the seducer of fifteen and sixteen year old girls.  Reading the Assassin one would have thought these girls were the virgin daughters of the ministry rather than girls who had sold their charms for drugs from the age of ten on.

     As Dick had wanted to be among his persecutors he suddenly realized the extent of his perfidy.  He honored their desires by being sincerely contrite and remorseful.  They gave him ten years in Salem anyway.

page 207.

     The third feather in their cap was the destruction of Dewey Trueman.  There was nothing overly dramatic in his elimination.  The Sukomotos, his landlords, had refused to give him an option to renew his lease.  While they had promised renewal and not to worry six months before the expiration date they pulled the rug out from under him at renewal time.

     He was offered suicide locations at high prices which he declined.  All three Networks wanted to see him in jail also.  He was offered sex, drugs and stolen merchandise, all three of which he had the character to decline.  Absolutely frustrated they had an old homosexual, George Grandios, befriend him.  Dewey didn’t know that Grandios was a homosexual but seen in George’s company the maxim of guilt by association applied.  Very interesting how homosexuals can defame a man by their presence while decrying society’s lack of tolerance.

     To gratify their desires at least vicariously Grandios lured Trueman to King David’s Delicatessen.  King David’s was an old tradition in Portland.  Their former location had been demolished.  They were moved into the brand new Justice Center as the jail was humorously named.  Talk about a suicide location.  Grandios sat Trueman down amongst a group of homosexuals at the very moment that Richard Dick was being sentenced inside.  A veritable parade of Old Boys, straight and gay, minced by the table as though in disguise with big smiles on their faces.

page 208.

     Finally in the glorious Summer of Vengeance the arch-homophobe, so-called, Earl Shaddai was brought down.  The problem with Earl was that there was no convenient handhold to bring him down.  He led a spotless life.  There were no glaring sexual peccadilloes.  He had nothing to do with drugs.  He was just a hard working self-respecting County Commissioner.  He had rejected the blandishments of sex and drugs.

     His constituency was well pleased with him as he was strictly following the heterosexual platform on which he had been elected.  While he had no control of the school board he was using whatever influence he had to prevent the teaching of the parity of homosexuality with heterosexuality while discouraging the hiring of known homosexuals.  Earl’s activities ran counter to the desires of the Homosexual Network which wanted their disease taught in grade schools as an acceptable alternative to heterosexuality.

     There seemed to be and there was no legitimate way to get rid of Earl.  The only possible way was a character assassination.  Behind the back sniping and a whisper campaign, two of the usual tools, would have taken too long and most probably would not have been effective.  Earl had too many followers who could couteract such piecemeal defamation.

     What is involved here are two conflicting points of view.  If in the democratic political process one doesn’t ascribe the notion of right and wrong to either side what one has is a ‘democratic’ decision on the part of the voters to reject homosexuality much as one might vote to reject the sales tax.  The voters had spoken.  But, as the voice of the people ran counter to the wishes of the Old Boy, Jewish and Homosexual Networks democracy had to be defeated by autocratic means.  The will of the people had to be perverted.  In America this is called Democracy with a Big D.

page 209.

     Interest groups in Oregon, and presumably throughout the country, repeatedly circumvent the will of the people.  Thus there is a conflict between the people and the Dictatorship of the Marginals or as Richard Bernstein calls it in his book:  The Dictatorship of Virtue.   No matter what the expressed will of the people may be these self-selected censors annul it.  Thus even though Oregonians approved of capital punishment such sentences are thwarted by these censors who, one must believe, think that democracy is wrong although they hypocritically defend it.

     As regards Earl Shaddai the question now arose of how to dispose of him against the will of his electorate who supported him wholeheartedly.  The action taken while not to be unexpected was so boldly in defiance of propriety and indeed, the law, as to take one’s breath away.  Indeed, to leave one gasping.  Not since the Star Chamber proceedings of Thomas Cromwell had such a proceeding occurred.  Well, maybe the Gestapo or KGB, Mossad, CIA but those are the exceptions that prove the rule.  The Oregon Daily Assassin had always been used to indicate the acceptability of certain individuals.  If the Assassin had been shameless in the past it now passed all bounds of decency.  It now printed a two page article denouncing E.L. as nothing less than a hypocritical arch-homosexual and for that reason unqualified to be a County Commissioner.  The hotel bit mentioned earlier was dredged up.

     The Assassin presented absolutely no evidence to support their contention.  It only vilified Earl not even for blemishes but for things they considered ridiculous.  The manufactured testimony of ‘witnesses’ was given uncontested credence.

page 210.

     Earl was vilified for being from Texas where he received his degree from the then defunct University Of Plano; as humerous a college name as ever existed, the paper made capital use of it.  Plano, North of Dallas, is where Donn was ejected from the bus.  The university records were now kept in the basement of the ex-president’s home in New Jersey as if this fact reflected somehow on Earl’s abilities.  The testimony of a list of narcs, agents provocateur and hitmen were produced to prove Earl was a homosexual.  These people were employed by the Old Boys against all their targets.  Morley, Dick and Trueman knew all by name as did many others.  In print the fact that they were stooges went unmentioned.

     Earl’s trip to the Great Gotham Hotel with Donn Contrales was, from a careful reading of the text, the only incontrovertible fact in the whole denunciation.  Witnesses claimed to have conducted Earl to hotel rooms where he watched, he wasn’t accused of joining in, homosexual orgies.  The article’s message was found in the last paragraph which said in so many words:  This is what we can do to any ‘homophobe’ out there.  We are going to recall E.L. Shaddai and we don’t want to see him re-elected.  Now, there is a perfect example of ‘democracy’ in America.

     There was no way for Earl to retaliate.  He couldn’t sue because no lawyer would have represented him and if one had no court would have admitted such a ‘frivolous’ suit.  As with Cromwell’s Star Chamber he was allowed no recourse.  This was homosexual ‘democracy’ in action.   Thank-you, Mingo Miybriy.

page 211.

     Earl was recalled.  He gamely went from door to door explaining the situation.  He even got a respectable vote but the message not to re-elect him had been too clear.  Too many jobs were at stake.  The Dictatorship of the Marginals had thwarted the democratic process, ‘Virtue’ had won.  The multitude was blissfully unaware.  As was Donn in his misery.

VII.

Down In Texas

     Donn’s parents welcomed him back.  He was their son.  The rest of the town was not so forgiving for Donn had left reviling the town swearing to shake its dust off his feet and its imprint off his soul.  Nevertheless Donn felt much more secure believing he had placed a barrier between himself and Maggie Spingold.  There is a great deal of truth in today’s axiom:  You can run but you can’t hide.  Even with the less developed electronics of the day one could not only be followed but anticipated anywhere in the world.

     One may be sure that famous fugitives such as Abbie Hoffman or the Weathermen were not long out of sight of the authorities.  As they were fugitives in hiding they had already been neutralized.  They daren’t commit further crimes lest they give themselves away, blow their cover.  Why go to the expense of trying them and storing them in expensive prisons?  They weren’t marauders after all but political criminals.  As the federales say:  we could have picked them up anyday.

page 212.

     Donn wasn’t hidden either.  Maggie had anticipated a return to Waco and the folks back home.  Where does a man at the end of his tether go?  The Homosexual Network informed Maggie of Donn’s arrival within hours.  Nor was it Maggie’s intention to leave Donn in peace.  He intended to make his life miserable until Donn was before him on his knees.  The majesty of Maggie had been offended.

     After a couple weeks rest Donn, relaxed and refreshed, confidently went to seek employment suited to his tastes.  There was none of that to be found in Waco.  Donn had to find normal employment.  His parents and his own self-respect demanded it.  In his mind he daren’t step outside Waco.

     He had little choice but to accept a laborers job.  He had no difficulty obtaining construction work.  There he experienced little harrassment for several weeks.  But then it started; Maggie’s slander campaign kicked in.  The story of his arrest for buying child snuff films was quietly circulated amongst his fellow workers.  People began to discuss the topic of child molestation around him.  It seemed as though that was the only topic they were interested in.

     Donn began to have problems with his truck.  Expensive problems.  His battery went dead a couple times; he blew a head gasket; his driver side turn signal went out repeatedly; he was compelled to drive around with a cracked windshield.  Every time he turned a corner it seemed that a police car was around somewhere.

page 213.

     Worse still, accidents started to happen around him.  A falling paint can narrowly missed him.  Pipes accidentally were swung head level as he walked by.  Donn was uneasy.  If he hadn’t believed himself a wanted man he would have moved on for whatever good that would have done him.  The complacency with which he had begun on his return home now vanished as his mood darkened and deteriorated under his treatment which seemed more than coincidental but could be attributed to ‘paranoia.’  Maggie’s influence was even indcated by remarks others made behind his back which he was allowed to overhear.

    Then it happened.  He was nudged off a scaffold.  He took a header in the dirt.  It was only from the second story but he threw his arms out to break his fall thereby breaking both his forearms.  The crack of the bones one after the other was heard across the construction site.

     The cast on each arm meant that Donn was unemployed.  He now had all his time to dwell on his problems.  All the despair he had been resisting for so long rushed in upon him from all four sides overwhelming his mind.  He was close to hitting bottom.

     Waco is deep within the Bible Belt.  The zaniness of the fundamentalists was everywhere about him.  Donn had always disparaged Christianity.  That was one of the things that he had hated about Waco.  But as his mind sank beneath his woes he became receptive to the idea of Christian salvation.

     Its very atavism began to appeal to him.  Unable to deal with reality he slowly began to take refuge in God.

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     The whole notion of God is a product of man’s adolescence.  When man first learned enough to emerge from pure savagery he began to develop the Gnosis.  Unable to understand himself and his environment in a scientific or rational manner he interpreted and explained himself in metaphysical terms.  Nor is this phase of man’s intellect to be despised.  Except for its attribution of supernatural forces as cause early man’s explanations can be interpreted to roughly conform to scientific explanations.

     The Gnosis itself developed in all areas from China to Egypt.  Its focal point seems to have been somewhere from the Indus Valley to Mesopotamia.  Certainly until the time of the Jewish transportation from Jerusalem to Babylon the Gnosis evolved in an unrestricted manner, innovations coming from where they would.  There was only one Gnosis of numerous variations.

     The transportation of the Jews in 586 BC changed all that.  The Jews’ reaction to their transportation put a kink in the Gnosis that was to affect it drastically about eight hundred years on.

     Realistically, in the terms of the time, the Israelites and Judahites were a back country people, rustics, rubes.  While Christians accept the Jewish account of the magnificence of the first temple it must in reality have been inconsequential compared to the magnificent edifices of Egypt, Babylonia and even the coastal cities of Phoenicia.  After all, if the biblical account is true Solomon mortgaged parts of the Jewish nation, which he had to surrender, to build it.  The temples of Egypt and Babylon reflected the accumulated wealth of millennia.

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     The spirit of the Judahites was already crushed by their military defeat as they trudged along under the eyes and spears of their conquerors on the long, long walk to Babylon.  When they arrived the splendor of the walls, the gates, or any building must have made their temple appear insignificant further demoralizing them.

     For the first time they came into direct contact with the Gnosis in one of its most active centers.  Thus, crushed militarily, in awe of the architecture and dwarfed intellectually the Jews were made to feel insignificant in their own eyes.  In effect they were thoroughly emasculated.  Who cannot feel their despair in Isaiah’s depiction of his fellows slinking along city streets thinking someday our roles will be reversed.  Someday we will be where you are now and you will be where we stand.  Is it any wonder that the Yahweh of the Pentateuch crashes around in a perpetual rage.

     And so the Jews created an alternative Gnosis that predicted just such a restitution.  They created a special God; this God made them his special people; he promised them dominion of the world.  He promised to reverse the situation.

     For centuries this silly doctrine had no real effect on the world.  But as the Jewish belief system was challenged by the Hellenic belief system the Jews in turn challenged the Greco-Roman world for dominance.  The result was the second kink in the Gnosis:  Christianity.

     Christianity took the Jewish notion of the Gnosis into the surrounding peoples which enabled the viewpoint to directly challenge the main stem of the Gnosis.  In the resulting struggle the narrow intolerant view of Judeo-Christianity was actually able to suppress and outlaw the main stem of Gnostic speculation.  The result was disastrous to the Jews who became a pariah people but their Semitism in the form of the Catholic Church dominated first the Mediterranean world and then Europe for millennia.

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     Over the years the Catholic Church accommodated the main stem of the Gnosis by adopting several of its tenets in a modified form.  The Isis and Osiris myth gained precedence in the persons of Mary and Jesus at the expense of the Jewish Father figure of Yahweh.  Reconsider Freud’s Totem And Taboo.  The Puritans adopted the savage Jewish form of the raging Yahweh thus subverting the main stem of the Gnosis in Catholicism.  The Christianity of the Bible Belt was formed on the insane Yahweh model rather than the Catholic version.

     The main stem of the Gnosis, this irratinal mode of thought, survived the suppression of Judeo-Catholicism surfacing and reorganizing in the wake of the French Revolution.  Eliphas Levi, a Frenchman who adopted a Jewish name, made the first reorganization of the Gnosis while Madame Blavatsky following him put it into the form under which it now exists in its many variants.

     But the scientific mode of thought which showed man’s advance from adolescence into adulthood emerged triumphant from the Great Revolution casting Gnostic thinking into an atavistic role.  Still the Gnostics, or Theosophists, as they are now generally known, were in a better position to confront Science than Judeo-Christianity.

page 217.

    In their modification of the Gnosis the Jews had their tribal god create the world approximately fifty-seven hundred years ago.  The Gnostic version deals with untold millions of years as with evolution.  Its doctrine of worlds and races of man allows it to adjust its doctrines to scientific discoveries.  Gnosticism does not have a static system whereas Judeo-Christianity does.  Thus as Science has progressively invalidated Judeo-Christian beliefs the two faiths have been driven deeper into a corner from which they cannot escape without abandoning their faith.  They therefore became cranky and crazy whereas Theosophic faiths are just spacey.

     Waco is preeminently Protestant Judeo-Christian.  Now one advantage of Judeo-Christianity is that when the world becomes too much for one, one can always immerse oneself in God in place of going absolutely insane.  God becomes a sort of retreat from reality.  Thus the mind instead of breaking bends beneath the weight sloughing the pain off into vague notions of universal love.  Once the source of irritation is removed the mind can recover.  Broken a mind may never be reclaimed.

     Thus, one Sunday morning Donn hit bottom moving out over the void.  He looked down and found he was suspended by an invisible thread.  Disco Don Contrales had found Jesus.

     He was walking down the street that Sunday with his encasted arms held up in front of his chest in a cross shape for comfort.  As he walked he passed a house from whence issued sounds from a phonograph.  He heard the song sung by Jesse Winchester, the greatest of the sad sack singers.

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     Jesse sang:

Live is just too short for some folks,

For other folks it just drags on.

Some folks like the taste of smoky whiskey,

Others think that tea’s too strong.

Now, I’m the kind of guy who likes to ride the middle,

I don’t like this bouncing back and forth.

Me,  I want to live with my feet in Dixie

And my head in the cool, blue North.

It ain’t…life ain’t nothing but a breeze.

     Well, it was a cold, chilly wind blowing all the way  from the Great Divide down Donn’s collar that Sunday.  His mind didn’t register the lyrics but the longing of the lyric agitated all the anxieties he felt.  Thus his mind was more or less prepped as he passed the Ancient Rock Of Ages Presbyterian Church.  As he stood on the corner waiting the the light to change the sound of one hundred eighty properous complacent voices wafted out like a zephyr on the cool morning air:

    Just a closer walk with thee,

O, Blessed Savior set me free.

       The voices had none of the wild ecstatic shouting of the Negro Gospel singing against their desperate plight but the calm reassuring tone of those secure in life and pleased with their place in society.  It was this promise of peace that drove Donn into the arms of the Lord.  Like a wave of hallejujahs from heaven the balm of love and forgiveness swept over Donn, not that he had much reason to love or forgive Maggie Spingold.  Suddenly standing in the bright light of his epiphany he knew that what he had to do was to get on the bus, return to Portland and beg Maggie’s forgiveness on his knees.  If he had to go to prison, so be it.  Down as he was in Texas he hoped to be up in Oregon.

page 219.

     The fervor of his conversion upon him, all his pain just a memory, Donn began his trip back to Portland, forearms held before him, the very next day.

VIII.

You Can’t Be Late For Your Own Movie.

     Donn’s sense of misery was swept away by the illuminating light of Jesus.  His pain disappeared as he lost himself in the wondrous love of the savior.  His heart was light as he boarded the bus to Portland to redeem himself with Maggie.  In his movie he saw himself apologizing to the Magus to be received with forgiving joy as a long lost love come home.  As he rode along with his encasted arms crossed before him he broke out into little bubbling laughter from time to time as he envisioned the reunion.

page 220.

     He maintained a state of bliss as the bus rolled across the beige tones of the Southwest into LA.  There he changed buses for Portland.  He had the misfortune to board a local.  Over the Grapevine to Bakersfield.  Then up I5 to Fresno.  In Fresno a man took the empty seat beside him.  Donn turned a beatific smile on him, his face shining.

     The man looked back; first with a distant but not unfriendly look, then his face set in a mask of frozen hostility.

     ‘This jerk is a Christian.’  Dean Long intuited.

     Dean Long was a militant athiest of the old school.  He hated anything that smacked of religion.  He knew all the tried and true diatribes against the Bible.  He could rant and roar about the preposterousness of the parting of the Red Sea and the Virgin Birth with the best of them.  He wasn’t educated in either mythology or Theosophy.  His whole argument was the standard rejection of miraculous events;  reason against superstition.

     However he was studied in Geology.  He read many many scientific journals.  He had developed an hypothesis on the Earth and Solar System.  This hypothesis, quite naturally, flatly contradicted the natural history of the Bible.  As religious people accept the Bible to the letter, and will even argue it so, this leaves them open to ridicule.

     Not unlike Screamin’ Big Daddy, The Mankato Kid, The Roving Gambler and many others Dean Long was frustrated by the censorship imposed on him by minorities.  Like the others this left him no recourse but to turn on his own kind.  In Dean Long’s case his victims were White Christian and Christianity.  In one of the great paradoxes of American society Genesis is a Christian text that can be ridiculed and reviled while as a Jewish text it cannot.  Thus the same heritage can be legitimately denied Christians while allowed Jews.

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     In the same manner a Jew can immerse a cross in a bottle of urine and display it as a work of art while if a goi were to immerse a Mogen David in the same solution it would be blasphemous and ‘anti-Semitic.’  Both cults were religions beneath the contempt of Dean Long but as one was above criticism to him he turned with redoubled savagery on the other.  Donn’s bliss was now to be shaken.

     ‘What are you so happy about?’  Long asked savagely.

     ‘I’ve found Jesus.’  Donn replied blissfully.

     Long’s internal satisfaction can’t be described.  It was somewhat like the Halcyon days of Greece sandwiched between two winter storms.

     ‘Ooooh.’ Long cooed with a deceptively approving smile.  ‘So, you’ve found Jesus, the great love man.’

     ‘Yes.  I’ve finally discovered his truth and it’s wonderful now, I don’t hurt anymore.’  Donn said turning his eyes upward, staring rapturously at the ceiling of the bus.

     ‘Ohhh- you’ve discovered the Truth, hey?  You take every little word from ‘the mouth of God’ as fact then?’

     Donn had merely gone crazy, accepted Jesus as his savior, but he hadn’t thought about the actual Bible.  He had rejected that as fable long ago but now he was caught with one foot on either side of the abyss unprepared to defend himself.

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     Long on his part knew the Bible through Methodist eyes.  He had considered study of the Bible and its milieu beneath his dignity.  Nor was he aware of the narrowness of his point of view.  He was completely unaware of how the Methodist understanding differed from the Catholic or Jewish.  For that matter he was unaware of differences of interpretation from Congregationalists through the Portestant sects down to the Southern Baptists.  In his mind God was God, that is, the Father.  Jesus assumed the role of dependent son while Mary was merely the woman who bore him.  The modified Goddess cult of the Catholics was unknown to him.  In fact, he unconsciously despised Catholicism from its rivalry with Methodism.  He had many many unresolved religious notions which he kicked under the table when he became an atheist.

     He now turned venomously  on Donn expressing his hatred of anything Christian.  ‘Well, I got news for you buddy, the world never was destroyed by water and it won’t be destroyed by fire.  What do you think of that?’

     Donn blinked.  While it was true he had rejected the Bible as fable he had also always accepted the received notion of the Flood and he uncritically received the notion that the world would next be destroyed by fire.  Like most of us he had never examined or analyzed the obvious contradictions in his mind.

     There was that in the vicious arrogance of Long that offended him deeply.  Had he not been in a mental fog he would have pushed Long back.  But now, his curiosity was aroused as the implication in Long’s statement had been that he did know how the world was going to end.

     ‘No fire?  How’s it going to end then?’  He mumbled.

     Long was ready.  His contempt for Christian Donn Contrales had no bounds, which by the way Christian was a new facet to the many faceted personality of Donn.     Long was essentially a coward but with both Donn’s arms in casts he was bolder and more savage in is rhetoric than he would have been with a hale Donn.

     ‘Well, this is a scientific explanation that won’t square with divine dispensation that you believe in but see if you can understand this.

     All is one, there is only one matter, but matter has many forms from gaseous clouds to huge incandescent masses like our sun and the stars.  Our solar system has examples of all forms.  the Earth and the Sun are identical in composition, as is the Sun and Mars and Uranus and Jupiter, as those planets are with Earth.  The Sun is incandescent solely because it is so huge that the forces of gravity heat it to incandescence.  Jupiter is gaseous because it is large enough that gravitational forces atomize it but aren’t strong enough to make it burn.

     Mars has no molten core because it is so small that gravitational pull is slight.  By a lucky accident for man the Earth is of such a size that the gravitational pull is strong enough to keep the core molten while allowing the crust to form.

      Uranus which is nearly twice as large as Earth is molten to the surface while the process of exuding an atmosphere is the same, Uranus is so far from the Sun that the gases freeze upon emission enveloping the planet in an ice crust.  The heat is so intense however that hot spots exist where the ice covering actually melts.

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     The Earth because of its much closer proximity to the Sun has developed a life allowing atmosphere which doesn’t freeze.  But this is merely an accident it has nothing to do with God.  There is no God.

     Are you capable of following the argument so far?’  Long asked arrogantly.

     Donn nodded yes.

     ‘Now, as to how the world will end.  The core is molten, the crust is hard.  The crust therefore slips around on the core.  Because the Earth is a ball floating in space, rotating from East to West the land mass will evntually all rise to the North.

     The mechanism for this is tectonic plates.  Don’t know tectonic plates?  Well as the crust rests on the core it isn’t strong enough not to fracture.  The crust is fractured into several large sections.  These sections are called tectonic plates.  They move in relation to each other.  For instance the North Pacific plate inches North every year.  The movement causes the Earthquakes around the Pacific Rim.  Along the edges are slip faults where the plates slide past each other.

     Where the North Pacific plate meets the Arctic Plate on the south coast of Alaska the North Pacific plate is subducted below the Arctic Plate.  As it does the Arctic Plate scrapes off large amounts of matter which accumulates in the Aleutians and the transverse mountain ranges of Alaska.  Now, if you look at the globe you’ll notice that the land mass makes a perfect circle around the pole.  This means that the land mass has moved as far North as possible.  Thus the Plane of the Ecleptic is about 24 degrees.  In other words the immense weight of the Northern land mass has toppled this rotating floating ball 24 degrees toward the Sun.

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     The East Coast of Africa is moving North as well as the North Pacific Plate.  Now, when the weight in the North becomes sufficient it will incline the North Pole even further toward the Sun.  As proof I offer Uranus, which because it is molten already has a pole inclined almost directly at the sun.

     So, you see, by a natural process this world will become uninhabitable, except for possibly a very narrow band, when the Earth inclines to say, 40 or 50 degrees.  So now what do you say about the end of the world, Christian?’

      Donn sat arms crossed eyeing Long askance.  Even if he had been able to deal with Long he wouldn’t have had the knowledge to either deny or affirm but in his crazed mental state he didn’t even have the power to assimilate what Long had said.  He said nothing, which infuriated Long.

     ‘Damn, I despise you Christians.’  He vituperated.  ‘You people are the epitome of ignorance.  Look at you.  You don’t even have what it takes to argue with me.  No, I know what you’re going to say; don’t say it.  You’re going to say God wouldn’t let that happen.  Fire perhaps, but not that.  Yeah, yeah, I know I can’t prove there isn’t a God, but you also can’t prove there is.  God, you disgust me.  You make me sick to my stomach.’

     Long made a retching noise.  At that time the bus pulled into the Modesto station.  Long was bound for Sacramento, but he made a dramatic gesture.

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     ‘You make me so sick I don’t even want to be on the same bus with you.  I’m getting off here.  I’ll catch the next bus into Sacto.  Goodbye and wise up, Christian.’

     Donn’s euphoria was shaken but was quickly reasserted.  He swung his feet up on the seat resolved to let no one else sit there.  No one did.  He was unmolested into Portland.

     Donn half expected the police to be waiting for him as the bus pulled into the Portland station.  The police weren’t there but one of the Old Boy agents provocateur watched Donn from a distance.  He needn’t have been so discreet because Donn totally absorbed in his resolve to contact Maggie wouldn’t have noticed him even if he had known him.  Even if Donn had known him and been spoken to he would only have gushed the love of Jesus all over the guy.

     Donn did not waste any time.  He immediately seized a phone in the bus station to call Maggie for an appointment to see him.  Maggie told him to come to his office the following morning at ten.

     Maggie showed up at his office at eight to begin to prepare for his triumph.  In his vanity he believed Donn was going to acknowledge his power.  That was Maggie’s movie.  Maggie’s office was very fine.

     There is a major difference between the offices of Jews and gois.  The goi office if nearly always plain, utilitarian and business like; just as on the average they dress with much less taste and expense than the Jews.

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     There is actually something almost barren in the goi approach.  A Jewish businessman always has objets d’ art to display his culture.  Very Freudian.  The office is always tastefully designed, probably by an interior designer.  The offices always contain religious symbols.  If one were to walk into a goi’s office to see Christian symbols one would immediately walk out.  Perhaps it is that Jewish religious symbols are less known to gois.  Maggie had a Mezusah beside the inside of the entrance to his office.  As with all Jewish businessmen he had built a religious shrine into the East wall of his office.  Often they are merely an arrangement indicating the Jewishness of the tenant.  Many are little alcoves built into the East wall.  Maggie’s was actually a little chapel big enough to contain a table and chairs for eight.  Against the curved back wall he had a large framed picture of Moses in his most raging pose; long flowing beard flying in the tempest; his mouth twisted in hatred.  A sculpture of the same pose sat on a table in front of the picture.  Between the two was a huge Menorah with seven massive sockets for candles.  Maggie signed all his documents and held all his serious discussions in this shrine under the watchful eyes of the wrathful Moses.  If you asked him what the alcove meant neither he nor nor any other Jew would tell you.  They would fob you off with vague mutterings and change the subject.

     Maggie meant to celebrate his triumph in the shrine.  He pulled the table and chairs out arranging them in front of the South wall of his spacious office.  The office itself was twelve hundred square feet, larger than many people’s houses.  Maggie’s massive ornately carved desk was against the West wall.  Five chairs were strung across its front.  As Maggie’s chair faced East he was always watching Moses over the shoulder of whoever he was talking to.

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     To supplement his huge desk a three foot wide shelf stretched from the windows on the North to the entrance of his complete bathroom on the South.  The toilet was in black marble with gold fixtures.  In itself it was eight feet by twenty; it would have made a magnificent bedroom in any teenager’s house.  If you were sufficiently important to Maggie he would allow you to urinate in his toilet, otherwise he sent you down the hall.

     Just inside the entrance was a large oak chair.  It was so huge and ornate with what appeared to be cabalistic symbols carved in its crown that it seemed incongruous beside the bathroom wall.  The chair was on casters.  Maggie now rolled the monstrous thing to the back of the shrine in front of the Menora and the two representations of the insane Moses.  The chair wasn’t actually a chair, it was a throne.  Maggie believed he was from the line of King David.  He put a little footstool in front of it, fluffed a couple pillows and placed them carefully on the throne.  Then he leaped up, bounced up and down a couple times smiling gleefully in anticipation  of a perfect morning.

      Then he took a shower.  He scented himself all over with a scent of Frankencense and Myrrh, took off his wig of golden straight hair and placed a curly one on his head.  The effect was somewhat like a senescent Orphan Annie.  He put on a white linen top, placing a gorgeous blue robe with gold bordering on top of that.  He tied it closed with a silken gold cord.  He modeled for himself in the full length mirror.  Aw, beautiful, he thought.

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     As has been said Maggie was a nickname for Magus, a belief in himself which he had carefully cultivated.  Maggie had done a fair amount of reading but he certainly was not at the adept level.  Besides he perverted the Gnosis for his own personal needs.

     He had developed a rationale for his homosexuality which made him, in his eyes, a part of the godhead.  The Gnosis is an immense and diverse body of religious speculation.  The Jewish contribution of the Kabbalah and Zohar is but a small fragment.  Under the Judeo-Catholic suppression the Gnostic sects were much more influential among Europeans than they are now that the Catholic censorship has been is ineffectual.  Since the Revolution the Gnosis has blossomed once again in America to the vigor it enjoyed before the Judeo-Christian suppression in Europe.

     Among the versions of the Gnosis the problem of sex is treated in various ways.  But the thinking is that the godhead is neuter.  Thus in its first emanation it becomes the Universal Androgyne or, in other words, it is bi-sexual in the sense of participating in the attributes of each sex.  From there it evolves in the second emanation into the concept of distinct male-female duality.

page 230.

     Maggie had no patience with the genetic explanation of homosexuality and he totally rejected environmental causes.  He saw himself as the Universal Androgyne.  He actually believed himself a part of the godhead.  He had been married forty years and did have a son who he had exiled to Boston.  He hadn’t had relations with his wife since the conception of his son.  He had thereby satisfied his the bi-sexual aspects of his beliefs and given himself an adequate cover.  The rest of his life had been devoted to satisfying his homosexual lusts.

     He mounted his throne to await his triumph which was five minutes away.

     Donn walked, almost ran, in his eagerness to reach Maggie’s office so that he could tell the joyful news of his redemption and beg Maggie for his forgiveness.  He entered the swinging doors of the Miriam Building.  Miriam was the name of Maggie’s wife while she thought he had considerately named the building after her.  Miriam was also the name of the wife of Moses.

     Donn stepped into the elevator ecstatically touching the lighted space for the fifteenth floor with his little finger.  Already in an excited frame of mind his brain spun uncomprehendingly as the elevator sank to the basement rather than rising.  As the doors parted Donn stepped between them his head spinning to look out into the varius bric-a-brac stored in the basement.  Three men smiled sardonically at him; one was cleaning a revolver, one was honing the blade of a knife while the other was taking practice swings with a baseball bat.

     The doors began closing and opening as the rubber bumpers retracted from his shoulders.  Slowly Donn realized where he was; he stepped back quickly into the elevator allowing the doors to close.  His ecstasy was somewhat shaken.  It would be hours before Donn realized the warning.  As for now he didn’t even realize that the elevator whisked him non-stop to the fifteenth floor without his having pushed a space.  Maggie was showing off his power.

 page 211.

     Donn was greeted by Maggie’s secretary, Ann Powers.  The tone of cold condescension was almost more than Donn could bear.  Donn knew of Ann.  She had been with Maggie for fifteen years.  The relationship was so close that many thought she served as Maggie’s mistress.  But Donn knew, as the Homo Network knew, that Ann was merely what is called a fag hag.  She enjoyed being around homos because she wanted to be around men but she was incapable of having relations with them.

     Through pursey lips and cold eyes she indicated an ashtray containing several checks.  Donn thought she was indicating a chair and sat down to wait.

     At the time it was customary for well-to-do hot shots to show their contempt for money by placing several hundred dollars bills in a receptacle in plain view in their living rooms.  The notion was that they could well afford to lose the hundred dollar bills if you were so contemptible as to take them.

     Donn had had a laugh at an acquaintance of his who had done the same with dollar bills.  The connection between the money and the checks lying across the ashtray was too distant for him to make the connection.  Actually Maggie was taking less of a chance than the guy with the dollar bills; the checks would have been difficult to negotiate and easy to replace.

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     ‘Look at Mr. Spingold’s checks that he just leaves lying around so casually.’  Ann said exuding heavy respect as she pronounced what was to her the sacred name.

     Donn was in no condition to shuffle through them so Ann held them before his eyes one by one.  They were dividend checks.  To show his contempt for, or perhaps lack of need, of money there were checks from AT&T for three successive quarters for six thousand and change each.  An IBM check for eight thousand plus and a couple UNB checks for a couple thousand.  When Donn had acknowledged them Ann, her eyes shining triumphantly indicated the door with her long middle finger meaning Donn could enter the august presence.  Athe same time she pressed a buzzer to alert Maggie to prepare himself.

     As Donn stepped through the doorway the door clicked shut as if by magic.  Turning in surprise Donn saw the Mezusah but not knowing what it was he didn’t rub it.  There was a sort of foyer leading into the main room.  Entering the room Donn looked eagerly behind the desk.  As there was no one there his eyes searched the room to find Maggie seated on his throne in the alcove.  Maggie resplendent in blue, white and gold was sitting head tilted to the left leaning lightly on his arm his middle finger forming a dimple in his cheek a la Shirley Temple.

     ‘Well, Donn,’ he said gazing with satisfaction at the pitiful figure before him, ‘How have you been?’

     ‘Oh, Ed, I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.’

     ‘Really, Donn?  How’s that?’

page233.

     ‘Oh, Eddie, the most wonderful thing has happened.  I’ve taken Jesus Christ as my personal savior.  I’ve found the forgiving grace of the Lord.  Through him I’ve been born again.  I’ve got you to thank for my redemption.  If I had let you in that night I would never have found Christ’s love.  Still, I know how rude I was and I’ve come in Jesus’ name to ask your forgiveness.  Say you will, Eddie.  Say you will.’  Donn ended somewhat breathlessly, his face aglow with what can only be presumed to be the divine love of Jesus.

     ‘Oh, you’ve found Jesus.’  Said this scion of the Anti-Defamation League, this pillar of support for the American Jewish Committee.  ‘You’ve found Jesus.’  He repeated distastefully his anger and resentment mounting.

     ‘Don’t you ever think of anyone but yourself, Donn.  You’ve put an end to your own suffering by finding salvation in Jesus.  Well, what about me?  What about my suffering?  Do have any idea how much it hurts to lay your precious love at another man’s feet and he won’t even open his door, at the very least, to dismiss you?  Do you have any idea how much you made poor little Eddie Spingold suffer- O self-important Disco Donn Contrales?  I, Eddie Spingold, came to your door to offer my love while you hunt around garbage cans behind discos looking for God only knows what kind of contemptible affection.’

     Maggie had gone into a pout, twitching his earring.  He looked up at the picture of the demonic Moses beard flying in the hurricane, mouth distorted as he hurled what?  Imprecations at the boiling clouds of the raging Jehovah of the Dark Sky?  Eyes bulging Moses glared into cloud cuckoo land at the God of a Thousand Names in the Land of a Single Dance.

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     Maggie went on.  ‘And now you who have suffered nothing in comparison to mine, Donn Contrales, you come back and tell me that you have excaped suffering in your Jesus while the wounds of me, Eddie Spingold, are open and bleeding?  Well, it won’t be that easy Mr. Disco Donn Contrales.’

     Maggie turned his head petulantly to the right fingering his ring and pouting in the general direction of Yahweh of the Dark Sky.

     ‘Oh, Ed, I know, I know.’  Donn said in the emotinal delerium of his religious and sexual quagmire.  ‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I did you wrong.’  Donn continued, gleaming white casts crossed before him as he got down on knees before Maggie.  Donn, a disciple of the God with one name in the Land of a Thousand Dances.

     ‘I’ll do anything Ed, anything I can to correct my error.’

     ‘Well,’ said Maggie flipping his gown open.  He was a real blonde.  ‘See if you can raise that man from the dead.’

     Donn did as he was bidden and indeed, lo and behold Lazarus arose from the tomb.

     And then Donn took the seed of death into his body for the seed of death was in Maggie.  At this time the AIDS virus was throwing a terror into the homosexual community.  The epidemic was reaching its apex in media attention.  Dire reports were being broadcast that within ten years or by the turn of the century incalculable millions, both hetero and homosexual would have to meet the dark visaged boatman.  While the heterosexual world considered AIDS a homosexual problem the news media obligingly prophesied that not  only homosexuals but millions perhaps tens of millions of heterosexuals would die too.  It was never explained how heterosexuals would contract the disease in such numbers except through the dirty needles of heroin addicts and blood transfusions.  Thus the news media gave the impression that homosexuality, heroin use and blood transfusions from homosexual contributors were universal problems not just problems confined to distinct minorities of the population.

page 235.

     When the term homosexuals is used one thinks only of the priss down on the corner but AIDS threw real terror in those immensely successful and rich men who saw not only their pleasures curtailed but terminated permanently.  A chill breeze blew down the halls of Congress.

     Presently, well after the turn of the century, the problem appears to be not even close to what was predicted.  Tens of millions haven’t died, heterosexuals are unaffected.  The concept of unbridled sex has however been extended down to the grade schools.  Something has been accomplished anyway.

     Maggie was used to making many trips to San Francisco to indulge his passions.  There in the early days of the emergence of the disease he had contracted it.  The period of incubation was over.  The disease had been active for three months.  Maggie knew he had the disease but like so many others he believed that if he had it, others ought to have it too.  Why should he suffer alone.  He, nevertheless, did not advise Donn that he had been exposed.

page 236.

     ‘Well, Maggie,’  Donn began, arms still crossed against his chest, presumptuously believing that he had made things right, ‘I’m glad you have forgiven me.  Because now I’ll to go to jail on that pornography charge when the police pick me up because I just don’t have the money to defend myself.  But at least I’ll feel better knowing that things are mended between we two.’

     ‘Not so fast, Donn.  Did I say I’d forgiven you?  I think you have much more penance to do.  But as a token of my good will I know a little about those ridiculous charges against you.  I’ve always believed that they were trumped up.  I’ll talk to the District Attorney to see just what evidence they have against you.  You will give me your word that you are innocent, won’t you?’  Maggie was a consummate actor and an accomplished liar.

     ‘Oh, Ed, as Jesus is my savior, I swear I knew nothing about it.  They just told me I had this package and I only took it for that reason.  I had no idea, Ed.  I promise.’

     ‘I belive you, Donn.’  Maggie said with a confidence born of true conviction.  ‘I believe that someone did set you up.  Well, you’ll need a job to support yourself, I suppose?’

     ‘Oh, yes, sure.  I’ll go down and talk to Mingo.  I’ll get my old job back now that you’re behind me.’  And Porsche he unconsciously added to himself.

     ‘Oh, no.  I don’t think that’s possible Donn.  Especially since you’re still under a cloud of suspicion.  But, I’ll tell you what.  I know a lot of influential people.  Oh, say, do you know Louis d’ Angeli?  He owns a whole string of service stations.  I’m sure I can get you a job pumping gas.

page 237.

     ‘Pumping gas?  Oh, Ed, I…’

     ‘Well, Donn, you’re going to have to keep a low profile while I’m dealing with District Attorney Naro.  This is for the best, trust me.  Besides you still have to expiate your sin against me.  Don’t forget how I’ve suffered.’

     Fifty percent of Donn’s religious conversion had fled with Maggie’s statement that he could get the charges quashed, so he was somewhat reluctant to take the pump jockey job.  Yet, as he was unaware that there were no charges, he thought it best to go along with Maggie.

     At the time there were four stations at the corner of Scholl’s Ferry and Hall.  Two of the four were owned by D’Angeli.  Donn was made to buy his uniform and installed in one of them.  The job may have been low profile but the location was not.  The corner was one of the busiest in the Portland area.  It  controls the approach to the Washington Square Shopping Mall.  All of West Portland passes through on the way to shop.  In fact, Donn was Maggie’s prize and he was on display.

     Donn was at the mercy of all of his enemies.  A single ‘Filler ‘er up, Boy.’ was enough to destroy his day.  When someone like Shakey Jake from the Disco Deep Elum drove up on a motor scooter, belched in his face, ordered a gallon of gas while proceeding to berate and belittle him, Donn was quite beside himself.  The great Disco Donn, the ex-eminent local music critic led a most miserable existence.

page 238.

     Donn protested to Maggie who advised him to keep a ‘low profile’ while Maggie quashed the charges.  In the meantime Donn was required to participate in humiliating sex relations with Maggie and his friends.  Most were very high up in the social hierarchy.  It was among them that Donn for the first time began to realize how corrupt society actually is.  He overheard bits and pieces and some whole conversations that revealed many secrets to him.  Certain bits and pieces of humor at his expense gradually opened to him a correct idea of who had set him up.  Gradually he grasped that the big joke was that no charges had existed against him since he had left town.

     This truth, when he realized it, savaged his mind right and left while it seemed that he had been kicked in the stomach.  He had a burning desire to confront Maggie with the information.  But while he was at the beck and call of Maggie, Maggie was capable of seeing him at his own will.  Maggie, who well knew the purpose behind Donn’s repeated calls refused to come to the phone.  To torture Donn more he had his hours increased at the service station so that Donn was working twelve hours a day seven days a week.

     Nevertheless, Donn caught him early one morning.  Donn expressed his anger and resentment.  He ended by telling Maggie that he could take the service station job and shove it.  Maggie listened with a bemused expression on his face then calmly informed Donn that he had indeed set him up, what could be done once could be done twice.  Donn as a repeat offender could expect little mercy from the court.  He added further that he was still suffering from Donn’s rejection of him.  He didn’t think that Donn had yet expiated his sin against him.  He added that Donn could quit if he wanted but he could be sure that he would only find the job Maggie wanted him to find or none at all.  With a sweet smile Maggie reminded him of the tribulations Donn had suffered the last time he had taken flight.  Maggie advised Donn to stay patiently on the job.  Perhaps something better might come up, Maggie didn’t know.

page 239 

     Donn realized the powerlessness of his situation.  He went into a state of mental shock.  His color drained.  His lips formed a thin narrow line.  He turned slowly to get in his car looking back scowlingly as he did so.  Maggie smiled him a wan smile, shrugging his shoulders.

     Business is a tough way to make a living.  There is no one to go your wages.  Your life style can only be supported from your continuing profits.  No matter how good it looks from the outside those profits are tenuous.  There are constant reverses, drains and damages.  A business requires constant on hands management no matter how the owner may kick at his responsibilities.  Real Estate people like Maggie are constantly everextended as they attempt to multiply their holdings on bank loans as rapidly as possible.  Few businesses can be done other than on OPM.

     The period under consideration was one of severe economic downtown.  Commercial vacancies were high.  In addition to business problems it is common to speculate in the stock market.  Most of Maggie’s investments were sound but he also pursued all the fantasies of Wall Street.  Many of these went sour in a big way.  Overall Maggie in these years was a net loser rather than an accumulator.

page 240.

     Illicit business has a greater profit margin, while losses can be better anticipated.  As illicit business requires police protection to exist, people like Maggie are in a very good position to arrange things.  Thus the drug business was managed on a share basis.  The dealers were unmolested while the major share of their profits went to the Combination.  The only drug busts that occurred involved freelancers and Wild Boys.

     In addition the massage parlors and porn shops provided a steady cash income.  Since the massage parlors were usually in neighborhoods there was very active opposition to them from the residents.  Eventually, as in this period, active citizenry was able to close them down.  They would of course survive and emerge in a different form.

     So that Maggie was able to sustain his life style, support his wife’s rather extravagant needs and those of his distant son, he needed this illicit cash regardless of business conditions.

     As it happened the porn shops in town were under Jewish control.  The main one was in the Oldtown area- The Pink Prowler.  Maggie and his fellows always hired a goi to front for them as manager.  As they treated them badly the managers always rebelled, cleaned out the till and really headed South to the fleshpots of Vegas, Reno and LA.  The most recent of these departees had set up in Vegas leaving the Prowler managerless.

page 242.

     Maggie was certainly intelligent but it didn’t take a great big flash of inspiration to suggest Donn as the man’s successor.  Maggie summoned Donn to apprise him of the good news of his release from the service station to a more ‘executive’ position.

     The ravages of AIDS were showing on Maggie, Donn knew that AIDS had been transmitted to him.  Maggie’s formerly plump little face was becoming thin and drawn.  Donn was watching this with a quiet rage.  He was honoring the code by keeping quite.  Maggie now outraged and enraged Donn beyond the limits of exasperation.

     Donn had always had a seething resentment at the nature of the charges against him.  Although they were not far from the truth Donn was only involved in a particular form of pornography which he had intellectualized into, shall we say, an ‘art’ form.  He did not consider his tastes as being the illicit kind.  He distanced himself from the object.  Porn shops were quasi-illicit.  Running one was degrading.  One was completely outside polite society; Donn still cherished hopes of gaining re-entry.

     Thus when Maggie explained the nature of the opportunity Donn threw caution to the winds.

     ‘Goddamn you, Maggie.  I’ve got AIDS because of you and just like you I’m dying.  You don’t have more than a year or two left.  What are you going to tell people Maggie, that you’re a fucking faggot with evil habits or that you died of ‘pneumonia.’  You don’t want anyone to know you’re queer do you, Maggie?  They’d all sneer up their sleeves and say they always knew- even though they don’t see anything wrong with you.  You know how fags turn on their own, don’t you, Maggie?  How is it, Maggie, that we think homosexuality is legit but everyone is destroyed by it when it becomes known.  Hell, you don’t even have to be queer.  Look at what you did to Earl Shaddai.  You know what kind of posthumous reputation you’ll have when the world know, Maggie?  Shit!’

page 242.

     ‘Donn, I would advise you to consider your words.  Or…’

     ‘Or what, Maggie?  You’ll kill me.  You already have.  I’m a dead man.  You’re a dead man too, Maggie.

     ‘Your end could be comfortable Donn, or…’

     ‘Did you hear me, Maggie?  Take a look at these.’  Donn threw a sheaf of pictures at Maggie which would leave no doubt in the viewer’s mindof Maggie’s sexual preferences.

     ‘Yes.  I snuck these pictures of you and you’re going to be known as a fucking faggot who knowingly spreawd death unless I get mine.  They aren’t going to name any streets after you, Maggie, my man.’

     Maggie disdainfully flipped through the telltale photographs.  He didn’t want the world to know he was homosexual and more importantly that he had knowingly spread the disease.  He hadd intended to leave the notice that he died of ‘pneumonia.’  He did want a street named after him.  He shrugged his shoulders at Donn as though to say:  What’s the holdup.

     ‘I’ll tell you what I want Maggie and you’re going to give it to me or else.  I want my old apartment back just exactly like it was before you destroyed it.  I want my Porsche…’  He sobbed at the memory of the scene on the highway in Washington.  ‘And I want two hundred fifty thousand cash and my medical bills paid.  Or else.’

page 243.

     Maggie pursed his lips, looked coyly askance at Donn with chin down then flirtatiously flipped his chin up.  His busy mind was devising ways to stall Donn at minimum cost.  He would cheat Donn beyond the grave if he could.

     ‘Or else, Maggie.’

     ‘I guess you’ve forgotten my name is Mr. Spingold?’  Maggie arched, suddenly realizing Donn had been calling him that derogative appellation, Maggie.

     ‘Shut up, you old fairy queen.  Give me what I want or else.’

     Now it was Maggie’s turn to shudder at the necessity of receiving humiliation.  A thin film of perspiration covered his forehead, foam flecked his lips.

     ‘Hmmm.   Give me some time Donn, dearest.’

     ‘Now, Maggie, now.  Now! Now! Now! Write me a check.  Get me my apartment.  Call up now and buy a Porsche for me.  Right now! Or else when I walk out of here these pictures are going to be showing up all over town.’

     Maggie most seriously did not want to go down as a socially negligent homosexual who had infected God knows how many other men.  No matter what the justification of homosexuality, homosexuals despised themselves as inferiors.  Only the desperate advertised their homosexuality.  Maggie waffled.  As one of the walking dead he knew that it would be impossible to offset the charges.  His power on earth was already a shadow of itself as knowing eyes apprised his imminent demise.  Maggie’s nature was not to give in.

page 244.

     ‘Now, Maggie, now.  The Porsche.’

     Maggie reluctantly called to order Donn a Porsche.  That done Donn gave Maggie instructions and warnings.  He advised Maggie that he would be at is office every morning at ten to check on his progress.  Maggie gave Donn a check for then thousand which he said was all he had in his account.  He was half lieing. 

     The fear of expose gripped Maggie’s mind.  He very reluctantly fulfilled Donn’s demands but the did.  The tenant of Donn’s old apartment was turned out souring her outlook on life.  The apartment was restored as closely as possible.  Although it was impossible to replace all the records Donn insisted on a clean import copy of ‘Interstellar Overdrive.’

     Maggie was very reluctant to settle the quarter million on Donn Donn threatened and bullied.  He finally hit on the right formula by threatening to reveal the real Maggie Spingold after his death.  Maggie was terrified at the thought of being known as a pederast and what in subsequent years would be treated as willful murder.  Maggie had knowingly passed AIDS on to at least two dozen men.

     Thus Maggie passed the threshold of the great mystery of death to await the great gittin’ up morning when he would return from the other side in his full glory.  Maggie had his remains buried in Isreal in preparation for the great event.

page 245.

     Donn’s will to life had been quashed by the events of the preceding two or three years.  He no longer took delight in anything.  The Porsche sat in the parking lot month after month as Donn lay around his apartment.  His spirit was gone, he made no attempt to resist the ravages of the disease.  He sought no medical help.  He just sat and waited.

     Then, on one very fine spring morning as the sun peeked through his open window, Donn’s body went limp as he lay in bed.  His soul departed.  It fled through the open window into the glorious sunshine.  Disco Donn Contrales was no more but the world had not yet done with him.  While Donn had kept his owrd and not revealed the nature of Maggie’s disease, Maggie, seeking the last word in vengeance as his kind always does, reached from beyond the grave to smear Donn.

     As arranged beforehand the Daily Assassin used Donn as the centerpiece for an article on the perils of AIDS.  Before and after pictures were displayed.  It was believed that Donn had contracted the disease in his notorious sexual pranks among the garbage cans behind the now defunct Disco Deep Elum.  The disco had died with the AIDS epidemic also.  As the capstone of the article a posthumous pleas for tolerance and understanding of these unfortunate victs of hideous disease was printed from the king of altruists, Edward G. Spingold after whom a street had recently been named.

     The era was over.    

    

    

 

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.

Disco Donn Demands Deliverance

by

R.E. Prindle

Part II-3

     Turkish spies amongst the Jews learned of their Messianic hopes, one hesitates to call them intentions as there was little hope of success.  Sabbatai was called to Adrianople where the Sultan resided and there he apostasized to Mohammedanism.   He put on the white turban of the Moslems.  Thus redemption of Israel was once again placed in the indefinite future.  God wasn’t willing to forgive the transgressions of his people just yet.

     The future began to take shape in the wake of the great reorganization of society known as the French or Great Revolution.  In that great attempt to strike down all racial, national and class barriers the social disabilities  of the Jews, at least, were struck down.  The Jews were incorporated into the various states as full citizens.  This is known by the Jews as the emancipation of the Jews.  The difference being a matter of loyalties.  The states expected that the Jews would give their undivided loyalty to the appropriate State, much as the Catholics and Protestants did.  But the highest loyalty of the Jews remained Israel.

     The failure of Zevi had taught the Jews a lesson.  They saw the futility of relying on one man as a redeemer.  Henceforth the redemption would depend on the whole people.  The notion of Redeemer was transferred to the that of the Revolution.  Thus the Jews began working toward redemption through a revolution.  The Euroamericans gave this new millennial urge the name of the International Jewish Conspiracy.

     As the idea took shape in the mind of Israel, the Messiah of the Revolution would come in the years 1913-28.   Their plan was revealed time and time again.  There were intelligent sociologists in every State that recognized the plan.  They were apparently unable to explain the process satisfactorily in the face of Jewish obfuscation.  The Jews were able to denounce them as diseased, unbalanced, wacko anti-Semites.

page 101

     Thus the Jews made great progress during the nineteenth century ending in the seizure of the Russian State and the nearly successful takeover or all central and eastern Europe.  Every action creates a reaction which explains the intense reaction throughout the world toward the Jews during the years 1920-46.

     Lacking a territorial base or an army the Jews had to work by devious means.  The method was early exposed but on the surface is so risible as to appear ridiculous.  European sociologists said they were trying to get all the money through Capitalism while seizing control of the labor force by socialism or unionization.  No adequate explanation was offered so the sociologists became the butt of jokes.

     Several decades later the process is clear.  In fact Howard Sachar, a Jewish historian, explains it.  Here are two examples.  These are pertinent to the story because Norm and Art Barsky attempted the ruse against Dewey Trueman.

     IN 1859 the Italians wished to drive the Austrians from Italy.  At the time the Rothschilds and other Jewish financiers were at the apex of their success.  If they didn’t control the money markets they didn’t miss much.  Modern financial methods for raising money by the States did not yet exist so they were dependent on loans from the Jewish financiers.  Austria was especially dependent on the Rothschilds for loans.

     Thus while dissension was fomented in Italy, the Rothschilds refused to loan money to Austria.  With no money above the line the Austrians were unable to deal with dissension below the line.  Thus Jews controlled the politics of the situation through finances.  The Austrians were forced to retire from Italy.  The Jews were able to direct the course of European history to their own advantage unobtrusively from behind the scenes.

    The second instance involves the First Russian Revolution.  A war between the Jews and the Russian State had been going on for decades.  Industrialism had created a proletariat in Russia.  Russia was engaged in a contest for Manchuria with the Japanese.  The Japanese were unable to pursue their goals for lack of money.  A man called Jacob Schiff in the United States raised hundreds of millions of dollars of American money for the Japanese.  His efforts were abetted by the Jewish consortium of Europe.

     At the same time Schiff and others prevented loans being made to Russia.

     With the economic situation under control the Jews fomented strikes and rebellion on the labor front.  The result was that the enemy of the Jews, Russia, lost the war with Japan and had to change the structure of the government to placate the Jewish rebels.

     This procedure is known as getting the victim between the upper and nether jaws of the vice.  Once pinioned the victim can be filed into any shape at leisure. 

     The Jews of course denied everything and still do.  But just as the sociologists saw what was happening so did certain politicians.  Jewish history had been well studied by both the Germans and the Russians.  They were quite aware that a slaughter of the peoples would follow a Jewish victory as indeed did happen in Russia in the years following 1917.  Once again denied although as obvious as the Nazi death camps to anyone who wants to study the period.

page 103.

     Nineteen-seventeen to nineteen-twenty-four or so was the high tide of the redemption period.  Success seemed imminent.  The reaction however created two very strong personalities  in Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin.

     There were many signs that were to proclaim the Redemption.  Among them was the notion of Gog and Magog, great cataclysmic armageddons.  This prophecy was fulfilled by the two great wars bracketing the twenties and thirties.  Hitler’s contention was always that the Jews caused the wars.  He was probably correct.

     At any rate the Jews believed that they had isolated and surrounded the last great anti-Semite.  Stalin’s activities in Russia had not sunk in yet.

     In the United States the redemption was in full swing.  In 1899 the the founder of Reform Judaism in the United States, Isaac Meyer Wise, had predicted that the redemption would occur within twenty-five years.  The massive immigrationof Jews from the Pale gave the Jews an ample power base in the United States.  From 1913 to 1945 in a line of politicians from Woodrow Wilson through Al Smith to Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the Jews created the coalition they hoped to direct.  They did attain a position of great influence.

     Thus while Hitler and Stalin were tightening the screws on the Jews in Europe, in the United States the Jews were isolating all American nationalists and devout Christians under the names of Facscists and ‘anti-Semites.’  The only serious opposition to their program came from Henry Ford in the twenties.  He, in his American naivete, thought he could persuade the Jews to end their historical confrontation with Euroamerican society.  He was mistaken.  He was isolated and ostracized by his fellow Americans.

page 104

     There was not much active opposition to the Jews in the United States; after all Americans had always considered themselves neo-Hebrews.

     Nevertheless all dissident religious or nationalist voices were identified and isolated in an aggressive program of vilification.  In 1943 as Hitler and Stalin were destroying the Jews, those in America were calling for concentration camps to isolate the ‘anti-Semites.’  This is true.  In a country that had always prided itself on the separation of church and State the Jews were calling for laws outlawing dissenters from their religious views, or as they called them, anti-Semites.

     No one could have foreseen the extermination of Eastern and Central European Jewry.  Thus the Revolution as Redeemer failed as disastrously as Bar Kochba in Roman times and Sabbatai Zevi at the end of Medieval times.

     In the twenties and thirties the Jews believed that they were to come into their own in ‘America, my home sweet home.’  In the land of plenty, the plenty was to be at their disposal.  Everyone else would be their servant or slave.  A life of indolence and ease analogous to that enjoyed by the post-war Kuwaitis would be theirs.

page 105.

     Louis Barsky, Art’s father, exulted in the hope.  He implanted the expectation in Art who had been born in 1923.  Art grew up filled with the hope.  He was aquiver with hope as the war against the Axis began.  He really believed he would begin that life on V.E. day.  The stage was certainly prepared in the United States.

     In 1948 the ancient Jewish hope would be realized when the head and tail of Ouroboros were put in place as Israel became a Jewish State.

     One can only imagine the horror of the realization that the main body of the Ouroboros was crushed in Germany and the East.  Redemption had failed yet again.  The Revolution as Messiah was a bust.

     Art Barsky looked out on the world through tears of bitterness.  There was no life of ease for him.  He would have to work for a living unable to enjoy the plenty that he thought was rightfully his.  He had to work.  Oh, he did well enough.  He made a lot of money selling women’s nylon stockings.  But every year his bitterness and rage mounted.  He had his son Norman, the young lord.  Norm had graduated from college, married and fathered his own son in one fell swoop.

     Art had communicated his and Louis’ attitude to Norm.  But there seemed no way for Norm to realize his heritage.  Thus when Harry Grabstein called Art with his proposition concerning Dewey Trueman it was a godsend.

     Norm was briefed and sent West with his shiksa and child to claim his inheritance.  As Trueman didn’t realize that his business rightfully belonged to Norm some deception was required.

page 106.

     Getting hired was no problem.  Retail sales is an entry level position for high school dropouts and malcontents who can’t hold a job elsewhere.  Record stores in general draw the dreamy types, separated and withdrawn from objective reality.  As the term then was- spaced out.

     The recorded word has a tremendous appeal to them.  It is as though the voice of god speaks from the groove.  A standard story was of the guy who dropped a couple hits of acid, turned Black Sabbath’s album ‘Paranoid’ up to ten and saw god.

     The bands and singers were certainly thought of as oracles or prophets, super prescient people who understood the whole of the entire.  Thus singers told them truth directly.  Spoke to them through their stereos.   Ras le bol was one of the primary messages- screw it all.  Consequently these people didn’t stay on the job too long while they did as little work as possible while there.  Getting to work on time?  Who would buy that load of bullshit?

     Thus Norm, wearing the same outfit as in the mountains except that he had the de rigeur leather jacket of the times instead of the flowering vest and shirt, presented himself for employment.  He literally burst noisily into the store.  He asked for a job letting it be known that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.  If Trueman hadn’t had an opening at the time he soon would have.  Norm Barsky presented a bizarre persona but it was a time of bizarre personas.  Trueman was curious as to his story.

page 107.

     Norm had more ambition than the listless drifting types Trueman normally saw.  He wasn’t creative but told what to do and how to do it he was capable of not only doing it one time but being able to repeat the action without repeated istruction.

     He quickly acquired greater responsibility, soon becoming Dewey Trueman’s manager.  This was all done within two months.  Things move fast in the the record business.  Tomorrow will soon be yesterday.  Sell them hits while they’re hot.

     Norm had began to organize the employees around himself and against Dewey as soon as he had been hired.  In fact he had the floor functioning smoothly for nearly the first time in the store’s history.  Trueman himself handled the buying and all the other chores but was unable to supervise the floor full time.  He was pleased with Norm’s performance.

     At the same time he noticed the alienation of the personnel from himself as Norm sought their loyalty.  When he became manager he could speak with the authority of ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it with Dewey.’  Thus as the store was actually his in his own mind he began to give liberties to the crew.  He allowed them to take records home gratis.  He gave Rolfe Kusinen money from the till to buy, or rather, upgrade, as it was known, his new stereo system.  Then, as Rolfe’s old records were scratched he allowed him to bring them back and exhange them for new records.  Norm backed his car up to the back door and loaded a few boxes in to pick up some pocket ‘change.’  Nor did he think he was stealing.  In his mind he already owned the store, Trueman was working for him.  Stealth was necessary because Trueman was not yet aware of the new arrangement.

pate 108.

     Norm quietly nudged aside Trueman’s influence with the sales reps.  He represented his assumption of power as an accomplished fact but urged them to keep it quiet as Trueman was sensitive to the fact.

     By early November he believed he was in the position for a takeover or, as he expressed it, ‘a palace revolution.’

     He told Dewey that his father was coming to town and that as, next to his father, he admired Dewey most of all he would like Dewey to meet his father.

     Thus as the nether jaw of the vice was prepared the upper jaw would hopefully soon be screwed down.  Dewey, by this time, was aware that Norm’s facade concealed some misdoings.  Intimations of difficultes were coming from both the floor and from the sales reps.  While nothing was said, different attitudes were projected.  He was beginning to have real difficulties adapting himself to the role of ‘Norm’s ’employee’ which role Norm unconsciously assumed.

     Out of consideration to Norm he agreed to meet his father.  They met over lunch at the Willametter River Inn.  Norm and Art arranged a late lunch so as to be undisturbed by other diners.  They sat in the far corner looking out over the river.  Dewey had his back to the restaurant.  Harry Grabstein drifted in to watch from an obscure position.

     Art Barsky now fifty was an embittered man.  Being a salesman is one of the toughest jobs in America.  One’s manhood and dignity are constantly being insulted.  There is no attitude except complete servility that will protect you from the slings and arrows.  If you’re completely servile you’re a failure as a salesman.

page 109.

     Art Barsky had taken refuge in a carney’s attitude.  He viewed his customers as stupid suckers while he was a wise manipulator.  The attitude meshed neatly with his disappointment in the failure of the Redemption.  His attitude was beginning to interfere with his salesmanship.  His best years were behind him.

     The face he presented to Trueman was quite similar to Lee J. Cobb in ‘Death Of A Salesman.’  Trueman had an intuitive dislike of the man.  He also now understood Norm Barsky better.

     Art began by talking down to Dewey.  Trueman responded coolly and laughingly showing his contempt for Art.  Barsky was not subtle enough to pick up on it.  Besides the script was already written.  All Trueman had to do was act his part.  Thus Art very nearly waived aside any civilities getting straight to the point. 

     ‘I’ve got to have my boy here established.’  He said bluntly.

     ‘Well, if has to quit…’  Dewey began.

     ‘No, not quit.’  Art sort of bellowed.  ‘But I can’t have him just working for you.’

     ‘Well, if has to quit…’  Dewey began again.

     ‘No.  Not quit.’  Barsky interrupted again.  ‘The way I see it is he’s indispensable; you can’t get along without him.  He needs something of a permanent nature.’

page 110.

     ‘Well, if he has to quit…’  Trueman began a third time.

     ‘No! Not quit, damn you.’  Barsky blundered on oblivious to objective reality.  ‘If he’s going to make your business for you he should have an interest.  Say, one half…’

     Dewey stared in disbelief.  Norm, who had been watching him intently took the look for one of fear and acquiescence.  Dewey wasn’t an actor in their movie but they didn’t realize it.  Norm kicked his father under the table to indicate they were on the right track.

     Trueman took Barsky for a fool.  His expression turned to a sardonic smile as he tittered a little laugh.

    ‘Oh yeah?  What kind of deal do you have in mind?’  He asked curiously.

     ‘Well we figure the business is worth ten thou but we also figure we’ll really make it boom with our expertise.  We’re Jews you know.  We don’t want you to be unhappy so we’ll give you a bonus making the business worth twenty-five thou but you’re going to have to take a salary cut.  Maybe half.’

     Dewey couldn’t believe his ears.  He valued the business highly perhaps exaggerating its worth but he wouldn’t have taken less than two hundred thousand and would have balked at that.  He had his own expansion plans based on his own expertise which up to this point had been considerable.

     His eyebrow shot up.  ‘Twenty-five thousand?  Cash or check?’  He said derisively.

     Norm’s face lit up.  He thought he was in.  He reached over and patted Dewey’s arm.

     ‘We’ll give you a note.’  the Old Con Man barked authoritatively.

page 111

     Dewey involuntarily blew air through his compressed lips giving the mistaken impression he was giving a bronx cheer.  A little spittle got on Art’s face.

     ‘Well, buddy,’ Dewey began derisively, ‘why don’t I just give you an interest?  You’re going to give me a note.  All that means is that you’ll pay me out of my own profits.  Since I’ve already got a hundred per cent of them do you really think I’ll settle for half and lose my salary by half at the same time?’

     Art stared at him viciously.  The audacity of this goi to balk a Prince of this Earthly Realm.  How long will we have to suffer these indignities he thought bitterly projecting every nuance of his thought into his facial expression.

     ‘I gotta go now.  See you back at the store, Norm.’

     The upper jaw of the vice was not to descend.  As in the macrocosm so in the microcosm the Redemption was balked.

     Norm looked questioningly at his father.  His father was stunned.  It wasn’t so much that they thought so little of their quarry, Trueman, it was just that like all con men they thought that they were so damned clever.

     ‘That guy’s a real prick.’  Art exclaimed defensively.

     ‘I told you so.’  Norm nodded.

     Prick or not they had lost the initiative.  All they could do was attempt to intimidate Trueman on the labor front; he couldn’t use their ‘captital.’

     Once in, of course, they would have used law suits and legal means to harass Trueman.  As Grabstein could control the judges, the town fathers wanted Trueman gone anyway, all decisions would have gone against Trueman.  Within a year he would have been locked out while the business accrued to Norm and Art for essentially nothing.

page 112

     The two were victims of their own fantasies.  They really believed that Norm was indispensable.  They really believed that the success of Trueman’s business was due to Norm.  The fact that the business had been a success before Norm got there was disregarded.  Such inscrutable obtuseness is scarcely to be believed, yet it is a normal state of affairs.

    Art and Norm devised a plan where the entire staff would quit on New Year’s Day.  Faced with the loss of the indispensable Norm and his crack crew Trueman would have to capitulate.  The palace revolution would be a success.  Trueman would have to deal with them on their own terms.  In order to get the Indispensable One back he would have to actually give them ownership.

     Norm’s ease in manipulating the crew reassured them of his abilities.  The Christmas season was begun.  This is the worst time for labor troubles in retail.  Dewey wanted to fire Norm or, at least get rid of him, but it was the wrong time.  He thought that the season might produce a gross of fifty thousand dollars.  He decided to tolerate Norm.  Norm and the crew, who thought the profit margin was much higher than it was, in the record business of the time the margin was only twenty to twenty-five percent, Dewey was at thirty, thought that Dewey would make ninety thousand or God only knows how much.

     Norm encouraged them to think that they were the reason for the store’s success.  He pressed Trueman hard for large bonuses.

page 113.

     Trueman, cursed with the orphan’s need to be loved, wanted to do what was right.  Like most nouveaux riches he felt guilty about his success.  The times were propitious to augment that feeling.

     It would appear from the narrative that Trueman was rolling in money but this wasn’t true.  He was being driven by a load of debt.  He had started with no money at all.  He had received no bank loans.  The growth had been very rapid.  The rate of expansion had him financially against the wall.  He was perpetually behind in his bills.  He really couldn’t spare the money but he allowed himself to be coerced into giving large bonuses.

     Norm took full credit with the crew which, indeed, was his right in this instance.  Now convinced that there were millions to be had he guaranteed the crew that he would double their wages if they followed him.  They readily consented.

     At closing on December 31 Norm delivered his ultimatum; either all wages were to be doubled, his tripled, or they would quite en masse none showing up for work on January second.

     The season was behind him.  January and February were slow months.  Trueman just said goodbye and had the locks changed.  he had a new crew by week’s end.

    Norm was incredulous.  Unbelieving.  Actually stunned as though running full tilt into a goal post.  But he thought that as he was indispensable Trueman would capitulate and call him back.  The fantasies that corrupt one’s mind.

     Norm’s failure destroyed his relationship with his shiksa wife.  She had been won mainly by by Norm’s tall talk of his abilities and future success.  She had been led to believe that she would be moving into Dewey’s mansion on the hill.  Now she lost faith in Norm completely.  When, two months later, it became apparent that Norm was not going to be called back; she packed her bags and took their son and moved back to LA where she had come from.

page114.

     Forced to accept reality, Norm’s sense of grandeur prevented him from accepting just a job.  Electric vehicles were a big topic then so Norm obtained a loan and opened a lot selling electric motor scooters.  Well, an idea whose time had come or not, no one bought them.

     The bank called Norm to discuss his lack of payments on the loan.  Norm always heeded fantastic solutions to any problem.  He had read an article about some guy who had been called in to make good a loan.  This guy, so the story went, stared coolly back into the banker’s eye and said:  Either you give me time to make the loan good which I will do, or you can have the business and you can’t run it.’  In the story the bank capitulated, the guy made good and everyone laughed about it later.  Real chutzpah.  I mean, wouldn’t you?

     Incredibly Norm tried this act.  The banker laughed, foreclosed and threw Norm out into the street.  Norm thought he had obtained the loan himself but naturally unbeknownst to him his father had co-signed for it through the good offices of Harry Grabstein.  The banker thought he was secure but he was never able to collect from either Art Barsky or Harry Grabstein.  So much for high finance in Norm’s life.  And for Art the Revolution as Redeemer sank into the sands like the Rhine before the ocean.  For him the third great messianic attempt became a sour, bitter, excoriating experience.  Goddamn everybody and everything, he thought.

page 115.

     Norm was still the unabashed hero of his own movie.  He had not only read ‘On The Road’ but most of Kerouac’s novels.  In a college town like Eugene they were especially popular.  If he couldn’t succeed in the business world, Norm could succeed as a bum.  There is no success like failure and failure is no success at all.  Norm could be part of the ‘rucksack revolution.’  He embraced the notion behind Kerouac’s novel:  The Dharma Bums.  Don’t you just love Kerouac.  Norm became Dharma Bum.

     Somehow Donn sensed the real story behind Bum’s story of woe in capitalist society.  There was that about Bum that bespoke delusional fantasy.

     Having finished his beans, Bum rolled himself what he called a splif from what he said was Thai-stick tea.  A splif is a Jamaican marijuana joint as big as a cigar; Bum’s spliff was slight larger than a pencil lead.  As with the beans he didn’t offer Donn any.  As he talked and smoked he unbuttoned his fly.  As he had no underwear on his dong flopped right out.

     Finishing one ‘spliff’ he rolled himself another.

     ‘This Thai shit is really potent.’  He said.

     ‘Let’s see.’  Donn said reaching out his hand.

     ‘Uh uh.’  Bum said pulling the joint back.  ‘I’ve got a different number for you to suck on.’  He said, indicating his penis in his best John Wayneish movie tough guy talk.

page 116.

     Donn just sat there looking at him in wonder.  Who does this guy think he is?  He thought.

     Dharma Bum, in fact, thought he was faster than a speeding bullet, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, hold back freight trains by main force.  But since he couldn’t find a job as a brain surgeon or bank president because of the stupidity of capitalism he had chosen the life of the wandering mystic.  The Holy Bum who though he appeared to be beneath society was actually superior to it.

     ‘Assume the position.’ He commanded with quiet authority, taking a long toke on his ‘splif.’

     Donn looked steadily back and shook his head no.

     ‘Assume the position, damn it! Bum bellowed.

     Donn didn’t move.

     ‘Don’t try to balk me son-of-a-bitch.  Assume the position.’  Bum half commanded, half whined.  At the same time he grabbed a stick and began to belabor the sitting Contrales.

     Donn leaped to his feet beneath the stinging blows to land a stiff right on Bum’s outhrust chin.  Dharma Bum fell to the ground unconscious.  He flew over backwards striking his head on an outcrop.  He was dead as he settled to the ground.

     Donn in his agitation bent over with his hands on his knees to collect his senses.  As he did he noticed that Bum didn’t seem to be breathing.  Yes, Donn ascertained, Bum was dead.  Donn had killed two men in one week.  Serial killer.  Once again it was self defense, but who would believe him.  All of the circumstantial ‘evidence’ would be against him.  There would be no one to believe his story.  He felt a rising sense of panic, of fear and loathing, as he looked down on the dead body of Dharma Bum.

page 117

     The outcropping was a ledge between which and the ground, between the upper and nether jaws of the vice as it were, there was a gap almost big enough to admit a man’s body.  In frustration and anger Donn grabbed Bum’s body, backing up a couple steps he ran forward thrusting the head and torso into the opening.   The body jammed at the chest.  Try as he might he could force Bum’s body in no further.  Totally frustrated he delivered three sharp kicks to Bum’s dead ass.

     ‘Back under the rock you crawled out from you goddamned bum.’

     Then, as the first light of dawn illuminated the mountain tops Donn dusted himself off as best he could to catch another ride to take him a little further down the road.

     In what must have been a reenactment of Cain and Abel, this time when Abel’s blood called out there was no answering voice from heaven.  Bum just lay there and rotted until his skeleton was shrouded in flowery rags.

     Donn became depressed at the thought of the two killings which he now thought of as murders.  He presented a wild disheveled appearance beside the road.  Still he got rides but they were short and the duration between them was long.  Three days later found him in a gas station on the east side of Graig, Colorado lonely, forlorn and despondent.  It wasn’t so much that his head ached or that his body throbbed in pain.  Donn was hurting mentally even more. 

page 118.

     Donn walked across the lot of the gas station to use the toilet.  He entered, washed and shaved.  As he was drying off the door opened and a smashing older gent entered.  He was tall, lean, athletic looking.  He had hair half grey amidst the dark blonde strands.  He had one of those long headed chisel faces that represented manly beauty to Donn.

     Rather than despising him he gave him a warm smile.  Then some small gesture conveyed the message the gent was in the mood.   Donn didn’t prefer the catamite role but in his lonely desolation any affirmation of worthiness was enough.  He entered the stall followed by the gent.

     Wordlessly they went about their business.  For some reason, perhaps an unconscious need to be discovered the gent hadn’t latched the door.  Suddenly the latrine door burst open as three men, two with cameras and tape recorders rushed in.  Donn’s heart stopped.

     The latrine doors were forced open as cameras whirred and clicked. 

     ‘Well, Senator, what do we have here?’  The first man sneered.

     Donn who believed he was the target was puzzled by being called Senator, then the truth dawned on him.

     ‘Senator Richard Walker, is this the kind of secret life you lead?’

page 119.

     Donn saw that they were paying him scant attention so scooting across the floor while trying to get his pants up he fled the scene.

     He picked up a copy of the Coloradan next afternoon to discover a picture of State Senator Walker pulling up his pants in the toilet of the gas station.  Donn was clearly recognizable.  Apparently Dick Walker, unable to bear the pressures and humiliations of public life had been relieving his stress in this manner over the past several months.  His enemies had finally caught up to him.  Not unrelieved, he quietly disappeared from public life.

     Donn finally found himself in Denver after the most adventurous trip.  He’d had too much adventure.  He wanted to be in St. Louis safe as a TV anchorman.  Considering that he believed himself a wanted man it hadn’t occurred to him that a major city TV screen was not the best of hiding places.

     As bad as Donn was he was no worse than his fellows so that there is no reason not to extend him a little sympathy.   Within the context of his society he was suffering grievously for a minor peccadillo.  His state of mind was severely darkened by the sequence of events since leaving Portland.  He was struggling to keep his mental equilibrium.  At odd moments he had to struggle to keep back the tears.  His physiognomy increasingly showed the strain he was under.  Stress lines appeared where none had been before.

     By the time he reached Denver despair of the present and the hope of the TV job in St. Louis, which had now become a fixation in his mind, drove him from the road.  He couldn’t take it anymore.  The bus or the train would have been cheaper but Donn wanted to get above it all while recapturing for a blissful moment his past glory.  He decided to fly.

page 120

     He spent the night in a motel to rest and cleanup before he went into the airport to buy a ticket.  He expected to just walk on.  He was somewhat stunned when he was told the price was four hundred dollars.  As he stood open mouthed blinking in astonishment the clerk said:  But if you wait two days I can sell you a ticket for sixty-eight dollars or a non-refundable ticket for forty-two..

    Donn’s motel room was only eighteen dollars.  He could stay two days, eat frugally and save a lot.  He decided to do that.  He foolishly gave the clerk his real name.

     He left the airport in a confused state of mind.  ‘For a twenty dollar discount they lay claim to the whole fare.   What kind of Ever Ever Land dealing is that?  How does anybody get away with claiming they get paid for nothing if you don’t show because they gave a discount on nothing?

     Something had happened in American thinking; Donn was right about that, but he didn’t know the half of it.  He was too troubled in mind to wonder why a walkon ticket should cost four hundred dollars whan an advance reservation dropped down to sixty dollars.  How had the airline’s costs been reduced by a two day delay on boarding?  Obviously the authorities wished to limit free and unrestricted travel.  Most people pay by credit card giving advance notice of who will be on what plane.  Although Donn had paid cash he he had given his right name.

     Due to the wonders of computerization his name was flagged in a nationwide memory bank.  Even though he had done nothing wrong- the charges against his name had been shelved- there were those who wished to know his doings.  Thus Maggie, who was watching the flags carefully, picked up Donn’s movement the same afternoon.  Donn’s flight originated in Portland.  Maggie put a man on board in the seat next to Donn’s.  A little spoonful of his excrement was given to the flight attendant to put in Donn’s food along with instructions to be out of whatever his first selection was,  whatever he requested they were to give him something else.  These games get incredibly petty.  Twenty-two years of schooling and you’re still a psychotic moron.

page 121.

     Donn did little the two days but lay around his motel room, rolling about trying to fight his way out of the despondency which was saturating his mind like black ink diffusing through clear water.  Everything showed on his face but even looking in the mirror Donn was unable to discern it.

     He was too preoccupied to notice the glow of anticipation in Maggie’s man, Wally Reid’s eyes.  Reid was there to fid out Donn’s plans and torment him.

     Donn didn’t want to talk but Reid amiably persisted.  Beyond the fact that he was bound for St. Louis Reid got nowhere.  As Donn despised airline food he declined his tray foiling Maggie’s plan of special nutrition.  Maggie correctly thought that Donn thought he was a fugitive from justice so he had Reid tell stories of fugitives being betrayed by some inconsequential quirk and caught.  He even explained the flagging system to Donn.

     By the time the plane landed Donn was aquiver with anxiety.  He expected to be arrested when he disembarked.  When he wasn’t he half dismissed Reid’s chatter, while making plans for job hunting.

page 122.

     Psychology is difficult to account for.  Donn had the most sanguine hopes of landing the job as news anchorman.  He still hadn’t figured out that anonymity and a TV personality don’t go together.  In order to be successful in his job hunt he believed, quite rightly of course, that he would have to make a good appearance.  Maintaining the appearance for any length of time would deplete his resources, but counting on landing a job quickly Donn went ahead with style.

     He checked into a good hotel, better than he needed, and bought himself a very nice suit, also better than he needed, shirts, shoes and ties.  He made appointments for interviews.  These were all delayed a couple days to give the stations time to check up on him.  The flag came up.

     The manager of the first station, who was only a member of the Old Boy network, figured he had enough troubles of his own without adding Donn’s so he declined politely sending Donn on his way.  The manager of the second station was a member of both the Jewish and Homosexual networks but not the Old Boy.  Maggie got in touch with him.  He arranged to be in the studio when Donn was there.

     This interview went very smoothly.   Wesley Cohn expressed great interest in Donn.  He asked him to come back in two days for a screen test.  Informed that there would be an opening and he was a very good possibility Donn was delighted.  He bounced out of the studio muttering Eureka! under his breath.

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     Maggie who knew how much Donn had withdrawn from the bank intended to string him along till it was gone.  If Maggie hadn’t had contacts at UNB he had his own hacker who could penetrate any system.  Imagine passing laws against such things.  One might as well pass laws against the sun setting in the West.

     Donn showed up for the test.  He was actually very good.  He had the looks, he projected a confident, affable, knowledgeable image.  The studio workers were very impressed.  Donn, watching anxiously, was sure they were sincere.  He was told to call back in a couple days.  Then he was invited to dinner with the manager, the news director and his assistant.  They went to the best restaurant in St. Louis.  After a friendly, jovial dinner full of many yaks it came time for the bill.

     Cohn slapped his pockets a couple times saying:  ‘Donn, you know what?  I left my wallet at home.  Say, Donn, you couldn’t…’

     Everyone watched with suppressed mirth as Donn gulped and his face fell. But they were surprised.  Donn waxed indignant:  ‘You don’t have have an account here?  Why at the Daily Assassin, he said giving himself away somewhat, ‘we had accounts at all the best restaurants.  We just had to sign for it.  That’s the way it’s done in professional circles.  That’s how any company that knows does it.  Mingo wouldn’t have any problem.’

     Mirth fled their faces as they shook their heads and uttered low ‘ummms.’

     ‘Right.  Of course I can sign.  I forgot about that.’  Cohn replied.

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     Out on the street he said:  ‘That was a test too, Donn, you’re doing fine.  Call you in a couple days.’

     Donn’s funds were running low.  He could no longer afford to wait.  He called the next day to be informed that although he was perfect they were bringing in a Black woman from Detroit.  They thought she would give the station the proper social balance.

    Well…now Donn was both down and out.

IV.

Off  The Track

 

How is it that I have come up to here

And I’m still fallin’

-The Byrds

I deplore brutality he said.  It’s not efficient.  On the other hand prolonged mistreatment, short of physical violence, gives rise, when skillfully applied, to anxiety and a feeling of special guilt.

-William S. Burroughs

     Donn now didn’t know which way to turn.  He could call his dad down in Waco but that would be truly a last resort, admitting defeat.  Besides maybe even his dad would stiff him after the manner in which he had left.  Donn was at a loss.  He didn’t know why but he got out on the highway heading North through Iowa.  Keokuk, Waterloo and up the Mississippi.

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     Maggie had a man pick him up to learn his plans if possible.  He dropped Donn off halfway to Keokuk using his CB to inform Maggie who was about five miles behind.  When Maggie sighted Donn he edged to the side of the road forcing Donn to step back.  He averted his face as he passed laughing a vengeful laugh.

     Donn couldn’t be sure, of course, but there had been no mistaking that gold hair.  Donn still hadn’t analyzed the implications of that computer that had sat on his desk.  If he had he would have realized that there is no such thing as paranoia in the modern world.  It’s all true.  Stalking is a way of life.

     Hitching a ride in suit clothes and fine shoes is the toughest kind of hitching of all.  After all why would a guy who could afford good clothes hitchhike unless he was just godawful cheap?  The only reason to hitch is if you’re down and out or in the Service.  Donn had a terrible time getting rides.  When he did the drivers were all disrespectful.  Hence he found himself in Keokuk way out on Johnson St. Road miles from downtown.  Everything is always funny when it happens to someone else.  Donn had always found stories such as this amusing but now that it was happening to him he lamented the fact that others would have the laugh.  Other people elsewhere were having a good chuckle.  So life goes on.

     Donn oriented himself tothe East and began walking toward the Mississippi.  The evening was sultry and warm.  Great billowy clouds, white on the edges passing through symphonies of greys sailed proudly across the bright blue sky.  The trees and grass shown green.  Natural beauties abounded.  Donn’s gloomy frame of mind turned all brown and seer.

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     But a bit of good fortune fell on him.  As he trudged up the road he approached the house of Phineas Elonginus Pillbender.  Phineas had suffered a terrible childhood.  He had been in foster homes and an orphanage.  Although life had kicked him about much more severely than he or anyone else deserves he had never given way to self-destructive impulses.

      Against all odds he had constructed the type of life he most admired.  His spirit was epitomized in the almost surrealistic beauty of his house and grounds.  He had an acre and a half, his house standing on a little rise in the middle of the lot.  It was painted the strangest color blue, the numerous shutters white.  The house sparkled, as he washed it frequently.  A white picket fence enclosed his yard.  The edges of the pickets were also painted blue.  The fence too shone splendidly.  The impossibly well kept lawn with the medium sized apple tree caused many a passerby to stop and stare.

     A red brick walkway curved up to the house from the mailbox which was painted blue with a little border of flowers across the bottom and Phineas Elonginus Pillbender inscribed in quaint lettering, having a Land of Oz effect.

     The driveway leading to the garage was carefully constructed to look natural.  The concrete slab was sunk three inches below the surface being carefully graveled and cindered to look rural.  Pillbender raked it three times weekly.

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     He was too perfect for his neighbors.  A big gash invariably disfigured his driveway while one or two pickets were always hanging loose.  Pillbender left them after having learned he must make at least this concession to his neighbor’s envy.  They had no intention of maintaining their property so carefully nor were they about to be made to look sloppy by their own fastidious neighbor.

     Farmer Pillbender stood, corncob pipe in the mouth of a face surrounded by an Abe Lincoln beard, in the red brick walkway leading to his front door.  His thumbs were stuck in the straps of his overalls.  He wasn’t really a farmer, it was a pose he affected.  He actually worked as a tool and die maker in town.

     He saw Donn Contrales in his fine pants carrying his jacket under his arm coming down the road.  Rather than having been embittered by his life experiences Farmer Pillbender was a kindly if brittle man.  His workmates called him ‘prickly.’  Like many who had borne a heavier cross than his back could support he passed his burden on to Jesus.  He was a serious and good Christian.  He often hummed:  What a friend we have in Jesus, all our griefs and sins to bear, as he went about his chores.

      He mistakenly sized Donn up as a good man who’d gotten a tough break.  Pillbender hailed Donn at his gate.  After a few minutes palaver he invited Donn in for supper and a bed for the night.

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     As the outside of Pillbender’s house shone so was the inside glorious.  The hardwood floors were radiant.  The colonial style early American furniture was immaculately kept.  The fire place floor was freshly scrubbed.   The grate had been sanded and painted.

   As one’s eyes moved up the fireplace front to the mantle a large sign, six feet long, eighteen inches high proclaimed in red, white and blue bunted letters:

F U C K  C O M M U N I S M

     Above it was a large plain white cross.  One knew where Farmer Pillbender stood.

     Donn arose the next morning which as hot as an oven, humid as hell, grateful for at least a chance to rinse off and shave.  He thanked Farmer Pillbender and took his leave.  As the neighbors had seen him enter the house the night before they now stood at their windows or in their yards to look him over.  A number of childred stood in the street.

    Among them was Billy Treska.  Billy was eight.  He had been violated by a big neighbor kid a week before.  The seduction had been rude, verging on rape, while the subsequent rejection had made him feel contemptible.  He was in the throes of emotional distress unable to adjust to his emasculation.  The sight of Donn, forlorn and forsaken, awoke feelings of kinship in his tortured mind.  As Donn walked by Billy slipped his hand in Donn’s in a love gesture.

     Billy didn’t know what he was doing or why.  His act was unconscious while his motives were unknown to him.  In the way of homosexuality he was seeking affirmation of his worth by seeking a surrogate of the lover who had seduced and rejected him.  Donn looked down in shock as he recognized the meaning of the gesture.  While Donn had never had an inclination for little boys, now, conscious of his own identity and the eyes of the neighbors about him, he jerked his hand rudely away whereas at another thime he might have been more sympathetic.

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     Billy, unable to understand his own motives or Donn’s rejections took the move as a further indication of his worthlessness.   He was completely shattered and crushed.  He ran from Donn howling and crying, causing dismay in the spectators.  In later life Billy would end up a curbstone cutie in San Francisco with silicon breasts.

     As the boy turned sobbing and ran away the whole scene was misinterpreted by Mrs. Elizabeth Anderson.  She believed and would swear that Donn had made an attempt to abduct the boy, possibly for ransom.  That Donn was a bum, albeit a well dressed bum with really nice shoes, was proof sufficient.

     As Donn walked downtown slowly in the heat Mrs. Anderson tracked him at a distance.  As he stood at the corner of Seventh and Main aimlessly plotting his next move, perhaps even getting a job somewhere in town to gather his senses and accumulate a few dollars, Mrs. Anderson with a policeman by the arm pointed him out to the cop saying:  ‘That’s him.’

     Fearful of being picked up on the charges he thought were pending in Oregon Donn blanched a whiter shade of pale acting extremely guilty.  The officer who had nothing on Donn except Mrs. Anderson’s confused story hesitated.  As he did so an officious self-righteous townsman announced in a stentorian voice:  You better move on.

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     The police officer and the crowd automatically acquiesced in the sentiment of the speaker.   They stepped back to make room for Donn to move on.

     Donn’s motor responses were affected by the repetitious humiliations that are impossible to bear with equanimity no matter how cool the victim may appear.  Donn moved off not smartly but with a shambling gait.  The pavement seemed so uneven that Donn couldn’t raise his feet high enough to keep from scraping over the pavement.  As he reached the other side of the street he tripped over the curb and turned to look back at the faces sternly set against him.  Unconciously he hunched over, back curved, and with one hand clumsily hitched up his pants, confessing to his feeling of emasculation.  He had fallen far but he was still far from the bottom.

     As he hitched up the road to Waterloo he realized for the first time that he was penniless.  He hadn’t the means to buy a meal; he had no place to sleep but in the jungles with other bums, under overpasses, wherever those off the track congregated.  That was pain that Donn couldn’t face.  Even though with the proper attitude and his boxing skills he could easily have dominated any such crowd.  He could have been King of the Jungles.

     Thus Donn avoided those places although he soon learned where they would be.

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     Maggie had fixed his location.  There was a transmitter in the heel of Donn’s spiffy shoes.  Thus even as Donn entered a town he was surprised to find that it seemed as though he was expected.  It seemed as though everyone knew him already.  The police seemed to be waiting for him, members of the various networks were on the forces.  Donn was arrested.  He was, of course, anxious that the Portland charges would be brought against him.  Of course they never were which Donn attributed to good luck.  Donn was held overnight and released the next afternoon with the advice that he’d better move on; he’d better keep going.

     Thus Donn’s psyche was further impaired as he became familiar with jail cells and the rough jail crowd.  He began to wonder what he had done to deserve such cruel treatment.  By so doing he made a wrong turn.  He should rather have asked who is doing this and why.  It should have been obvious to him that he actually was recognized and that someone was stalking him.  Instead he took the blame on himself.  The notion began to flicker through his mind that perhaps he actually had wronged Maggie by not admitting him on that night.

     While his mind toyed with the notion his former life became distant and unrecognizable to him but the memory of which he cherished.  As he wandered hungry and friendless he remembered the lesson that Sandy Tyler had taught him.  He began scrounging the dumpsters for discarded food.  As this was a necessity he didn’t consciously take it seriously but subliminally his whole being revolted at the practice.

    Thus one night in Waterloo he was scrounging a Kroger dumpster when an extraordinary thing happened.  As he leant over into the dumpster to seize some half rotten bananas it seemed as though his cherished old existence, the real Disco Donn Contrales, slid over his back, down his arms off into the garbage.  Donn was astonished, realized he was losing his former self and lunged after it as it disappeared into the bottom of the dumptser.

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     He upended himself, his torso in the dumpster half immersed in the garbage while his feet threshed the air.  The door beside the dumpster opened to reveal the grocery manager.

     ‘Hey, what you doing there?’  The manager yelled, laughingly attempting to stuff Donn further into the dumpster.

     Donn was horrified to be caught scrounging in the dumpster.  Claxons went off in his mind at the humiliation.  He kicked free scrambling from the dumpster, lettuce and produce spilling off him, his hands clutching the squashed bananas oozing through his fingers.

     As he ran it seemed as though his body crusted and cracked apart leaving a smaller replica of Donn running through the night.  Then it happened again and yet once more.  Thus when Donn stopped running two or three miles down the road while his stature was the same as before, psychologically Donn was a much smaller man.  He felt only two feet tall while remaining five-eight.  The effect was invisible to all but the discerning eye.

     There Donn stood amidst the faint smell of decaying vegetable matter, bits of garbage clinging to his hair and clothes, his hand oozing banana slime.  Humiliation and shame engulfed his being.  His shame would not allow him to use a service station toilet to clean up; he might have to ask for the key.  He cleaned his hands as best he could on some leaves.  Then he set out to find some stream in which to clean up.

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     He was so ashamed, so in shock, that he would no longer walk the highways for fear that someone might offer to pick him up.  Instead he sought the railway tracks.  Following them he came to a trestle over a small creek.  He scrambled down the embankment in hopes of washing the corruption from him.

     As chance would have it this was the spot chosen by the Mankato Kid for his resting place for the evening.  Just as Donn was about to begin his ablutions a snarling voice cursed at him.

     ‘Hey, son-of-a-bitch, what do you think you’re doing using my creek.  Get the hell out of my face.  This my place, my place.  Get out!’

     Donn turned toward the voice to see a spectral form lurking on the far side of a small fire.  The image matched the voice.  The form was turned sideways, stooped, its head tossed and bowed like a beaten cur who still had the spirit of resistance in him but had been cruelly taught the futility of expressing it.

     Donn was still in the thrall of his experience at the dumpster.  His mind was paralyzed.  He had not yet begun his rebound from the experience of having lost his former self and feeling so small, perhaps two feet high.  He knew that this was no man to intimidate him yet his confidence was gone.  Nevertheless he answered bravely, if shakily:  ‘This is a free country, buddy, I’ve got just as much right to be here as you.’

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     ‘Free country?  Free country is it?’ the Kid roared, or attempted to roar in his snarling defensive manner.  ‘Well, you’re full of shit, Jack.  Free country is it?  I’ll tellyou how free it is.  No freer than Nazi Germany.  No freer than Communist Russia.  We’re just niggers working on the Man’s plantation here.  If you’re not born to it they won’t let you have it.  Take your ‘free’ country and shove it up your ass.

     The only difference between the Nazis and the Commies and us is the style.  We just do it different.  Here they make you think you’re free but it’s all on credit from the company store.  You’re free to work for the company so you can make money for them.  Then you have to give all your earnings back to the company store to pay off your credit.  Then without money you go into debt with more credit from the company store.  That song sure was right:  You load sixteen tons and what do you get?  Another day older and deeper in debt.

     If you’re man enough to protest they kill you.  They shot down the hardrock boys of the WFM (Western Federation of Miners) in Colorado just because they didn’t want to be in debt to the company store.  Shot ’em down.  Open warfare.  Never was nothing like in Germany or Russia.  Then just because the Wobblies tried to organize the Stiffs they got really mean.  Drove us out of our houses at Holly Grove then turned machine guns on us while we slept in our tents.  Burned our wives and children live at Ludlow.  And laughed about it, the dirty bastards.  Dumped hundreds of miners out in the desert without water at Bigby (Bisbee, Arizona) and told ’em to keep movin’ on, the heartless bastards.  All because we wanted a living wage.  Free country!  Look at what happened to me…

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     As though reminding himself of what they had done to him the Mankato Kid appeared to see a vision.  Anger flooded his heart obscuring his vision.  He began punching the air in a violent shadow boxing match.  His snarling roar boomed and bleated out:  Leave me alone you bastards.  Get out of here, go on, get out of here.’

     Even if Donn had been himself there would have been no reason to stay but diminished as he felt, reacting to the horrors of the past several weeks more than through fear of the Kid Donn turned and fled.  He skipped over the shallow creek on the stepping stones placed there by the bums, or homeless as they are now known.

     The Mankato Kid punched away at the air for a few moments before his crazed mind resettled allowing him to sit.  There he continued to grumble his compaints into the fire.  Unlike so many bums who had never had the stature to make a serious attempt at life the Kid had been seriously wronged.

     He actually came from Mankato which is in Minnesota.  He was now in his fifties.  He had been driven out of Mankato just as he was turning thirty.  He had spent all those years circling Mankato, the city of his dreams.  He never went further and he never came closer.  he never got saner and he never got crazier.  He was just shadow boxing his life away.

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     His parents had been Polish immigrants who had drifted out to Mankato.  His father had been a square little man of five-five.  His mother had been a big buxom, very good looking woman with peasant manners.  They had given birth to the Kid and an older child, a daughter, Mary.  As Poles they differed in religion, speech and manners from the Swedish population.  In those days Northern immigrants considered the Eastern and Southern European immigrants as Untermenschen.  No, that’s not too strong.  the attitude was quite similar to the Nazi attitude toward non-Germans.  Immigrants were reviled, beaten and chased from pillar to post.  They were subject to massive displays of contempt.

     When the Kid was twelve his father was bullied into a fight in a bar and killed.  Murdered might not be too strong a word although  technically he was given the opportunity to defend himself in a fight.  Still, he was impeded by the jeering circle of spectators while his Anglo adversary was assisted.  His death was termed accidental.  No one ever stood trial.  Nor was the knife wound in his kidney ever explained or even acknowledged.  He was just Polack dirt.

     Ballard Quincy, one of the big men in town, sought to solace the Kid’s mother in her distress.  She advanced on Quincy with a frying pan, able only to deliver a glancing blow off his retreating shoulder.

    Ballard Quincy did not take rejection kindly.  Like many of his kind rather than attack her he sought revenge on her children.  They became the targets of  ‘polite’ society.  Mary who was more attractive even than her mother was easily seduced by the boys from the right side of the tracks.  She became the school whore.

     Efforts were made to train the Kid to think ill of himself.  He was offered a dollar a customer to steer them into a house of which Quincy had a rake off in the red light district of Mankato.  There he was allowed shots of whiskey.  He, as a boy of character,  quickly perceived that he had been misled.  he abondoned the ‘job’ with a fit of indignation.

     The damage had been done.  He had been associated with that ‘element.’  He had defamed himself.  He fought gallantly to remove the taint, but the best families led by Quincy had irrevocable set their faces against him.  He was denied and interfered with all through high school, which he completed.  His sister’s reputation was constantly thrown in his face.

     But he believed in the myth of America, of Horation Alger, of luck and pluck.  He had been taught that life was what you made it and if you didn’t make it you had no one to blame but yourself, if things didn’t go your way it was your own fault.  So he kept his chin up, braved the ridicule heaped on him and kept hoping for the main chance such as it was in Mankato.  And then it happened.  In the post-war years TV came onto the scene.  As with any new item business peopled looked at it, decided it wouldn’t last and left the field open to outsiders.

     As Henry Kaiser’s cement trucks rolling down the East Bay proudly proclaimed: Find a need and fill it.  The Kid saw the need and rushed to fill it.  He opened a TV sales and repair shop.  He did well.  He could see his rise in society.  He proceeded to develop an open and generous character.  But at the first glimmer of prosperity the better people sprang into action against him.  He was slandered, sabotaged and not allowed to prosper.  He fought on.  Driven out of TV he tried a couple other lines but he was boycotted.  No one in that small town would buy from him.  Driven half mad by the abuse and injustice he had experienced he took to the road which is where Donn encountered him.

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     Donn had scrambled up the bank fleeing across country.  In his terror he crashed through the brush and across fields.  Then tearing wildly through a wood his foot slipped.  He tumbled over falling down a slope into a sort of pit or sinkhole.  He slid and tumbled down about twenty feet coming to an abrupt stop.

     ‘Well, good evening.’ Said a mellow voice.  ‘Nice of you to drop in.’

     In his agitated state of mind the sudden fall into the hole, or rather, head of a ravine, he was completely disoriented.  He stumbled about dizzily for some several moments attempting to determine up from down.  Finally getting his behind on the ground his eyes peered out in the sky above the narrow rim of the ravine.  As he accommodated his senses to his situation all across the universe the stars roared and popped.  Had one been able to hear and see the incredible noise and heat of the incandescent firestorms sweeping their surfaces one would have been astounded.  As the huge balls of fire hurled incandescent streamers far out into space to be retracted by their gravity with a report sharper than the sharpest report of a whip magnified thousands of times.  The released light went spreading through the black oblivion on an endless chase through space.  Losing its heat through the eons of space travel, the light from far distant stars now seemed to twinkle merrily as the laughing stars played with Magic Sam’s laughing dice.

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     The light sped past the bright marigold of the full moon reflecting the light of this system’s solar furnace past the man made debris circling the earth, down past the great mainliners escorting smiling people across the skies eight miles high.  The light passed the light planes and birds to penetrate dimly into the hole that Donn and the Roving Gambler were in.

     ‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ the voice said with exquisite manners and a BBC English accent, ‘I am the Roving Gambler, at your service.’

     Donn, still dazed, grunted something that could be taken for a greeting.

     ‘And you are Donn Contrales.’  The Gambler continued laughingly.

     Donn gave a start at the novelty of being recognized by a man he had never seen in a hole he’d never been in before.  Involuntarily he began to rise to flee.

     ‘Oh, no no.  No!  My goodness.  Sit down Donn and let me explain.  You are talking to, or rather, listening to a very extraordinary man.  You are surprised that I recognize you, yet your picture appeared daily in the Oregon Assassin.  I spend much time in libraries pursuing my various studies.  While there I leaf through the papers of the whole country plus foreign nations.  I have a very good memory for names and faces plus I have fabulous, I might say, total recall.  I recognized you immediately even before you ceased that infernal tumbling.’

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     Donn, mouth open, tongue out stared at the Gambler stupidly.  His mind was only beginning to stop swirling.  What he saw was the slender (imperially slim, as the Gambler would say) tall figure of a man lounging against a rock before a small fire reading, or at least holding, a newspaper in front of him.  He was dressed in cream colored pants, cream colored buccaneer cut shirt with a red and blue paisley ascot.  His long rectangular face was surmounted by a wavy shock of blond hair which fell to his shoulders.  His high expanse of forehead would have excited envy in those who take such things as indication of nobility.  A blond mustache was placed between his fine aquiline nose and lips neither too thin, too thick, too wide or too narrow.  In short the Roving Gambler was a strikingly handsome man.  As he put it he was one of nature’s noblemen, too good for this world.

     The Gambler’s vanity was the source of his discomfort with the world.  He came from Virginia where his ancestry could be traced back to the Cavaliers of 1660 in an unbroken line on both father’s and mother’s sides.  He had been an outstanding student at the University of Virginia.  Thus one might say he had had everything propitious for a great start in life- looks, family, training.  Unfortunately for the Gambler he thought because of these assets that he was entitled to a place at the top.  Refused the job of bank or corporate presidency fresh out of school he was indignant that if would be required of him to work his way up, albeit from a reasonably good starting point.  Consequently, rather than be a ‘peon’ he took to the road immediately after graduation where he had been ever since.  He was now fifty-three.

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     The Gambler was extremely vainglorious and boastful.  He delighted in the incongruous.  The creation of the juxtaposition of extremes was his joy.

     ‘Here my boy, would you like a taste of my champagne?’  He said, handing Donn the bottle.  ‘Some pate, perhaps? and some caviar?’ He flipped Donn a can of tinned pate, then handed him a ‘biscuit’ covered in caviar.  Donn who was quite hungry wolfed everything down.

    ‘Oh, ha ha, you thought perhaps I was an ordinary bum.  No, no, no.  Au contraire, mon petit.  I am quite an extraordinary bum.  You will never see my like again.  Once in a million years, my boy, once in a million years.  I greet you by name, hmm?

     Yes, I solved the riddle of life long ago.  You may think you’re talking to a penniless bum.  Well, you’re not.  I happen to be a very pennied bum.  I have thousands- modestly forbids I meantion how many thousands- of dollars in dozens of banks throughout the country.  I have a portfolio of stocks and bonds that would excite the envy of many a speculator.

     Ah, you stare in disbelief.  Well, I’m used to it.   All of these bindlestiffs think the same.  They have no imagination, no skills, no art.  I am gifted.  When out of Virginia they refused my due I knew I would be as rich as they and much more free, unbeholden to anyone, as it were, as it is.

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     My solution was just to demand they give me the money, and so they did.  I merely approach and say:  Give me money.  And they do.  I’m extraordinarily successful.  You may be sure it’s true when I tell you that in one three day stretch in Chicago I once took in over two thousand dollars.  Two thousand, ninety-eight dollars to be exact, forget the small change.  I put it all in the bank, of course.  One hundred to three hundred dollars a day is normal to me.

     I studied the career of Death Valley Scotty and discovered his secret.  Hmm?  Oh, Scotty was a legend in LA between the wars.  He was absent for long stretches then would show up to buy everyone drinks and distribute his largesse.  He said he had a secret gold mine in Death Valley that he worked for a stretch then brought his diggings to town.  He didn’t worry about money because he said he could always dig up some more.

     They tried to follow him to his mine but he always gave them the slip.  I reasoned therefore that there was no mine but that Scotty was either a thief or a master panhandler.  Rather than being absent in Death Valley, I reasoned, he was off panhandling in some distant city.  Probably shaved his beard so no one would recognize him.

     Well, between Scotty and The Man With The Twisted Lip I put my act together.  I, however, have no interest in distributing largesse.  I am not only handsome, as you can see, but I have a genius IQ.  When the weather gets cold I haunt all the finest libraries in America.  The Houghton, Universities of Michigan and Illinois, Stanford, U.C., Berkeley, occasionally down to Santa Cruz because I like the weather, I don’t want to bore you with a list, suffice it to say that I have pursued my studies in the finest institutions, North, East, South and West.

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     As you can see I am quite distinguished looking.  I have suits of clothes in several cities.  With my appearance I can get in…’  While everything the Gambler said was true he perceived a look of bored disbelief on Donn’s face.  Actually Donn was still half stunned.  the Gambler’s words were just washing over him but the drone of his voice was comforting to him.  ‘…anywhere without any difficulty.

     I have written  the tentative results of my studies down.  I have hidden them in unfrequented nooks and crannies.  Thus it may be said that my work is in all the best libraries.’

     The Gambler was quite serious.  He had an inexhaustible line of chatter.  He could go on for hours at a stretch whenever he had a chance.  But he liked full attention.  He now chose a different topic.  As Donn was a music reviewer he chose a topic that wowed the homeless in the jungles but was ill suited for the more discriminating intelligence of Donn.

     Donn had finished his tin of pate which he flipped into the fire.  The Gambler tossed him another.

     ‘Elvis is not dead, you know.’

     Donn burped.

    ‘I had a long conversation with him myself.  I can’t tell you where he lives because he obviously wishes to remain incognito.  But we had a long chat.  He said the pressure was just too great for him.  He had to excape.  He told me some interesting details you won’t hear anywhere else, Donn.  Of course in the beginning he was only interested in getting girls.  But then when he began to get famous he enjoyed that.  When the money began to really flow in he was ecstatic.  But his success was too far beyond his ability to cope, perhaps anyone’s.  He became the first great postwar folk hero.  Something like the movie stars of the first decade of the talkies.  Genuine stars, not hyped into prominence.  But, you see, he hadn’t been vetted.  He didn’t perform in a manner acceptable to the arbiters of culture.  He was raw.  He dressed atrociously by their standards.  He was, in fact, no better than a White nigger.

page 144.

     As such he wasn’t supposed to have money.  But he got quite a lot, actually.  More than most of them.  As a cultural icon he stood far above the actual power brokers of the world both straight and criminal.  They couldn’t stand that.  They tried to to kill his career by putting him in the Army.  Regardless of their denials it was a political move.  The resulting publicity campaign by RCA in order to preserve its investment against their machinations made him Elvis Presley, the singer, into the pop icon, Elvis.  We’ll probably never know exactly how Colonel Parker fit in there, Elvis doesn’t.  He became not only bigger than life but bigger than fantasy.

     He said he was in constant fear of his life.  He couldn’t go anywhere, certainly not without bodyguards.  He became it was as though, he told me, that he was under house arrest.  The fruits of his talent and success turned to ashes in his mouth.’

page 145.

     The Gambler, who had been speaking from behind his paper now lowered it for a dramatic effect as he came to his most thrilling revelation of what ‘Elvis said.’  Donn, at about this time began to regain his mental composure so that he actually heard what the Gambler was saying.

    ‘But this wasn’t enough for them, Elvis told me.  They wanted more.  They wanted to humiliate him completely, to emasculate him, to render him sterile, neutered.  What did they do?  They offered him, or at least Colonel Parker, large sums to perform in Las Vegas.  On their home turf they could get away with anything.

     Up to that time Elvis had been disciplined and under self-control.  He was relatively blithe, youthful and slim.  After that his personality disintegrated.

    He told me that he was invited to the master suite.  As he was Elvis, commanding a large sum to make them even larger sums, he assumed that they only wanted to meet him.  That was fine with him.  As a boy from humble origins he was proud to meet them as equals, nay, even as a superior.

     He said that when he entered he was greeted by the cold derogatory stares of five angry men.  Three were big time criminals, one was a famous show biz personality, singer, and one was a very well known conservative politician.  I can’t tell you his name because if word got out my life wouldn’t be worth a blind man’s view of Mt. Rushmore.

page 146.

     Elvis was taken aback immediately when the toughest customer behind his dark sunglasses greeted him with a venomous:  Hello. Big Shot.

     Well, as Elvis said, he was quite taken back by the hostile reception.  As he looked from face to face the expressions were hard, harder and hardest.  Now, Elvis came from the humblest circumstances.  Having been denied power as a youth he sought to conquer by love rather than force.  He thought since he, as he expressed it, was going to make these men lots and lots of money they would value him accordingly.  He was shocked to find that they viewed themselves as masters and himself as a plantation slave; someone to toil for them and be abused.

     “So you think you’re really something, hey?”  The criminal continued.  “Well, I got news for you, sonny boy.  You ain’t nothin’ to us.  There’s dozens more where you came from.  We can manufacture a dozen a day.  There’s dozens more where you came from.  There’ll be dozens more after you’re gone.  You’re the dogshit I scrape from my shoes.  What have you ever done but shake your pelvis?  Nothin’.  You ain’t never built a magnificent club like this.  You never had to meet a payroll in your life.  You never had to knife or be knifed.  You’re nothin’ but a puke assed kid in diapers.  We give you money you couldn’t earn any other way.  We earn it.  We did the work.  Without this club you wouldn’t have anyplace to shake your ass.  We, all of us, are men who fought and clawed to get where we are.  You’re a pansy.  All you’ve ever done is get up on stage show ’em your blue suede shoes and shake your skinny ass.  Elvis the Pelvis!  Is that any name for a man to be known by?  Hell, no.  You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog.  Well boy, we’re goin’ to separate the boys from the girls right here and now.”

page 147.

    At this point in his story Elvis began to choke and sob as the horrible memory overwhelmed him but he felt compelled to tell me the story.  He needed to relieve himself to someone.  I felt honored to be the one.

     He said that they all unzipped and flipped their dick out.  He was told to get down on his knees and suck each one off in series.

     He was indignant.  He told them to kiss off.  But they all produced weapons, waving them under his nose.  The criminal said:  “Don’t think you’re so big that we can’t off you and get away with it.  Bigger fish than you have been thrown into Ma Bates’ pond.  All that’ll happen is we’ll claim some deranged fan waited in your room and shot you.  We got guys who are dying to be famous.   The man who shot Elvis Presley!  They’ll take credit.  Then what?  We dose some crazy broad with drugs give her a gun and make it easy for her to kill your killer.  We clap her in solitary confinement for the remaining months of her life.  She dies.  The secret goes to the grave with her.  Now you know how it’s done pussy boy.’

     At this point Elvis said the guy actually shoved the barrel of his gun in his mouth.

     “On your knees pussy boy, and let’s see some action.”

     Well…Elvis said the criminal actually worked the barrel back and forth in his mouth a couple times cocking the hammer as he did so.

     Elvis was shaking uncontrollably as he told me this.  He couldn’t articulate the next bit by by signs and simulations he indicated that he sank to his knees and did them all.  He had to go on just a few hours later.  You can imagine his mental condition.  The set was actually taped by the vicious bastards.  They show it on TV every now and again.  About halfway through Elvis can’t deal with it.  He leans forward half kneeling in that stance of his and simulates fellation on the microphone saying:  Suckee, suckee.  Then he shrugs his shoulders as if to say:  No big thing.  Later in the show he rushes from the stage into the audience seeking affirmation.  Then at the cameras filming as he leaves backstage he flips a thumbs up sign as if to say:  Fuck You.

page 148.

     But the thing took its toll.  Up to then Elvis had been thin and under self-control.  Now he started to gain weight.  He started doing bizarre things like shooting out TV screens in his room when he played Vegas.  His costume became more outre as he sought to recover his manhood.  He started wearing that stupid little Captain Marvel cape.  His whole outfit became patterned after that of Captain Marvel.

     To spite them and reaffirm himself he tried to be bigger than even the fantasy giant he was.  He did the spectacular satellite Live from Hawaii beamed simultaneously all over the world.  Now that was bigger even than Las Vegas.  It showed them how big he was and how small time they were.

     But, it wasn’t enough.  His ego, always fragile because of his cracker origins, was crushed.  He just couldn’t go on.  He staged his death on the shitter because they had turned his life to shit.  Then he just disappeared to where I met him.  No, don’t ask.  I’m honor bound not to tell.

page 149.

     I will say this though.  Elvis never had any idea of what he got himself into when he got into show biz.  Of course, how could he know that he would come to represent the transition from the prewar immigrant culture to the post -war more or less synthetic culture, the union not only of the European nationalities but also the Negro culture.

      As a symbol of the synthesis the Anglo rear guard would hold him responsible for the change.  A race traitor if you will.  Then again he represented the the democratic upwelling of the under classes as a result of the post-war prosperity.  He didn’t adopt the cultural norms of the overclass.  Not because he rejected them as they thought but just because he didn’t know any better.

     And the, and this is most important, the phenomenal reverence and awe paid him was so far in excess of their own masculinity and manhood that they felt Elvis had emasculated them.  Chirst, their wives were throwing their panties at him.  They felt diminished so that in order to reassert their manhood they had to diminish Elvis below themselves.

     Now, Man is homosexual by nature.  He must either be a man and dominate or be a girl and be dominated.  Hence the innate viciousness of the male.  Obviously he who dominates every other male is King.  Elvis was styled the King hence it was incumbent on him to dominate every other male.  But, until his own emasculation at the hands of those jerks he was just a big friendly goof.  He learned too late, but he did learn.  Watch how he treats the musicians in the Live from Hawaii special.  You’ll see it.’

page 150.

End of clip II-3.  Go to continuation at clip II-4.

Disco Donn Demands Deliverance

by

R.E. Prindle

 

The Stars Play With Magic Sam’s Laughing Dice.

J. Hendrix

 

Roll the dice

And it sounds like thunder.

Roll the dice,

Hit the bottom

And you feel no pain.

Roll the dice

And it sounds like thunder,

Ain’t it the truth,

It’s a fool’s game.

-Steve Harley And Cockney Rebel

 

     Donn Contrales was at the apex of his success.  He was only a hair away from the beginning of his nadir.  Donn had just about everything he wanted within his grasp.  Since the accession of his computer he felt himself a free man for the first time.  In his role as pop and classical record reviewer for the Daily Assassin Donn no longer went into the office, he sent his reviews over the phone lines.

     By so doing Donn had fallen into the trap set for him by Jose Wellspring who sold him the computer at a very advantageous price.  Wellspring hadn’t really done Donn a favor, the computer was used, it had been repossessed.  Both Jose Wellspring and Donn Contrales were homosexuals.  Donn had offended Jose by not inviting him to a record party for the pianist, Clement Coxe.  Coxe was himself a homosexual.  Jose had thought of a plan to punish Donn.  He knew of Donn’s desire to be ‘free’, of his aversion to going to the office.  Jose understood that failure to do so would subject Donn to competitive pressures whereby he might lose one or the other or perhaps both his posts.  He very slyly planted the thought in Donn’s mind that the computer would free him of the necessity of reporting the office on a daily basis.

     Donn had taken the bait.  Now, in February 1980 he had made only brief appearances at the Assassin since November of  the previous year.  He arrived at his apartment in a bustle to get dressed for a speaking engagement with the Women’s Westside Auxlliary.  He breezed through his door casting a glance over at his computer noticing that he had an email.  It was from Mingo Miybriy, the editor of the Assassin informing him that he had been relieved of his pop music duties.  Those reviews, the communique read, had been transferred to a younger man who was, presumably more in touch with contemporary youth.

page 2.

     This news made Donn angry, he was insulted, nobody was more in touch with contemporary youth than he.  But he failed to give this premonition of disaster the consideration he should have.  Donn was much too confident of his fate, of his own importance in the web of destiny.

     ‘I’ll have to send an email telling Mingo to get rid of the guy.  That’s my territory.  There’s no one more in touch with youth than me.’  Donn thought, ‘But first I have to go shine on these society bitches.’

     Donn, was a cocaine habitue, he would have rejected the term addict, as the stuff was recreational rather than compulsory; he was living his life in a euphoric haze.  He had become entirely divorced from reality.  In his vision of himself as an all powerful deity he had alienated many people.  Some were too inconsequential  to hurt him in his prosperity.  Some, one in particular, he should have taken care not to offend.  That one was a man by the name of Maggie Spingold.

page 3.

     Maggie was a very powerful man, not only in Portland, Oregon which is where this story begins, but on the entire West Coast.  He was even influential in certain national circles.

     Like Donn he was a homosexual.  He was one of the five or ten most powerful individuals in the Gramercy Club.  The Gramercy was composed of two hundred of the most successful men in Portland.  This was still 1980 and women had not yet forced entry into these men’s preserves.

     Maggie’s real name was Edward G. Spingold.  He was descended from immigrants from the Jewish Pale who had emigrated in the 1890s.  Spingold was not the original family name but his family of Uroffskys were assimilatively inclined, they wanted a name that was more American sounding than Uroffsky.  When the Jews of the era took ‘American’ sounding names they invariably chose names that implied success or high standing.  Thus the many Golds, Goldbergs, Goldwaters, Goldschmidts, Goldens, Silvers and Silvermasters.  Goldberg actually incorporaes two success images- Gold and Mountain- or perhaps Mountain of Gold or God, or a high peak of inestimable value and purity.

     Spingold to the Uroffskys implied the ultimate of success, the ability to make gold.  The oddity of the name to ‘Americans’ was never obvious to them.  When their baby boy was born in 1920 they named him Edward for the line of kings of England, Edward VII having just died, and G for a seemingly superfluous Gold.  Although Gold in this instance was to imply the purity and magnificence of God, Gold being the color of the sun, the emblem of God.  Thus Maggie’s real name was Edward Gold Spingold.  If ever a name was prophetic it was for the Spingolds in general and Maggie in particular.  They and he were adepts at acquiring lucre.

page 4.

     The ‘Maggie’ by which Maggie was known, behind his back, was not a diminutive of Margaret but rather a familiarization of the ‘Magus.’  Maggie had fostered the reputation that he was an adept in the Jewish Kabbalah.  this was somewhat of an exaggeration  as there were any number of mystical adepts in town, both goyish Theosophists and Jewish Kabbalahists who could run circles round him.  But wealth and chutzpah can befuddle many minds; Maggie had sufficient quantities of both.  He had the reputation of being a Magus.

     Maggie belonged to all three of the great networks.  He was important in the Old Boy Network and paramount in both the Jewish and the Homosexual Networks.  He was a silent founder of the Homosexual Anti-Defamation League and a power in both the Anti-Defamation League of B’nai B’rith and the American Jewish Committee.  In his capacities in the Homosexual and Jewish groups Maggie had a direct interest in censoring and controlling how and what the Daily Assassin reported on both groups.

     Thus he passed an occasional hour at the Daily Assassin updating Mingo Miybriy on any changes on how the Jews wanted to be represented and deploring the terrible homophobia which marred American society.  He had seen Donn’s reviews in the paper which had done nothing for him but the sight of Donn had electrified him.

     Donn was blond and just this short of being really handsome while actually epitomizing the macho man.  His black brush of a mustache contrasted dramatically with his blond hair.  His air of oblivious self-confidence made him doubly attractive to Maggie.  The little gold earring in Donn’s left ear conveyed the necessary information to Maggie.

page 5.

     He shoulder jousted Donn in the hallway giving him the excuse to apologize and strike off an acquaintance.  Donn, who knew a love bump when he received one was extremely flattered by the attention of such an important man.  Maggie took Donn’s effusiveness as a declaration of love, not that that mattered.

     Maggie found Donn’s address and subsequently showed up at Donn’s door at three o’ clock in the morning ready for sex.

     Maggie had chosen a Saturday night, or rather, Sunday morning.  Between Donn’s drug (or perhaps substance abuse, he also used alcohol) use and sexual exertions on the previous evening he was thoroughly exhausted.  Besides he had just arrived home and virtually collapsed on his cot.  This evening though Maggie had quietly said through the door:  ‘It’s me, Eddie.  Ed Spingold.’  The name hadn’t registered in Donn’s disorderly mind.  Even if it had he would have arrogantly dismissed him.  As it was he testily said: ‘I don’t a give a f- who you are.  It’s three o’ clock in the morning.  Get the f- out of here.’

     Maggie thought that Donn owed him at least to open the door, admit him and then courteously explain his incapacity.  Donn, on his part, knew that once in it was impossible to get one out.  Maggie had taken the slight badly.  He had begun to plot  revenge as he turned from the door.  He was a powerful man; his resources were many.  Donn would find a surprise in his emails on his return from the Westside Ladies, while his response from the women would be out of synch with his previous experiences.

page 6.

     But for now he entered his apartment in breezy spirits to hurriedly don his Classical Donn attire.  He quickly grabbed a black gabardine suit and threw it on the cot.  He plopped his patent leather pumps on the floor while seizing a pair of hose to replace his socks.  The hose were a most elegant sheer black nylon that rose over his calf to rest just below the knee.  He quickly rolled the tops down, washed his face, splashing it with Royall Spice after shave to please the ladies.  He changed into a white shirt draping a red paisley tie around his neck as he suited up.  His Windsor knot was fine but not impeccable as he closed the door behind him.

     Unbeknownst to Donn Maggie Spingold had placed him on the blacklist.  Naturally any society denies the existence of a blacklist but only a fool takes such denials at face value.  Previously all doors had been open and all welcomes for Donn had been warm if not hot.  Now the ponderous machinery of society was being activated to exclude him.  Donn found fewer Westside Ladies in attendance than he expected.  Many of the leading lights were missing leaving him to address secondaries and fillers.

     Donn knew next to nothing about classical music and even less of its history.  Today his address contained banalities about the aging of the old guard soloists and the lack of emerging new performers.  Usually he was met by rapt attention as his good looks, fine presence and prepossessing form solicited, but today two of the ladies coughed continuously while one in the back row, where those in front couldn’t see her, stifled yawn after yawn repeatedly.  In their way they were breaking up the lecture, a little more politely than the Communists used to do to the Fascists and vice versa.

page 7.

     Donn was puzzled but he finished his lecture and opened the discussion.  After a rude comment from the yawner, Peggy Belton had, not so much a question but a point.

     If Donn knew little about Classical music, with a couple exceptions, his auditors knew even less.  Classical music is less a group of afficionados than a cultural club.  The classics represent a social ideal to them of cultural superiority rather than musical appreciation.  Most have never heard of, say, Buxtehude, Fux or Hummel and for that reason would never buy a record of their compositions.  The average classicist has heard of little but the three Bs.

     Most of them think that Chamber music is a form like a fugue or a sonata; nor can they be educated except by an authority figure.  Peggy Belton was at the bottom of this class.

     She began:  ‘Donn.  Donn.  Tell me, what can you do about this horrible man, Dewey Trueman?’

     As the question was so inappropriate Donn had to stifle a laugh.

     ‘Dewey Trueman? Dewey Trueman?  Do you mean that fellow who runs that record store downtown, Peggy?  That Dewey Trueman?’

     ‘Yes!  That’s him.  The very one.  What are you going to do about him?’

page 8.

     ‘Well, but, Peggy, what does he have to do with the old guard or emerging talent?’

     ‘That’s just it.  I bought a record in there two weeks ago by the classical composer, Ludwig Beethoven.  Have you heard of him?  He’s a wonderful composer.  I hope he writes lots more.  And I bought his Seventh Symphony.  It was a faulty recording.  I still have it because that man wouldn’t give me my money back.’

     ‘Beethoven wouldn’t give you your money back, Peggy?’

     ‘No, not Beethoven.  Stop your giggling girls.  Dewey Trueman wouldn’t give me my money back.  He told me that’s how it’s supposed to be.’

     ‘How’s that, Peggy?’

     ‘Well, first off the music is terribly noisy like Mr. Beethoven would never have composed it.  Then, you know what?  It starts off really quietly than builds up until it’s just terribly deafening then all of a sudden it gets real quiet again.  One can’t even listen to it.  Do you know what that man said when I took it back to him?  He said that those were crescendoes and dimuendoes and that was the way Mr. Beethoven intended it.  He must have thought I’m totally ignorant because he was smiling all the time.  Have you ever heard of such a thing?  I want my money back and I want to know what you’re going to do about this Trueman fellow?’

     Most of the women were giggling in their handkerchiefs.  Some covered up their mirth by saying:  ‘That terrible man.  That terrible man.’  Donn hadn’t actually listened to the Seventh as it is one of Beethoven’s least popular symphonies so he had little idea what Peggy was talking about.  Taking his cue from the others he pretended to stifle his mirth.

page 9.

     As the question really called for no discussion of the Seventh he attacked this fellow Trueman, who was littled loved by the Daily Assassin as he didn’t advertise in it.  Donn had previously written an article deploring Trueman’s classical selection as being too large to examine while extolling the other store for having ‘manageable’ selections.

     ‘Well, there’s little we can do directly to that fellow you mentioned Peggy, but I can assure you that everything is being done indirectly that can be.  All I can advise you to do is not to purchase from him again and maybe he’ll go back to wherever he came from, if any will actually claim him.  Hopefully that place is not on this planet.’

     ‘Yes, but Donn, he’s got the best selection of classical music in town.’

     ‘Yes, Peggy, but its very virtue is its defect.  Its size is just too unmanageable for the average intellect.  So that’s my advice, shop elsewhere.’

     As there were no further questions and someone had forgotten refreshments the meeting dispersed.  It was mid-afternoon when Donn returned to his apartment to find a new message on his computer.  Having lost his pop music position he was now suspended as classical reviewer.  He was ordered to report to Mingo Miybriy immediately.

     ‘Tomorrow will be soon enough.’  Donn said to himself as he flopped down on his cot to mull over the significance of the message.

page 10.

     II.

     …all of them, like children of the night,

everywhere wild, everywhere lost,

everywhere loveless, faithless, homeless.

All with some terrible flaw

Against which even nature rebelled.

-John Clellon Holmes, ‘Go.’

     Maggie Spingold was a powerful man.  He was a vindictive man.  He avenged anything that he considered a slight.  He was open to affronts, encouraged them, invented them when they weren’t there.  He never acknowledged an alleged affront or slight or openly complained.  He never openly avenged an alleged affront, imitating his god he worked in mysterious ways.

     When Donn refused him admittance at three in the morning this was what he considered not only a slight or an affront but a violation of homosexual law, of which it was the last.  For him to offer his love was, in his mind, a gift of incomparable, not value, but worth.  Its refusal was incomprehensible and subject to stern judgment with no remission of mercy.  Donn was to get the back of Maggie’s left hand.

     Donn’s dismissal from his duties as pop critic was merely the first of a series of steps of increasing severity.  All events are foreshadowed.  Had Donn perceived his reception by the Westside Ladies correctly he might just as well have left town then.

page 11.

     As it was he got up the following morning.  Ten o’ clock sharp found him climbing the third floor stairs to Mingo’s corner office looking out at the University.  Normally there was little delay in his getting access to Mingo.  Today at eleven-thirty he was just getting up to leave when Mingo breezed into the ante-room in that pert assertive manner that ‘strong’ women then used as though she were just getting into the office.

     ‘Hi, Mingo.  You wanted to see me?’

     ‘Donn.  Donn Contrales.’ Mingo said as though he had returned after a long absence which was not far from the truth.

     ‘How long have you been waiting?’

     ‘Oh, hour and a half, Mingo.’

      ‘Gary,’ Mingo said to her Black male secretary, ‘why did you leave Donn sitting there like that.  You knew I would’t be in till now.’

     Gary smiled and shrugged his shoulders.  All three knew that Mingo was prevaricating.  When Gary had flashed her that Donn was about to leave she had slipped out the other door of her office to enter the anteroom.

     ‘No harm done, Mingo.  What was it?  Just that I’m fired?’

     ‘Step into my office Donn, it’s more serious than that.’

     Donn was intent on Mingo as they spoke, he didn’t notice that her other door was ajar.  Behind the door, listening gleefully was Maggie Spingold.  He wanted the fruits of this stage of his revenge.

     Mingo reached into her lap drawer, picked up a little folded packet and flipped it across the desk at Donn.

page 12.

     ‘What’s this, Donn?’

     Donn was mystified.  He’d never seen it before, he was canny enough not to pick it up.  But he did recognize what it was.

     ‘I don’t know, Mingo.  What is it?’

     ‘By the way Donn, don’t be so familiar.  Call me Ms. Miybriy.’

     ‘Am I fired?’  Donn asked.

     ‘Yes.’  Mingo sniffed.

     ‘Then, Mingo, I’ll call you what I please.’  Donn said asserting his independence.

     ‘Open it up, Donn.’

     ‘Mr. Contrales to you Mingo, and no, I’ve never seen it before.  I don’t know what it is.  What is it?’

     ‘For someone who’s never seen it before, it came out of your desk.’

     ‘Whether it did or didn’t, my desk is in the newsroom.  It’s accessible to anyone.’

     ‘That happens to be a packet of cocaine, Donn.  It came out of your desk.  We know you use it and sell it.  We believe you left it in your desk by mistake.’

     Donn saw through the set-up.  They weren’t going to get him on this one.

     ‘You can believe what you want Mingo, but I didn’t put that packet in my desk and you can’t prove I did.  Besides since you just handled it it’s got your fingerprints on it.’

     Mingo blinked realizing her error but continued on doggedly:  ‘The circumstantial evidence is strong against you Donn.’

page 13.

     ‘You may have circumstantial evidence but not against me, Mingo.  I saw you take that packet out of your drawer, not mine.  That’s all the circumstantial evidence I see.  I have no reason to believe that was ever in any drawer but yours.  You have no evidence against me.’

     Maggie coughed on the other side of the door as a signal for Mingo to give it up.  Donn leaped to his feet to pull open the door.  As he grabbed the knob he heard the outer door in the room slam.  By the time he got that door open the hallway was clear.  When he tried to reenter Mingo’s office he found the door locked.

     He stormed around to the anteroom only to find that door locked with Gary staring through the glass door at him placidly.  There was nothing for it but to make a fool of himself or leave quietly so he left quietly.  He passed two police officers on the way down the steps who had been called in anticipation of the arrest.

     The fact of the matter was that the seventies were over.  The eighties had begun.  AIDS had put a scare into the hard partying orgiastic homosexual community.  The large orgies were being discontinued, the bathhouses were closing down.  Consequently consumption had fallen.  The wide open drug dealing of the seventies had suddenly become conspicuous.  The loading dock station of the Daily Assassin had been discontinued.  Maggie had had shares in the traffic.  The station had received some notoriety.  The thought was to give the police some credibility by breaking up that ring.  Donn was to have been the scapegoat.  There would have been no end of ‘witnesses’ and plenty of ‘evidence.’

page 14.

     Maggie had been disappointed by Donn’s unexpected presence of mind but he was a resourceful man.  He knew more tricks than Houdini.  Before he played his next card however he gave Donn three or four months to suffer.  Needless to say there was no job in Portland for Donn save menial tasks.  Actually there was nothing comparable in Donn’s mind for  what he had lost.  The only suitable job in his mind was as a TV news anchorman.  He probably would have made a good one too.  He had the looks, he had the style.  Obviously he couldn’t get in.

     Cocaine dealing was off limits to him now and not knowing what else to do he began living off his savings.  Pride kept him from the unemployment line.  As always a capable wheeler dealer he was able to score a couple of deals.  But as the slander machine got into high gear he found those opportunities dry up.

     Doors closed all over town.  Having lost his status he lost his immunity.  He began to have flat tires on that wonderful Porsche.  His windshield was cracked.  Ordinarily he would have had it replaced immediately, now he was compelled to drive around advertising his shame.

     Other homosexuals who remembered him from his high flying days spat at his feet continually.  He was slammed into from behind only to turn and find no one there.  Guys shoulder jousted him on the street trying to pick a fight.  No more love bumps.  Donn wasn’t used to it.  He didn’t know what it meant to be an outlaw.  His confidence began to disintegrate.  He took to walking defensively.  With these evidences of malaise Maggie chose to strike his killer blow.

page 15.

      All events cast a shadow before them if one can only recognize it.  At three o’ clock in the morning Maggie knocked on Donn’s door.  Donn who hadn’t been sleeping well lately was lying on his cot, head deep in his pillow scowling at the ceiling.  At the sound of the first rap he raised his head to scowl at the door wondering who in the heck that could be. 

     ‘Who is it?’ He said through the door.

     ‘It’s I.’  Maggie said expecting Donn to recognize his voice from their last encounter months before.

     ‘Who the hell is I?’  Donn said irritably.

     ‘Me.  Ed.’ Maggie said pointedly, in his mind, dropping the diminuitive to indicate to Donn that they were no longer on intimate terms.

     ‘Ed, who?’  Donn demanded crossly.

     ‘Ed.  Ed Spingold.’  Maggie said indignantly.

     This time Donn thought he had better open the door.  They had never actually met except for the love bump, but by now Donn understood who Maggie Spingold was.  He was sorry he hadn’t let Maggie in the last time.

     Maggie stepped into the apartment like a Captain stepping aboard ship, with a deprecatory nod at Donn.  Donn flicked on the light to reveal Maggie in all his splendor.  Maggie was prissy edging toward precious in his appearance and mannerisms.  He was sixty years old at this time.  His golden hair had thinned uniformly so that standing close one could see through the sparse follicles but from a few feet away his hair looked more full.  While Maggie was thin his face had the sallow soft pudginess of the aging homosexual.  It would be wrong to say he had jowls yet there was a perceptible sag to his cheeks.  His nose was straight and moderately fleshy.  His pursy mouth had a pronounced red-black color.  His face was powdered slightly, no lipstick.

page 16.

      A vain man, Maggie   had a wardrobe two or three times as extensive as Donn’s huge collection of clothes.  Maggie shopped all the clothiers from Rome to Beverly Hills.  Today he was wearing an outfit from a now defunct clothier in Beverly Hills by the name of Eric Ross.  His personal salesman, Bonford, had put him in a fitted jacket with brass buttons.  Bonford had described the color of the jacket as ‘aubergine.’  Aubergine is an eggplant but the color was not so purple, more of a medium burgundy.  He had a light grey shirt with a cream colored tie.  Tan gabardine pants.  His shoes were a peculiar combination of styles, loafers with tassels with a wing tip.  Maggie must have wished to project a hard and soft image at the same time.

     As he didn’t wish to disfigure his appearance with unsightly bulges he carried his personal effects in a little leather pouch.  He bent his little finger through the strap loop, holding the bag in his right hand just below his heart.

     Maggie coldly appraised the room.  This was not the first time he had been in it.  In fact he was intimately familiar with it.  He had a key.  While Donn was out he had often come to lounge around the apartment lovingly touching each thing.  He had even put on Donn’s underwear so that a part of his essence would be next to Donn’s private parts.  He knew the computer, the records, the video on Donn’s TVs.  He had even discovered a dark secret beneath Donn’s pile of undershorts.  His love had compelled him to even make excuses for that even though he had misunderstood its meaning.

page 17.

     They stood eyeing each other; Donn with a cold hostility at being disturbed at three by a man who Donn’s sixth sense told him boded him no good;  Maggie with the hot indignation and hatred of a scorned lover whose sense of majesty had been offended.  Maggie could never forgive Donn for having turned him away.  Turned him away not only against the rules of homosexual mores but he, Edward G. Spingold, the self-proclaimed  Magus, a scion of the House of Judah and a power in the Old Boy Network.  In a word, the prize queen of his the subculture.

     He carried a book under his arm as a gift for Donn.  He presented it.

     ‘What’s this?’  Donn asked.

     ‘That’s a copy of a book you should be acquainted with.  It’s by a Frenchman.  Jean Genet.’

     ‘Our Lady Of The Flowers?’  Donn read the title uncomprehendingly.

     ‘Yes.’ Maggie went on.  ‘It’s about his prison adventures.  You may be able to put it to good use.’  He finished with a sly wink.

     ‘What’s that to me?’  Donn replied blinking uncomprehendingly.

     ‘Oh well, it’s about his gay adventures too.’

page 18.

     There was something in Maggie’s manner that irritated Donn.  Without making a move his posture gave the impression that he was about to slug Maggie.  Acting solely on intuition Maggie stiffened, standing erect, chin out to receive the blow like a true masochistic martyr.

     Had Donn punched him it would have changed the course of events for punching is a surrogate for intercourse.  Maggie would have forced a spat but their relationship would have been cemented.  Maggie would have thought Donn cared and further that he was a real man.  But Donn knew who Maggie was.  Fear of his power made Donn hold his punch.  The initiative passed to Maggie.

     He chose a pompous, almost irrelevant lecture as a response.  America is a lawless society.  The only law is satisfying one’s desires at any cost.  Yet in some zany way the law is revered.  Maggie had interpreted Donn’s desire to hit him as the resort of the lawless.  This set him off on a lecture in which he made a lengthy quote from the autobiography of Ralph Chaplin.  Why he would have bothered to memorize it is anybody’s guess.  He said to Donn:  ‘You know Donn, the law is a valuable thing as well as a sacred thing.  We Jews know that only by curbing our instincts that a better society can be created.  Thus we hedge all our actions by the 613 prescriptions of the Law.  Even your people have belatedly realized this.  Let me quote to you from the autobiography of Ralph Chaplin:  ‘Remember the old days, when we talked so much about freedom?’  Bugs asked me.  ‘Well we had freedom on that Godforsaken Metacombe- freedom from everything but our own cussedness.  It added up to something that we didn’t like and couldn’t take.  This is how it happened.  We received our regular checks from the government and, having nothing to buy with our dough, we gambled.  There was no law, no church, no jail.  We even refused to build our own latrines.  We were free men- rebels, by God!  Soon menial work was beneath our dignity.  We got into the habit of fighting after dice and card games, first with our fists, afterwards with clubs or knives.  Killing became common.  No one’s life or money was safe.  Prostitutes from the islands, greedy for our dough, swarmed in upon us.  After that we fought over women.  There were more killings.

     When the hurricane reached us, some were glad; others didn’t give a damn.  They were too far gone with rotgut booze and syphilis.  Maybe it’s better to live under the laws of God and man, after all- what do you think?’

     ‘Well, what do you think, Donn?’

     ‘What?  What’s all that supposed to mean, Ed?  I don’t even know who the hell this Ralph somebody is.’

     ‘You don’t get it?  Well, show me around then.’  He commanded.  Maggie’s brain was filled with a vision of a perfect world governed by the laws which he himself was incapable of observing.

     ‘Well, look left and right, it’s a small place, Ed.’  Donn said standing in his T-shirt and shorts.

     This was no answer to Maggie who had on previous occasions spent more than an hour over each item let alone making a tour of the apartment.

     ‘No, Donn.  Show me around.’

page 19.

     ‘W-well, Ed.  This is it.’  Donn stammered mystified.

     ‘No.  Start with the computer and show me around.’

     Donn moved hesitantly to the computer.  Looking at Maggie intently and uncertainly he said:  ‘This is my computer.’

    ‘Do you like it?’

     ‘Oh yes, very fine.’  Donn said moving to the stereo and records in response to Maggie’s indication.

     ‘Uh, Ed.  This is my stereo and records.’

     ‘Do you have any favorite songs?’  Maggie asked severely, aware of the answer.

     ‘Yes.  Several.’  Donn replied moving toward the bathroom door.

     ‘No.  I mean what is your favorite song.  Don’t you like something called Interstellar Overdrive by Pink someone?

      ‘Y-yes, I do.’ Donn said surprised that Maggie would know.

     ‘Play it for me.’  Maggie commanded.

     Watching Maggie intently Donn selected the record and moved the needle over to the last cut.

     Maggie nodded approvingly.

     ‘What kind of video do you have on your TV set?’  Maggie asked coyly.

     ‘Oh, nothing really.’  Donn evaded.

     ‘Turn them on.’  Maggie commanded.

     Donn snapped the living room TVs on.

      ‘All of them.’  Maggie said forgetting himself as he moved into the bedroom while his eyes filled with tears and a pout took possession of his face.

page 20.

     He thought forlornly about things that could no longer ever be.

     Donn was very surprised that Maggie knew he had four TVs but it was possible that he had seen them as he looked around the apartment.  While Donn was flipping on the TVs Maggie walked over and  fingered the support of the cot that hid Donn’s stash.

     ‘Hmm.  Looks a little worn here.’ He said musingly, concealing a threat.

     Donn looked around sharply, alarmed.  Then as he looked at the cot the support did look a little worn.

     ‘Um, yeah, the cot fell apart a couple times.  I’ve been meaning to get a new one.’

     Donn paused a moment looking at Maggie, then he shrugged:  ‘Well, Ed, what do you want?’  Donn meant what kind of sex.

     ‘Do I want?’  Maggie replied.  ‘I want nothing.  What do you want?’

     ‘Well, Ed, when somebody comes by at three in the morning…’

     ‘It’s not the first time I’ve been here at three in the morning.  Do you have time for me today?  You didn’t before.  Do you think I’m some tramp, or whore who show’s up at men’s doors begging for sex?’

     ‘Oh, no.  Of course not, Ed.  I never thought that.  It’s just that I’d just got home.  I was out all night.  I was hung over and exhausted.  I wouldn’t have been any good anyway.’

     ‘You should let me be the judge of that.’  Maggie said, his voice quivering, his cheeks shaking and tears beginning to run down his nose.

page 22.

     Donn reached out to draw him to himself but Maggie petulantly twisted away like a sixteen year old girl.

    ‘No.  It’s too late now you bastard.  When I wanted you you didn’t even have the time of day for me.  I wanted to be in your arms and listen to the night.  I thought you had certain charms and I thought the time was right but you couldn’t spare me a little, not even a little bit of your love.  Maggie sobbed, closely following the the lines of a song he had heard only once and with divided attention.  Remarkable.  ‘Now, you’re going to be sorry for it.  You’ll come to me on bended knees before it’s all over and beg my forgiveness.’

     Then with all four TVs silently simulating fellation on their screens to the sounds of Interstellar Overdrive Maggie marched out slamming the door behind him.

     Donn was astounded.  Now thoroughly awake he knocked the cot apart to get his cocaine.  He sniffed a couple lines spending the rest of the night sitting before his computer staring out the window for the rising sun wondering what it was all about.  The next day would be the first day of the rest of his life.

     Half dazed and uncertain of what he was doing Donn finally got out of his apartment at ten.  As his head was still swimming from the visit of Maggie he decided to walk over to the University Station for his mail.  Donn kept a box as he didn’t want anyone to know his address.

     Donn wouldn’t have noticed them anyway but in his condition he was totally oblivious to everything.  But if had been aware he would have noticed the plain clothes police in the lobby.  As usual they stood out like sore thumbs wearing their clothes like disguises peering out from their skulls as through bushes.

page 23.

     Donn grabbed his mail.  As he did so the clerk said:  ‘Oh, Donn, we’ve got a package for you.’

     Donn went to the counter absent mindedly taking the plain manila envelope with no return address tucking it under his arm.

     ‘You’re under arrest.’  One of the cops said taking him by the arm.

     ‘Under arrest?’  Donn said.  ‘For what?’

     ‘For this.’  The officer said tearing open the envelope to show Donn a child pornography video and a child snuff film.

      Donn’s being sank to his shoes.  He actually did turn a whiter shade of pale.

     ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I didn’t order those.’

     ‘Tell it to the judge, my boy.  Come on, we’re going downtown.’

     Once again Maggie was placed advantageously to watch Donn booked and jailed.

     ‘The ignominy is yours, you bastard.’  He thought, thinking how he had transferred his shame at being refused back onto Donn.

     Donn spent the night in jail.  He was released the next day on his own recognizance to find a lawyer.

     Dazed and wearied by the preceding events Donn forewent climbing the stairs two at a time as was his wont standing disconsolately in the elevator instead.  As he emerged from the elevator he was stunned to see his apartment door standing open.  Already dazed, his mind reeled as with churning stomach he entered his apartment.  The police would blame it on ‘vandals.’  All of Donn’s possessions had been destroyed.  His TV screens had been broken out.  His computer looked as though it had been hit with a sledge.  His records had been overturned spreading across the room.  The Pink Floyd record was on the turntable but neat little crosses had been ingrained with a chalky substance at precise intervals which made the cut unplayable.

     As he entered the bedroom he noticed a scorched band across his wardrobes.  Perversely it was all wearable but with the equivalent of a black armband on the exposed sleeve indicating that he was a dead man.  His shoes had been broken.  His cot too had been smashed.  The end stood loose, the cap of this stash projected.  But when Donn withdrew it it was empty.

     Then Donn saw the secret that had been hidden under his undershorts.  It was a picture of Adolf Hitler.  It was lying on the floor with a knife driven through the nose at precisely the place Donns penis would have been as he lay on the cot.

     Donn was mystified.  It seemed like a strange thing to do.  Maggie who had desecrated what had formerly been a shrine to him had completely misunderstood the significance of the picture.  He, of course, attributed the possession of the photograph to anti-Semitism.  Like all Jews he exaggerated the thought gvien to Jews by the goyim.  Actually Donn never thought of Jews.  He was unaware even that Maggie was a Jew.  While Hitler stood as the symbol of the anti-Semite to Maggie, to Donn he was the symbol of the god of destruction representing the turmoil in Donn’s own soul.  Hitler represented to him the ability to destroy the world that had destroyed him.  So Donn in the nether reaches of his mind wished destruction on those who had made him what he was.  There was no vengeance for that too awful.

page 25.

     Donn’s rape by his uncle had completely destroyed his self-respect.  It had meant the destruction of his world forever.  It stood as comparable in his mind to the saturation bombing of Hamburg or Dresden.  After his rape his soul resembled to him the shattered and twisted rubble of Europe after the Nazi defeat.  Donn’s soul thrilled at the notion that Hitler had had Paris wired to be blown to bits.  He was glad the order hadn’t been carried out but in his mind’s eye he could see Paris in ashes.  It was this about Hitler that thrilled him.  The man had almost done it his way.  He had almost overturned the evil that the world had placed on him.  And he was doing it in a constructive way by ridding the world of Communism.  Failing that he had wreaked havoc on those who had wreaked havoc on him.  It would have been so easy for them to go along with his plans in the East. How perverse France, England and the US must have seemed to him.  It was that in Hitler that Donn appreciated, revered, adored.  That he kept Hitler’s picture under his undershorts was no coincidence.  No more a coincidence than that Maggie should find the picture as he chose a pair of Donn’s shorts to put next to his weenie.  The connection between the penis and the brain is a mysterious one.

 page 26.

     Thus Maggie, to whom the rest of mankind was inconsequential, saw in Hitler only the instigator of Jewish destruction.  Even though Maggie shared Donn’s innate fear and loathing, he was able to turn the destruction of his people to a sort of positive use while Donn suffered only its negative effects.

     Dumbly, acting instinctively he released the picture from its pinion to destroy it before the police arrived.  The police had only shrugged when they arrived, for what could they do as they said.  Under the best of circumstances they stood little chance of locating the culprits; now to do so would be inconsequential. 

     Closing the door behind them, Donn stretched wearily on the canvas of his army cot on the floor, pushing the stuffing back into the slashes on his pillow, he flipped it over and lay down his weary head.

     God, he thought, what did I do wrong?

     Donn’s life had been completely shattered.  His mind reeled beneath the blows coming from whence he knew not.  For the nonce he couldn’t imagine who had set him up with the child pornography.  He could understand how the goods may have been sent in his name by anyone but he couldn’t understand the knowing leer on the face of the clerk or the presence of the police.

     He would have lain around in his despair for weeks but the pressing need to find a lawyer to keep himself out of jail drove him from the apartment.  The days were reaching their apex in length as he went forth.  He knew Jerry Lang of Lang, Ingalls, Adams, Rank and Smith.  Lang’s was one of the most prestigious firms in the city.  Donn knew the importance of image, he had no desire to go to some unafilliated ‘nice guy.’

page 27

     The receptionist’s smile turned to a frown as the reply came back from Jerry Lang.  She coldly motioned Donn to a seat saying the Mr. Lang would be out shortly.  Donn wasn’t used to the freeze out.  Within five minutes he was on his feet.

     ‘Which one is Jerry’s office, I’ll just pop in.’

     ‘When Mr. Lang is ready he will come for you.’  The receptionist said coldly, aw heck, icily.  ‘Please remain in your seat.’

     ‘Oh, Jerry and I are friend…’ He began.

     The receptionist pointed coldly to the chair.

     Time passed slowly.  Rebuffed again after fifteen minutes Donn thought to storm out but then the numbing realization of his predicament robbed him of volition.  He sat and sat.  After a full hour Lang strode into the waiting room with that solicitous, overly sympathetic manner of the put-on artist.  He was a consummate lawyer.

     ‘Sorry to keep you waiting Donn buddy, but I…well, you know?  What can I do for you Donn?’  He said with the air of one who already knows the situation as he slid behind his desk.

     As was usual in knowledgeable attorney’s offices he had one chair beside him behind the desk and another chair in front of his desk.  Normally he would offer his client the choice of either.  If the client took the confidential chair beside him then the interview would be conducted in a more sympathetic manner; if the client took the confrontational chair opposite him the interview would be more businesslike.

     Donn didn’t know the protocol but it didn’t matter, Lang motioned him into the confrontational seat.  Donn’s problem, which was news in Lang’s circle, was already a hot topic with him.  Maggie had spread stories of Donn’s TVs so that Lang was predisposed by these rumors.  Donn wasn’t aware of how the Networks actually operated even though he had been a peripheral of them.

page 28.

     ‘I’ve got a serious problem.’  Donn began.  ‘I was arrested two days ago.  I was charged with receiving child pornography through the mail.’

     ‘Really?  What kind of pornography?’

     Donn frowned and winced, ‘Child snuff films.’

     ‘You mean the kind where they actually kill children before the cameras?’

     Donn nodded yes.  He shouldn’t have.  He didn’t know what was on those videos.  He had never seen them.  He hadn’t even seen the titles or cover pictures as the envelope had been confiscated before he had had a chance to open it.  But as he knew what snuff films were he only assumed that that is what they were.  He’d temporarily forgotten Terry Roberts had gone to jail for ten years for buying baking soda.

     ‘Oooh, that’s very bad, Donn.’

     ‘Oh, hey, I didn’t do it.  You don’t think I’d do something like that?’

     ‘Well, it was mailed to you?’

     ‘Yeah, but anyone could do that.’

     ‘Yes, I know, but when we checked- nothing personal, but we’d have to investigate this thoroughly Donn- when we checked the manufacturer the next thing you know we’d have your credit card number and the order in your handwriting.’

page 29.

     ‘That’s impossible…’  Donn flustered.

     ‘Well, we’d have to see, Donn.  You know, this is not the kindof case I really like to handle, but I’d do it for you, Donn.  You know, they’ll want to make an example of you to stop this sort of thing.  They’re going to throw everything at you.  This is going to be very expensive.  I’d guess forty or fifty thousand dollars maybe more.  Possibly lots more.  Do you have that kind of money, Donn?  Can you give me a twenty thousand dollar retainer?’

     Donn very nearly went into shock.  His face drained of color as his jaw went slack.  He breathed stertorously as his head slowly wobbled back and forth in indicate, no.  The indication wasn’t even meant for Lang.  It was more like a silent scream for help.

     ‘Well then, Donn, I can’t help you.  I’d like to but I can’t.  I don’t work for nothing.’

     Lang held his open palm to the door showing Donn the way out.

     What the hell are friends for?  Donn thought as he stumbled out into the unseasonable ninety-eight degree heat.  He was about to learn the meaning of friendship.

     He had to control the feeling of convulsions as he the full nature of his predicament hit him.  Tens of thousands of dollars for something he hadn’t done?  Donn’s nervous agitation plus the heat soaked his clothes through.

     His body drained of strength.  His reflexes disappeared as he drove back to his apartment.  His ankles shook uncontrollably as he walked across the garage.  Unable to do the stairs even one at a time he rode the elevator.

page 30.

     His mail for the last couple days lay on his smashed computer unopened.  To allay his despair he picked them up.  The top piece was his Visa bill.  He remembered what Lang had said.  With bated breath he tore open the envelope.  And there…there before his eyes was the charge slip from Ace High Publications.  Someone had charged the videos to his account.  An involuntary sob broke from Donn’s chest as he reached for the phone book.

     He knew Don Barger who worked for Carter, Harley, Exner, Agatson, Turner and Snyder.  The firm didn’t have quite the same cachet as Lang’s and Barger wasn’t a partner but he was good.  Donn made an appointment.

     A microphone had already been concealed in the mouthpiece of Donn’s phone by Maggie.  It transmitted to a voice activated tape recorder in Maggie’s possession.  It not only recorded Donn’s phone conversations but picked up any conversation in the room or even any monologues Donn might have with himself.

     As in keeping with custom the receptionist took his name and number and advised that they would call him back.  The firm then checked around to find Donn’s status before they called him back.

     Thus that evening when Barger dined out with his family at the Multnomah County Country Club he happened to run into Maggie.  While it was common but unspoken knowledge that Maggie was a homosexual, Don Barger, in the obtuse socially acceptable manner was ignorant of the fact.  Barger was privately opposed to homosexuality.   As it was not politic to avow such an opinion he discreetly kept his silence.  He was also the father of a twelve year old girl and an eight year old boy.  He was frantic to protect them from baleful influences.  He was a sworn enemy of drug users and sex abusers.

page 31.

     In the course of their brief converstation Donn’s scandalous arrest was mentioned.  Maggie, who was aware of Don Barger’s opinions let out that Donn was a homosexual and the nature of the videos.  Barger’s smoldering reaction let Maggie know he had hit his mark.  Maggie bid him a pleasant goodnight.

     Donn never knew what hit him.  He was ushered right in but Barger had his arm up finger pointed toward the door before Donn had said a word, nor was he even offered the confrontational chair.

     ‘I’ve seen the arrest report.  I’ll need a retainer of fifty thousand dollars to handle the case.  You don’t have it?’  He said without pausing for an answer.  ‘Then I’m afraid I’ll have to bid you a good day.’

     Donn was dumbfounded.  Frozen in his tracks, his mind reeled.  He intuited the impossibility of finding decent representation even if he did have the money.

     He gasped:  ‘But I have to have representation.  How will I get it?’

     ‘I’d check our Charlie Pooter.’  Barger said.  ‘He may be able to do something for you.  Once again, good day.’  All the time with his finger pointing to the door.

page 32.

     Donn stumbled out of the office, down the hall and out before the elevators.  ‘Charlie Pooter?’ He thought.  Charlie Pooter?  That guy doesn’t even defend people, he just negotiates for the lowest possible sentence.’

     Indeed, Pooter for years had been taking the petty drug cases, guys busted for a joint or two or a gram or less.  It was agreed between he and the court that he wouldn’t defend his clients but settle for whatever sentence the judge wished to impose.  Now Donn was being shunted to him for sentencing.  Donn could see clearly which way the railroad ran.

     The elevator deaccelerated to stop with thump which was how Donn felt.  He’d hit bottom.  He stepped out of the elevator to cross the lobby.  As he approached the doors, as if by chance, Warren Mogulson accosted him.  Mogulson worked for the Assassin.  He was a nasty little man.  His brow was perpetually knitted in advance recognition of the little indignities the world would inflict upon him.  He carped at everything.  He began the next day’s griping in his dreams.  Sunny or wet, the day’s weather was a matter of grief to him.  His shorts were either too tight or too loose.  Living in a food paradise in which fresh strawberries were available six months of the year, frozen ones year round, Warren complained that there wasn’t an adequate choice of food.  He had a choice between range fed, corn fed, or chemically fed beef but he still beefed on endlessly.  Gripe, gripe, gripe, grind, grind, grind,gnash, gnash, gnash, endlessly, endlessly, endlessly.

page 32.

     His mind was tied in knots, none of his thoughts could proceed in a straight line.  He lived to inflict his grief on others.  Any little sneaky injury he could do, he did.  He did it for pleasure.  It was he that Maggie has used to place the cocaine in Donn’s desk.

     Maggie liked him.  They had somewhat the same conception of self.  They both had a prissy conception of being well dressed.  Warren wore high waisted pants with those belts of a matching fabric with the little brass grommets.  They both tried to wash their psychological dirt by being overscrubbed.  Warren usually made a good first impression.

     Today Maggie sent him to gather Donn’s reactions and intentions.

     ‘Oh, Donn, imagine meeting you here.  What are you doing these days…now that you’re no longer with the Paper.’  He couldn’t resist the dig.

     ‘I, oh, I, had to see someone.’  Donn said evasively trying to brush Mogulson off.  Donn had no use for him; being of a euphoric temperament himself Mogulson only brought him down.

     ‘I’ll bet I know.’  Warren burbled on.  ‘You were seeing a lawyer about that little trouble you had.’

     ‘Well, yeah, I…’ Donn began in a sickly troubled manner.

     ‘Come on, Donn baby, let’s go have a cup of coffee and get some of this off your chest.’  Warren always had more than enough time to glory in other people’s troubles.

     Donn wanted to split but unaccustomed to the pressure, he needed  to talk to someone.

page 34.

     ‘I didn’t do it.’  Donn said weakly as they walked up to the nearest national burger chain, which also passed for a restaurant.

     ‘Of course you didn’t, Donn.  At least you didn’t do anything wrong, at least I don’t think you did.  After all, it’s all genetics.  We’re only realizing our destiny.  Why shouldn’t it be filmed?  Don’t you just hate those homophobic bigots?  What right do they have to interfere in another man’s pleasures?  God knows those nasty heterosexuals have their faults.  They’re not perfect either.

     Don’t they know what damage they do to themselves when they repress genetic needs?  The fuss they make about eight year old boys realizing their destiny.  Don’t they know nature’s bounty?  There’s a million  more in the womb at any given time.  God!

     Warren was talking loudly so others could hear.

     He was trying to give Donn the character of a child abuser.  Those who heard would transfer his expressed sentiment to Donn.  Warren was talking sincerely for himself at the same time however.  As a pederast he favored young virgin boys.

     ‘I mean, after all, our third sex is genetic.  One is born a homsexual whether one realizes it or not.  A man’s real nature is imprisoned by a lot of blathering social expectations.  It’s part of the the heterosexual plot against us to keep us from realizing our true nature, from enjoying life as only we know how.

     After all, all we are doing is freeing the true child when we accept their love.  After all , isn’t freedom what America’s all about?  Freedom from that Medieval moral claptrap?  I liken it to sculpting.  I mean, how would anyone have even known those four presidents were concealed in Mt. Rushmore if they hadn’t been blasted out?  It’s like that marvelous sculpture of the Christ by Da Vinci in which the Christ in the stone is only half released.  The real man has to be full sculpted.  Why shouldn’t boys be affirmed in their true nature and be educated as one of their own sex.  The third sex.

page 35.

     I mean…’  Warren was capable of going on for hours in this manner but Donn interrupted him:  ‘Enough, Mogulson, enough.  Stop.  I don’t want to hear it.  Everybody is listening.’  Donn got up to leave, Warren pulled him back down.

     ‘Alright.  Don’t be rude.  So what are you going to do?

     Grief at his predicament overwhelmed Donn.  In a moment of anguish he made up his mind and blurted out his intention.

    ‘I don’t know.  I guess I have to leave town.  They’re going to put me in jail.’

     ‘When will you leave?’  Mogulson asked eagerly overjoyed at this success.

     ‘Right away.’  Donn said, wiping a tear away.  ‘I’ll leave tomorrow.’

     ‘Where are you going?’  Mogulson persisted.

     ‘Oh god, I don’t know.  Leave me alone, Mogulson, get away from me with your obscene chatter.’

     Warren scurried away with a hateful backward sneer at Donn.  He had partially succeeded, he could report back to Maggie that Donn was going to jump.  He smiled a smile of satisfaction at Donn’s discomfiture.

page 36.

     Dismissing Mogulson from his mind Donn raged over his legal predicament.  He was innocent of this charge but unable to defend himself for lack of cash.  Even then why should he have been required to spend cash, enormous sums, to clear himself.  Disco Donn Contrales who had never worried about fairness before lamented that it wasn’t fair.

     Well he had to leave, that was clear.  Perhaps if he were to be caught in another state, he thought, the evidence against him wouldn’t be so compelling; perhaps he could exonerate himself that way without the enormous expense.  But he didn’t want to be caught.  Too chancy, besides he knew these guys all hung together.

     With fair presence of mind he had withdrawn his savings of several thousand dollars issued in travelers checks.  He threw his credit cards away so his movements couldn’t be traced from them.  Then he went back to his apartment to pack his few undamaged belongings and rest.

     As the morning sun streamed through the window Donn had made up his mind to head North to Seattle to plan his further course.  In addition to his cash he still had his cosmic wheels, the Porsche, which he thought he would be able to sell for a good price if he ran out of money.  Such thoughts as renewing his expensive insurance in the future hadn’t occurred to him.

     Donn’s spirits lifted somewhat as he sat behind the wheel of his magnificent car that expressed less than the real Disco Donn Contrales as a specious imitation of him.  He threaded his way across town to take 205 at the Everett access.  His apprehension was acute as he joined I5 and inched along in the morning traffic toward the Interstate Bridge.  He scanned the highway for police constantly.  He felt a sense of relief as he touched down in Vancouver on the Washington side of the bridge.  The Vancouver traffic thinned out as he forced his way through North.  Then after Mill Plain he was able to open the throttle some until the open highway to Seattle beckoned.

page 37

III.

On The Road

 

Get your motor running,

Get out on the highway,

Born to be wild,

            Born to be wild.

Mars Bonfire

The highway is for gamblers.

-Bob Dylan

 

     The French homosexual, Marcel Proust, spent several thousand pages in an attempt to prove the superiority of homosexual lust over heterosexual love.  His thesis was that heterosexuals surrender their personalities to a lifelong bondage in exchange for doubtful sexual privileges while homosexuals retain full autocracy while satisfying their lust in brief encounters in back alleys or wherever convenient.

page 38.

     Proust was a great student of ritual.  He described with great clarity of detail the means and methods of homosexual encounters but he lacked psychological depth nor was he ever able to explain the origins of homosexuality.  In his eyes homosexuals lived carefree unfettered lives.  I’m sure homosexual marriage would have been incomprehensible to him.

     Disco Donn was now learning what the denial of one of those casual carefree encounters could mean.  Because of his denial of one such demand he was being pursued and driven to the depths of despair by a disappointed applicant.  Donn had known the law of the lawless brotherhood; open the door and assume the position.  He hadn’t the power to refuse while Maggie Spingold had the power to make him repent his arrogance.

     Now, behind the wheel of his  cosmic vehicle, his astral wheels, as he imagined, safe out of Oregon, Donn relaxed behind the wheel snuggling into his seat, lulled into a euphoric state by the exhilaration of his purring engine and the open road.  He didn’t notice the bear in the air keeping pace with his progress down the highway.  Washington at that time kept at least one helicopter patrolling I5.  One of these now followed Donn up the highway.  It was aided by the transmitter placed on the bumper by Maggie’s hitman.  A car trailed Donn about five miles back.  The car had a shortwave.  Its code name was Next Year.

     Donn’s agitation was slowly subsiding when a large blotch of crankcase oil spewed out behind the speeding Porsche.  With earsplitting noise the pistons cracked and shot out the block.  Donn’s astral wheels rolled to a stop right here on Earth.  They would never wheel him down the Betelgeuse Bridge no more.

page 39.

     The Bear transmitted the news to Next Year who pulled to a stop to receive further instructions.  Donn understood his situation immediately.  He had been sabotaged.  He no longer had transportation and his cash reserve was thereby destroyed.  He would have to leave many thousands of dollars on the apron of the highway.

     Men don’t cry and Donn didn’t, at least not externally.  Inwardly he spent five minutes in total grief before he got control of himself and disgustedly grabbed his bag to get out on the highway with his thumb out.  As luck would have it the car had coasted to as stop at the Mossyrock exit, US 12.

     Donn, who was faced with a quick decision abandoned his notion of going to Seattle preferring to get off the main highway.  He walked the offramp up to Twelve to stand in glum expectation of a ride.  Twelve isn’t the best hitchhiking road in America.  It leads across the Cascades between Mts. Ranier and St. Helens into the deserts of central Washington.  There was only one good highway across the state to Spokane and Idaho.  The only other good road led back to Oregon.   Donn didn’t know and he wouldn’t have cared if he had known.  His only thought at the moment was to avoid being picked up by the police.

     He thought he was being pursued.  In fact the charges would be quietly shelved.  Maggie’s objective had been attained.  A trial might possibly have exposed the frame which might lead to who knows where.  The police would not pursue Donn but his disappointed lover would.

page 40.

     There he stood in his grey silver toed boots, grey pants, waiter cut grey jacket, shades and grey flat hat.  Out of his element he cut a ludicrous comic figure by the side of the road.  He was oblivious of the fact.  Donn’s heart nearly stopped when a black Porsche identical to his own came off Interstate 5 to stop in front of him.   Maggie was truly vicious.  The door accommodatingly flew open.

     ‘Hop in.’  Said a smiling voice.

     ‘Yeah, thanks.’  Donn said.

     The shining Porsche splashed out on Twelve.  The driver smiled over at Donn.

     ‘You ever driven one of these?  Great car.  You’d love it.  Just point it in the direction you want to go and it’ll go there.  Incredible suspension.’

     ‘Yuh, I’ve ridden in one.’  Donn said ruefully.

     ‘I’m taking this little buggy to New York.  How far are you going?;

     Donn should have given an evasive or false answer but his hammered state of mind and joy at his luck prevented his seeing the obvious ruse.  He hadn’t known where he was going but with the prospect of a through ride things clarified themselves.

    ‘St. Louis.’  Donn said.

     ‘St. Louis?  No kidding?  How lucky can you get?:  Why St. Louis?  What are you going to do there?’

     ‘TV anchorman.’  Donn replied matter-of-factly not realzing how ludicrous that sounded coming from a hitchhiker in what now could be seen only as very eccentric garb.

     Donn, not yet used to his status of knight of the road, leaned back unaware of his preposterousness.  In any other driver it would have raised a smile but his host, the same as had been following him, Next Year, took it all in seriously as he was acquiring the information he had been sent to obtain.  It no longer made any difference what Donn did on his way to St. Louis, his reception would be prepared when he got there.  Nor is it likely that had there been an opening for a TV news announcer in St. Louis Donn would have been refused; he was good looking, confident and personable.  Personable to the extreme when he turned it on.

     The driver having now obtained the information he needed became amiable.  He and Donn got along famously.  The car climbed into the mountains, Ranier on the left, the stump of St. Helens on the right.

     The lake at Mossyrock slipped by as the afternoon warmth was negated by the air conditioning.  A few miles beyond Packwood the driver suddenly realized that he had failed to turn off the sprinkler.

     ‘Oh, damn, I’m going to have to go back to do that.’  The driver smiled ruefully at Donn.  ‘Sorry, buddy, you’ll have to get out.  Sorry ’bout that, old pal.’

     The car made a U leaving Donn by the side of the road away out there.  You don’t know how far out that is until you’re standing beside an inhospitable road with your thumb out.  The afternoon heat still shown on the mountain crests.  The scenery was stunning there in the woods, but Donn didn’t notice it.  He stared glumly up and down the road.  There isn’t that much traffic on Twelve and what there is is mainly short hops.

     The sun went down on Donn as he stood away out there, solitary, silent and glum.  When one wonders how alone you can get; Donn’s situation was a fair approximation.  No matter how hot the day it gets pretty cold up there at night.  The sparse traffic ceased completely.  Cold and disconsolate he shouldered his bag and started walking just to keep warm.

page 42.

     Donn’s boots weren’t made for walking.  It didn’t take long for his feet and legs to start howling.  In despair Donn threw down his bag, sat on it, put his head in his arms and roared and bellowed.

     He sat in the pitch black night for hours oblivious of time.  He heard the roar of an engine in the distance laboring uphill.  It sounded like a big eighteen wheeler, an old one.

     Even though the truck had been some distance away when he first heard it he had just gotten to his feet when its headlights penetrated the darkness of the uphill slope on which he stood.  Donn edged out into the roadway the better to be seen.  As luck would have it the driver was lonely and pulled to a stop.

     It was an old, old rig.  Not a cab over, its long snout protruded before the windshield.  It might have been a White or Mack but any identifying insignia had disappeared long ago.  The color was either rust or brown.  The driver was pulling two empty gravel bottoms.

     Donn gratefully leaped in.  Putting the truck through its innumerable gears the driver regained momentum.  The truck roared so loudly you couldn’t hear yourself think.  The driver wanted to talk.  Donn was obligated to do so.  Groggy from lack of sleep, exhausted by anxiety he tried to shout over the engine.  Unable to be heard he had to scream.

page 43.

     As the driver came down the mountain he let the big rig roll.  It was the most terrifying ride of Donn’s life.  The sides of the bottoms flapped and banged behind him.  The truck careened down the highway at breakneck speed seemingly pushed by the bottoms beyond anything but the driver’s ability to steer it.

     ‘How do you stop this thing if you have to?’  Donn screamed at the driver.

     ‘Don’t know.  Never had to.”  The driver shouted back with a complacent smile enjoying some kind of trucker humor.

     ‘Jesus.  Can’t.’  Thought Donn.

     Donn heaved a sigh of relief as the driver pulled over just after leaving the Douglas Wilderness Area to let him out.

     Beat and tired he stood by the side of the road trying to collect his thoughts.  Then he grimly realized where he was.  He was standing in this burning desert with the sun rising.  July in the desert is no picnic.  This was where the Wobblies had been packed into sealed rail cars in July to be transported hundreds of roasting miles across the central desert of Washington and Oregon.  They hadn’t had any water then; Donn hadn’t had anything to drink since noon the previous day.

     Hands on hips Donn stood looking up and down the highway kicking dust all over his beautiful grey boots with the silver plates.  Suddenly he realized how quickly one got seedy away out there.  His boots were dusty, his clothes rumpled.  By the end of the day he would be smelly, if he lived.  For the first time he realized how ridiculous his outfit was.  He wished he had regular clothes.  He looked around for some sign of running water but found nothing but scorched desert.

page 44.

     At ten he began to get uneasy.  At eleven, as the heat began to build he got desperate.  Just at that moment a car appeared in the shimmer to pull over.  It wasn’t a mirage.  The back door flipped open.  The car was an old jalop.  Some big huge sedan dating back to the thirties, possibly a Ford V8.  The car was enormously roomy.  Donn could stretch his legs all the way out without touching the front seat.  There was just enough room on the seat for him.  The other side was piled high with junk.

     Donn pushed his bag into it staring at the assortment of articles with wonder.  He had been engaged in this for two or three minutes when, mouth open, he turned his eyes forward.  His eyes were met by a ragged leering countenance.

     ‘Hi!  I’m Zadok, this here’s Amirah.  We’re Cristins.’  Zadok said from deep in his throat.  ‘How about you?’

     ‘I’m dying of thirst.  You wouldn’t happen to have a drink of water, would you?’  Donn croaked, holding out his hand in anticipation.

     ‘Water?  You need ‘living’ water.  All I gots still water.’  Zadok said meaning that he couldn’t give Donn the spiritual ‘living’ water of Jesus.  Donn thought he meant that he didn’t have carbonated Perrier.

     ‘That’s alright.  It’ll do.’  He said, motioning for the water.

page 45.

     ‘Hand me the water.  I’m dying of thirst.’

     Zadok paused then passed back a full half gallon jug.

     ‘Ya always gotta have this kinda water out here, especially further out, ya never know when ya might break down.’

     Donn gulped a couple slugs, skull aching from being up all night.  His feet were killing him.

     ‘Well?’  Zadok pressed.

     ‘Uh, oh yeah, excellent water.  Thanks.’  Donn nodded.

     ‘Well, ya gonna answer or not?’

     ‘Answer what?’  Donn said, having forgotten the question.

     ‘Well, you Christin’ or not?’

     Donn wobbled.  He hadn’t felt the need of the grace of god since perhaps he was twelve; on the other hand he had never formally rejected the notion of god in his mind.  He really didn’t know for sure in the circumstances.

    ‘Not a very devout one.’  He replied equivocally and prudently.

     ‘Well, ya better git devout.’  Zadok said thrusting his jaw at him.  ‘And right away.  Do ya know what’s gonna happen?’

     Donn will be excused for taking the sally as some kind of threat.  Actually Zadok was just a blunt speaker.  He and Amirah were pretty crude guys.  His speech concealed reams of suppositions and explanations left unspoken.  Donn not understanding the notions behind the question sat erect, compressed his lips and shook his head ‘no’ ready for anything.

     ‘He’s comin’ back real soon.  You’re gonna get left behind if ya don’t shape up.’

page 46.

     ‘Oh yeah, when?’  Donn said comprehending and disgusted at his momentary apprehension.

     ‘Real quick.’  Zadok said vaguely.  ‘Me’n Amirah here is real Bible students, we got it all figured out.  We got ourselfs a commune of like believers.  We live out in the Rattlesnake Hills where it is His comin’ back spot.  Wanna join our commune?’

     Both Amirah and Zakok were rough, mean, ignorant boys who kept moving from the center of society to the fringes.  Partially by inclination, partially because they were forced out.  They had had a fair chance, coming from the bottom half, but they wouldn’t take the chances offered them and they rejected the discipline necessary to take advantage of them.  Somehow they, or Amirah at least, had learned to read well enough to puzzle through passages of the Bible.  Apparently only a minimum reading skill is necessary.

     As they were unable to function in the complexities of society they had gradually found their way out into the desert when no one else wanted to be.  Each was convinced that he was destined to make a mark on the world.  Through movies and TV they projected themselves on all the leading tough guys and men of action.  Their lives were lived through a haze of movie euphoria.

     Along the way they had picked up several women by whom each had had a passel of children.  These plus a couple male hangers on formed their ‘commune.’

     These guys were rought tough men given over entirely to the gratification of their vices.  Interpreting the Bible in such a way that they personally had dominion over the beasts of the field and the birds of the air.  As the anointed of god all men, women and children were subject to their use and abuse.  Consequently they indulged their sexual fantasies with any of the women, children and men of the commune.  Zadok and Amirah were pretty vile guys.  But… Holy.

page 47.

     Donn had all the trappings of culture.  These guys revolted him.  He wasn’t afraid but he should have been more wary.  He decided to play with them.

     ‘Hey, Zadok, you know that you use ‘ain’t’ improperly?’

     ‘So!  I ain’t no snob.  So what?’

     ‘No. No.  I don’t mean you shouldn’t use ain’t; I mean you use ain’t improperly.’

     ‘What the hell you talkin’ about?  Ain’t’s aint.’

     ‘No, it ain’t.’  Donn sparred on.  ‘Ain’t is a contraction of am not.  Therefore it can properly be used in I ain’t but it is improper to say you, he, we or they ain’t.  Just a small point.  I thought you’d like to know.’

     Zadok and Amirah had no idea what Donn was talking about but any display of learning they didn’t have was a put down to them.

    ‘I told you so…’  Amirah whistled under his breath.

     Zadok nodded.  ‘Yeah?’  He said to Donn.  ‘Well argue with this son-of-a-bitch.’  Zadok snarled flopping a big .45 pistol over the seat back, cocking the hammer as he did so.

     Donn was from Texas.  He didn’t flinch.  This fact made a big impression on Zadok.

page 48.

     ‘Hey, put that thing down, man.  I was just trying to help.  It was just small talk.  Relax man.’

     ‘I’ll relax when a anti-Christ like you is outta my car.’

     ‘I heard that.’ Amirah said as he found a dirt road leading to god knows where.

     They had already gone through Yakima and were out on the Rattlesnake Hills road when they turned off.  They dropped off several miles out into the desert hills and left him.  Fortunately for Donn he held onto the water jug.  The sun was blazing down.  Donn decided to wait for nightfall to walk out.  He got down into the shade of an embankment and waited.

     By nightfall Donn, who had been dozing on and off was too weary to move.  He was too weary to make a decision so he sat there cold and miserable throughout the night.  It wasn’t sleep but it was rest.  He was alerted to the coming of day as the advance glow from the sun’s rays mingled with inspissated gloom of night.  The light particles increased in force lifting and driving away the darkness like fog being absorbed by the air as it warmed.

     Dispirited but thankful to be alive Donn finished off his still water, pushed himself to his feet and began the trudge back to the Rattlesnake Hills road;  fortunately he hadn’t encountered any rattlesnakes.

     Those boots troubled him mightily.  By the time he reached the road his feet pained him greatly.  Luck was with him this morning.  He had barely put his thumb out when a clean obviously well maintained but old car pulled over to offer him a ride.

page 49.

     ‘Terrible place to hitchhike son.  Whatever possessed you to take this road.  There ain’t nothing on it for fifty mile or more.  You could die out here easy.  This heat’n all, no water.’

     Donn sat there trying to come up with a plausible answer.

     ‘I don’t know.  I had a ride and this is just the place they dropped me off.’

     ‘Not very Christian folk were they?’  The driver, Al Martin, commented.

     ‘Well, they said they were, but I guess not.’  Donn smiled ironically.

     ‘You just goin’ up to the Tri-Cities?’  Al asked.

     ‘No. Further.’

     ‘Hmmm. You know why I stopped to pick you up, son?’

     ‘Christian charity, I suppose.’

     ‘That’s no joke, son, and that’s part of it.  No, there was just something about you that said you were a fine boy who’d had a streak of bad luck.  Am I right?’

     ‘I’m hardly a boy, sir.’  Donn responded somewhat testily.

     ‘Well, son,  I’m seventy-six years old and I hope you’ll allow me some of my fantasies I’ve entertained since I was a boy.  I always wanted to be kind and fatherly.’

     ‘Oh yeah, sure.’

     ‘You look pretty beat.  You look like you could use a break today.  I got a place up here in Eureka, that’s on the other side of the junction with the Snake.  You can stay for the night, clean up, get some rest if you like.’

page 50.

    Go to continuation at Part II-2, Disco Donn Demands Deliverance.

    

 

This is the story of Disco Donn.  The story take place in the late seventies.  Today is 5/17.  I put up ten pages a day so the story will take about 25 days to put up.  Read along or wait.

Two Episodes In The Life Of Disco Donn

by

R.E. Prindle

Table of Contents

1.  Disco Donn Does Deep Elum.  20 pages.

2.  Disco Donn Demands Deliverance 200 pages.

I.

Disco Donn Does Deep Elum

Interstellar Overdrive

Pink Floyd

Ain’t it the truth,

It’s a fool’s game.

Steve Harley

     Come see.  The night was dark; the city was not.  The night was also stormy, but it was the mild off again, on again drizzle that descends in a gentle fine mist from the solid overcast skies of Portland, Oregon.

     The lights of the city pitched up against the low hanging clouds reflecting back again in a red infernal like haze.  The moon was yellow but it was above the clouds where no one could see but the passengers on the big jetliners cruising along at eight miles high.

     Contributing to the light storm of Portland was the giant light frieze of Disco Deep Elum deep in Goose Hollow.  A score of phantom dancers depicted in tens of thousands of colored light ball gyrated back and forth in simulated ecstasy, their electric spirits undampened by the laughing rain.

page 1

     Beneath them on the glittering pavement live partyers flowed toward this great sybaritic church dedicated to sexual gratification.  In imitation of Hollywood, Sid Epstein, the impressarion had pressed his hands, feet and nose into the concrete.  The DJs had done the same, some substituting lips and suggestive drawings for Sid’s use of her nose with the two little lines next to it.  So far none of the citizenry  had been coaxed to leave an indelible record of their existence on Planet Earth as Sid and the others hoped.

     Goose Hollow had at one time been one of the loveliest areas of Portland but 26 had sliced it in two with its six lanes of asphalt elevated above the Hollow’s floor.  What was left was a ruin in which on the West side up against the reservoir sat Disco Deep Elum.  If one had been sitting on the dam of the reservoir looking down into the service area behind Deep Elum one would have seen how some of the other half passed their leisure time.

     For there lounging among the garbage cans were some eight or nine young men; hommies, just thoroughly beaten up hommies, guys who got their kicks through fatal crashes, mass murders and the like.  There among the dented cans, the fetid smells, the little puddles that might at one time have been water, probably something else now, they stood idly far from each other, jealously incommunicative, sullenly waiting, waiting…hating and despising themselves and all that pertained to them.  Would the redeemer ever come?

page 2.

     Come see.  Donn Contrales was busy putting on the finishing touches of his toilette.  Donn lived at 3211 W. Park not too far from the art museum in one of the most charming streets in Portland.  The Park Blocks extended from the University on the South end for several blocks to the Gramercy Club at the North end.  The Gramercy was where the Old Boy Network headquartered to determine the shape of things to come.

     Donn Contrales lived on the fifth and top floor front of the Short Arms Apartments.  The Apartments, brick faced, austere, yet somehow relaxed in a state of excitement, as the Oregon Tourist ad once ran, in architectural styling.  He looked out his window into the tops of the lofty elms filling the block wide strand separating Ease and West Park.  Down through the trees the greensward below shown up.

     Donn’s apartment which was a kitchen, living room, bedroom and bath was furnished in a peculiar spartan manner.  The floors were of a fine old hardwood uncovered except by two small Persian style rugs in the living room one beside his army cot in the bedroom.

     The furniture of the living room consisted of a small wooden bench not unlike a church pew, a fairly large flat oak desk which held Donn’s new computer, and a matching oak chair.  As Donn was both the classical and pop music reviewer for the Oregon Daily Assassin, the States leading paper, there was a set of shelves four high and about six feet long flanked by MacIntosh speakers with the amp and turntable to the left side.  A TV and VCR stood before the kitchen door while another guarded the bedroom door.

page 3.

     The light pink painted walls were decorated with pictures of Donn in various sizes and poses in various states of deshabille,as well as reproductions of his signature.  The bedroom walls were decorated in the same manner with a couple of nudes of himself.  A collapsible army cot was placed against the middle wall beneath a four by six full length reclining nuce of Donn that he called the Naked Mojo.  As the apartment had only a small closet there were several rolling department store clothes racks against the walls that contained a wardrobe for each facet of Donn Contrales multi-faceted personality.

     There was a lot of out there and Donn didn’t want to miss any of it.  These were the late seventies.  America’s years of prosperity, TV, Movie and Recorded Musical fantasies and endless yammering about some mirage that no one ever saw called the American Dream had produced the psychological type named Donn Contrales.  As can be seen he even spelled Donn with two enns to express his individuality and superiority to the scene he both loved and professed to despise.

      Reality to Donn was the movie screen.  Society had passed from the notion that all the world’s a stage to all the world’s a movie.  Real life had lost hits consequence, or so it seemed to Donn.  People acted out destructive fantasies as though they were only characters in a movie that could be set aside after the show while the actors resumed their former status.  There were people who actually went to prison only to discover to their chagrin that their movie was real life and that they could not resume their former existence.

page 4.

     Donn could separate his roles from such dire consequences, but he did want it all.  All was of course what Donn could see and feel and he could not see far or very clearly or feel much.  Unlike most of his contemporaries who went around roaring that cliche Donn was capable of getting most of ‘it’, as he perceived it, if not all.  He was capable of adopting a convincing and appropreate persona for each of the many facets of his many faceted personality.  Hence his extensive collection of wardrobes.

     He had some good Harris tweeds for his appearances at the Daily Assassin which gave him a very solid yet sporty appearance.  He had some nice black suits with patent leather pumps for his classical music persona.  And of course some wild stuff for the disco.  Donn himself was a pretty good looking guy.  It was peroxided of course but his tousled shock of blond hair couple with a black mustache, full from nose to lip and from just beyond the corners of his mouth gave him a aresponsible but devil-may-care facade.  His face was symetrically square, nice smile and his eyes twinkled blue.  He was slightly long in the body and thick in the thighs but he knew how to dress around these defects.  At five-nine it may be fairly said that when Donn stood up before the ladies’ auxiliaries todiscuss the glories of classical music that a very satisfied body of women sat before him.

     The feeling was not mutual.  Donn’s desires ran in other channels.  Donn was a militant homosexual.  He wasn’t in the closet but he was discreet.  He saw the utility of appearing straight but not narrow.  He was an ardent advocate of tolerance, which is to say that he thought homosexuals should be deferred to.  He had seen too much of the results of bigotry here in the twentieth century he was fond of saying not to deplore homophobia.

page 5.

     Yet he employed the means of bigotry he professed to deplore.  He thought it necessary to censor adverse opinion and exterminate the opposition.  The Daily Assassin thrugh its editor, Mingo Miyriy, who was herself a closet lesbian and several high ranking editors and employees were in the forefront of this homoseuxal revolution.  They were determined that it should triumph in Portland and throughout Oregon.

     Donn was currently employed in the Assassin’s attempt to destroy a heterosexual County Commissioner by the name of E. (Earl) L. Shaddai.  Earl had been elected by an Eastside constituency that was fearful of homosexuality, or as Donn would say, didn’t know its asshole from a hole in the ground.  Earl had pledged his voters that he would do the best he could to contain it.

     The homosexual community was up in arms at his election.  They would tolerate no oppostion to their goals, although nominally tolerant.  They wanted E.L. Shaddai removed from office.  One might say there was nothing they could do about it, Earl was in office and it appeared that he would have no difficulty in being re-elected.  There was nothing fair and square or legal that could be done about Shaddai but as Hitler observed:  Everyone forgives a successful crime.

      Donn had been used, was being used in setting Shaddai up for the fall.  While modern political man professes to despise Hitler they love his methods.  Donn had befriended Earl in his facet as daytime pop music editor which was much less formal than his classical facet and more sporty than his office facet but less outre than his night time disco facet.  He had betrayed the friendship by asking Earl out to dinner.  The Community was establishing a character for Shaddai.  Oddly enough they were going to destroy him by making it appear that he was one of them but a hypocrite.  Consequently Donn take Earl to the Great Gotham Hotel.

page 6.

     The Hotel was a homosexual bath house.  The place was run very discreetly so as not to risk interference by religious groups or the police.  Not all homosexuals were allowed in on it and, if any, virtually no heterosexuals knew what went on behind its doors.  The dining room was along the West wall facing the public rooms.  The public rooms were the showers, pissoirs and stools.  Donn disappeared just after entering leaving Earl and an attractive young guy in a bath towel who showed up to cross the public rooms together giving the appearance that Earl was taking his date to dinner.

     Earl was stunned at the sight of naked men lounging around while one guy who was urinating flashed him a big smile over his shoulder.  Earl turned in disgust to rush from the place only to find himself stranded as Donn who had insisted on driving was gone.  Laughter, jeers and catcalls followed him down Stark as he headed for the city’s premier hostelry, The Oregon Trail, and its cab stands.

page 6.

     Nevertheless Earl could not honestly deny that he had to the Great Gotham.  Any explanation could be denied by Donn and several witnesses.  A step had been taken to establish his character as a homosexual. 

page 7.

     For this night Donn’s facet was Disco Donn Contrales.  For this one he had a terrific macho cowboy outfit, for Donn portrayed the macho man.  For this one Donn didn’t put his pants on like an ordinary guy, one let at a time.  The pants were very tight, very form fitting.  To get the leg proportions right the thighs had to be cut very snug; thus Donn sat on his army cot putting both legs in at the same time.  He had to work his pants over the thighs very carefully.  Standing up he forced his fly shut turning to look at this reflection in the full lenght mirror.  ‘You’ve got your mojo working tonight, you hunk.’ Donn exulted to himself.  Actually his fanny was a little too flat but he blinked twice and it fleshed out.

     Satisfied, he felt the need for a coke break.  Donn was a very aware guy.  Working for the Assassin he knew exactly how the police powers were used.  Consequently he left nothing lying around his apartment.  He reached won and knocked the ends of his cot apart, shook a vial of cocaine out of the hollowed out frame strut, tapped out a couple lines, then carefully replaced the vial, reassembling the cot before he imbibed.  Disco Donn shook his head in glowing anticipation.  He was about to mount his cosmic wheels and roll around heaven for a bit.  He was about to make his vision of himself a visionary reality.  The cosmic power shot up his nose penetrating his brain like the divine arrow of God, suffusing his brain with a flow of intense omnipotence.  His mental vision of himself seemed perfect.  He was the God/Man.  He before whom all should fall.  He saw all, knew all and understood all.  It was all his, others used what they had at his sufferance.  He would brook no contradiction.  For these few blessed moments his life shone.  Everything he had ever done seemed right.

page 8.

     He flicked on all four VCRs.  Instantaneously the same four videos appeared on the screens.  Endless non-stop performances of fellation lubricated the screens.  The recond was already on the turntable. ( This was pre-CD)  He flipped it on moving the needle over to the last cut, Interstellar Overdrive by Pink Floyd.  His song.  The powerful rumble of the strident notes and chords reverberated through his soul.

     He sat down on the his cot to pull on his boots.  Thoughts crowded through his brain, not in any order or sequence.  Disco Donn could obviously not support his life style on his income from the Daily Assassin.  He glowed with satisfaction at the thought that with his new computer he could transmit his articles direct to the Assassin; there would no longer be any need, he tought, to go into work.  This invention would leave him more time to augment his salary by other means.  This included selling cocaine.

     Donn was a key figure in a network that included a couple cells at the Assassin.  It was run off the loading dock.  Get it?  That was an in joke.  The Loading Dock.  It was right next to the Loading Zone. (Wink, wink) Mingo Miybriy was not involved, nor could it be said that the Assassin Corp. was involved, but it could also be said that Mingo and management were totally oblivious to the fact.  It was just expedient to not notice or make embarrassing equiries.  Many companies had cells that were either unknown or ignored.  Or, possibly used.,

page 9.

     Donn had a box of demo records to take down and sell, too.  He recieved thousands of records a year.  It was impossible to listen to them all, he chose what looked most promising or what he had been directed to, often with gifts of cocaine from the record companies, and sold the rest.  Then around the corner of his mind he glanced up at one the screens, he remembered a memory that gave him grim satisfaction.

     There had been a rock and roll singer in town by the name of Terry Roberts.  He wasn’t either a good singer or a good rock n’ roller but Donn had developed a crush on him.  He had pursued him relentlessly but Terry, who had girlish good looks was adamantly hetero.  He wouldn’t have anything to do with Donn.  In fact he made several churlish remarks about ‘fags’ that Donn took expecial offense at.  Well, Donn thought, if you won’t go down on me you’ll go down nevertheless and you’re not going to like it at all.

     Terry did like his cocaine.  Donn could and had supplied him.  Rock n’ rollers aroused the antipathy of a lot of people.  A large part of the population wanted to see rock n’ rollers behind bars.  Donn agreed to sell Terry a couple grams.  Donn didn’t show with the coke but a nark did.  Terry was busted and given ten years for buying two grams of coke.  The joke was that it wasn’t cocaine but baking soda.  Terry’s attorney didn’t ‘think’ to check so Terry went up for buying baking soda.  As Donn thought Terry was having a very bad time in jail.  He’d lost his front teeth on the first day.  Within six months he would be found hanging behind the prison furnace to the intense satisfaction of all concerned.  More than one way to skin a cat.

page 10.

     The images danced on the screen, Interstellar Overdrive penetrated the walls.  Donn stood up.  His grey snake skin boots with the tuck and roll on the instep, silver plate in front, silver plate behind were resplendent.  The sheen on his grey gabardine pants was perfect.  His white cowboy shirt was immaculate, his string tie perfection.  Donn put on his belt with the huge silver buckle that covered his midriff.  the buckle depicted a cowboy astride a bucking bronco.  I’m the cowboy that ain’t never been throwed, Disco Donn exulted.

      He slipped into his grey cowboy jacket that looked somewhat like a waiter’s jacket, then he stepped over to the mirror to fluff up the back of his hair.  That done he picked up his mirrored sun glasses that the reflected the world back n itself while allowing him to see it.  He squared his round brimmed flat topped grey hat on his head fluffing the hair out behind again.  He paused for a moment to collect himself on his cosmic wheels, then made sure to turn off his videos.  The stereo had already shut off automatically.

     Donn went back to snort another couple lines, washing the residue down the drain to as to leave no trace.  He stood up, took a deep breath, as he seemed to elongate into the stratospher.  He was eight miles high.  He thought he could see the big yellow moon behind the clouds just like the folks on that big mainliner up there that goes from sea to sea.

page 11.

     Come see.  Disco Donn stepped out of the elevator into the parking garage beneath the Short Arms Apts.  He paused striking a heroic pose as he glanced left and right calmly adjusting his mirrored sun glasses.  Between his dark, glasses, the protruding brim of his hat that nearly rested on his glasses and the gloom of the parking lot it was amazing that he didn’t trip over his own feet, but he walked with the steady purpose of a movie cowboy coming up the street at High Noon over to his shiny black Porsche.

     It was amazing, he thought, that the auto manufacturers of this world should design a car that so perfectly matched his character.  It was more, he thought, than a coincidence.  With a certain awe for their prescience, he sincerely believed  they must have known that he was there.

     He opened the door, then standing with one hand on his door top the other atop the vehicle, one foot on the rocker panel he gave one more significant glance around the garage before ducking into his vehicle- his Solar Chariot, his Astral Wheels.

     The firing of the engine, the roar of power, somehow meshed with the cocaine running round his brain to boost him to yet a higher plateau.  His being was filled with euphoric exultation.  As he waited for the gate to rise wahich seemed to rise in icrements of millimeters, retrace its increments and rise again, Donn waxed philosophic.  He exulted in his power and the control of his world that he felt.  It was all in knowing how to use what you got, he thought.  It was uncanny how without any training or forethought he just knew what to do.  It was just his destiny to be great.

page 12.

     Cocaine and sex- take just two examples for instance.  He could use either to create or destroy, he thought.  If he liked you, which meant that you went along with his desires, you could share blessed exalted moments with him.  If he didn’t like you, well, Terry knew about that as well as two or three girls who had not treated him with the respect he deserved.  Now, their pride gone, they begged for cocaine for which they had to give him more than money.  Could it be said that Donn was running a string?  Boy, that’s harsh, hey, maybe he just needed a favor for a friend from time to time.

     So with sex.  That homophobe E.L. Shaddai was going to be destroyed on the accusation of homosexuality, yet he, Disco Donn Contrales could practice it with immunity.  It was almost weird, thought Donn, shaking his head in wonder.

     Disco Donn was no longer of this world as the cocaine lifted his mind beyond awareness of mundane affairs.  The gate banged up as Disco Donn leaned back his head in a manic grin of unvoiced laughter.  He roared out into the street unaware of possible pedestrians or traffic.  Fortunately the street was clear.  But then as yet he was not moving fast.  His world was slowed down so that at 25 miles per hour he seemed to sailing through it.  Indeed, all else seemed to be frozen in time but himself.  The wet pavement glistened black and silver beneath his headlights.  Rays of light bounced from the buildings, ricocheting into the pavement against opposite walls and back again or else escaped into the stratosphere.

page 13.

     Disco Donn was no longer of this earth.  He had even left his Solar Chariot behind as he mounted his Astral Wheels to climb aboard the Betelguese Bridge far out into the light year starshine of the great and limitless void.

     Elated he recalled the lines of a Donovan song which made him tilt back his head and roar with laughter:

If shitting is your problem

When you’re out among the stars,

The intergallactic laxative

Will get you from to Mars.

     Mars?  Mars hell, he thought, I’m on the cosmic transmission belt taking the riches of Earth to Betelgeuse at faster than the speed of light.  Faster than the speed of light?  Oh, oh he thought, if this is an expanding universe maybe the bridge will separate from Betelgeuse before I get there.  What a cosmic leap that would have to be.  Warp five burst from his mind.

     He had been insensibly speeding up as his fantasy dominated his mind.  He had flown through a red light at Jefferson and Fifteenth totally unawares.  Now as he was about to plunge the pedal to the metal for War Five the lights of Disco Deep Elum loomed before him.  Like Arnold Schwarzenegger in the Terminator his mind plunged from his Astral Wheels and entered his terrestrial vehicle.  Reflexively his foot moved from the gas pedal and slammed on the brake.

page 14.

     Disco Donn was somewhat short of Warp Five but he was definitely over the speed limit.  Fortunately a Porsche can corner on a dime so Donn was capable of making a right turn, at right angles that is, into the parking lot of Disco Deep Elum.  Why was there an empty parking space directly ahead of Donn in the crowded parking lot?  Why, because he was Captain Disco Donn Contrales of the Space Patrol of course.

     Donn, somewhat breathless from his midnight ride into the far reaches of outer space found it necessary to sit for severral minutes while his brain caught him and he could remember where he was and what he had come for.

     Donn Contrales was from down in Texas, a state I dearly love.  Given his temperament his youth had been difficult; not hard, but challenges of which the less than successful handling had been costly to his psyche.

     The central fact of his existence was of course the rape which had set the terms and conditions of his homosexuality and subsequent life, of which, more in a moment.  Secondary was the fact that while Bob Wills may still be king in Texas, football is the foundation of the universe.  Donn didn’t have the temperament for football.  But he had been of good size for his age and it had been demanded that he play.  Donn thought he had better things to do with body than be speared under the ribs with a helmet with forty-two gold stars on it.  But he had played and the memory of that spearing lived with him every day.  His ribs hurt just to think about it.

     At SMU Donn, thank his lucky stars, couldn’t make the team, or maybe he didn’t try that hard.  He did take up boxing for reasons that weren’t too clear to him, but had to do with his rape.  He’d been OK.  He had been the intramural middleweight champ.  He wasn’t in the same class with anyone named Suger but he could handle himself.

     The hits he had taken in boxing rankled him too.  He liked to hit but he didn’t like to be hit.  So, his rape, which was a suppressed memory, the football, the boxing was a hammering that conditioned his attitude toward sex.

 

     Come see.  Now, look over there.  Around the corner, down the long backside of Deep Elum to the service area where among the garbage cans they’re still waiting, waiting…patiently waiting, hoping for a deliverer.

     These are the ones who have abandoned hope.  they have lost all aspects of dignity and self-respect.  They have chosen the garbage cans as their assignation place because they feel like human garbage.  They have made garbage their symbol.  While some old shields used to have a lion rampant?  These guys would have had an old dented garbage can rampant.   They had been beaten, stripped, pushed down not only the straight world but by their fellow homosexuals, until now their only shred of human dignity is to conceal their hopes of dignity behind a shield of compusive lying.  Their only hope of obtaining parity is to conceal everything behind a shield of lies where prying eyes cannot deride them further.  They won’t even tell you their names.  They are know by innumerable aliases.  One may injure their bodies but without their correct name one can’t reach their true selves.

page 16.

     Nello Nitti leans against the wall with Brando leathers, aloof and disdaining his fellows, as the ‘Man.’  Chancy Flegenheimer, who has been dancing nervously back and forth for hours is known as Frisco tonight.

     Over picking through the garbage cans, tearing open plastic bags, looking for a choice morse. or two is Soupy Feensteen.  Soupy retains his own name because he has attained the somewhat specious dignity of being the founder of the Jewish Queers Against Fascism.  O, look, he moved aside some lettuce and has found a whole drumstick, not even a bit out of it.  His eyes light up as he lovingly brings this delicacy to his lips.  God has been especially good to him.

     Bullet Bob studies the water streaks on the wall.  Some fresh, some surviving from the weeks of constant rain, some terminated in long deltas of mold.  Stands of putrid water interlace with the higher levels of the asphalt.  Bullet Bob looks down to see his reflection in a little puddle of fetid water when an electric thrill goes through the assembled ‘girls.’  It was as though they split in two and came together again at his appearance.

     Down the long backside of Disco Deep Elum the grey eminence of Disco Donn Contrales could be seen, fire seeming to flach from mirrored sun glasses as though from his eyes.  Insterstellar Overdrive still rumbled in is ears.  But Disco Donn could easily carry two tunes at one time in his multi-faceted brain.  As he slowly paced off the disatance between the them in measured steps at a measured pace with all the drama of John Wayne walking into town with his saddle at this side he sang a verse of the old Slim Whitman song, Rose Marie, in a sardonic fashion.

page 17.

     Oh Rose Marie, I love you,

I’m always thinking of you.

Of all the ‘Queens’ who ever lived

I’d choose you

 To rule me,

My Rose Marie.

page 17.

     He chuckled and sang at the same time in anticipation of his confrontation with the ‘girls,’ for Disco Donn believed he was one supremely clever guy.

      They watched his slow approach with bated breath, half joyfully, half apprehensively, swallowing hard for one never knew what ‘he’ might do.  What ‘he’ would do or who ‘he’ would choose.  Frisco stopped dancing, the Man remained leaning contemptuously against the wall.  The others with the exception of Soupy Feensteen stood tensely waiting.  Soupy was too proud to nitice the stranger; he contined his search for delectables.

     Then He stood before them silent, unsmiling, commanding, overpowering them with His superior presence.  They felt small.  They felt insignficant.  They felt dirty.  They stood trembling in anticiption, waiting for Him to speak, make a gesture.  He said nothing, he did nothing, he stood there immobile relecting them back on themselves from his silver eyes.  A faint smile flickering on his lips compelled them to speak first allowing Him to keep the upper hand.

page 18.

     Frisco was in awe of the Presence.  The grey was beautiful against the lowering skies and under the floodlights.  The glasses made Donn seem mysterious.  Frisco knew the game, he swallowed what passed for his pride.

     ‘What do you want?’ Frisco muttered, looking down and away.

     His question was met by a deep chuckle.  ‘No.  I think the question is what do you want?’ Disco Donn said sententiously pushing his glasses up with his middle finger.  His leer gave Frisco hope.

     Frisco jammed his hands into his pockets rendering him defenseless, looked down and glanced over at his buddy, the Man, against the wall.

     ‘Do you want it?’  Disco Donn demanded.

     The lump in Frisco’s throat was too big to speak around.  He nodded dumbly.

     ‘Well, it’s there.  All you gotta do is reach out and take it.  You do know where it’s at, don’t you?’  Disco Donn forced out in guttural as the rut overtook him.  ‘Well, don’t you?’

     Frisco shook his head yes in open mouthed wonder as his glance went around the garbage cans from eye to eye.  With a kind of wondering awe he put out his had to lift the immense belt buckly to unzip Donn’s fly.  Anticipation dominated his mind,  his breath was coming heavily when he heard and then felt the fist smash into his cheekbone and the musty wter on the pavement seep through his dirty jeans.

page 19.

     Disco Donn was reenacting what he couldn’t remember:  his rape.  In that long ago time he had helt the fist of his uncle come out of the blue for no reason he could understand.  His innocence had been ripped from him and cruelly thrown back in his face.  His uncle saying:  ‘I’m going to do to you just what was done to me.’ had beaten him so that his eyes were black and blue, then grabbing his ears his uncle had manipulated his head in fellatio.  Then throwing Donn back down he said:  ‘You better tell everyone that you got those black eyes from tripping and the stairs and sliding down them on your nose.’ that Donn would do.  Than as he turned to walk away he said:  ‘God, you queers disgust me.’  By ‘queers’ of course he meant himself as well.  He, like Donn, was capable, sincerely, of denying the act as soon as it was done.

     With his uncle’s words reverberating hin his ears, Disco Donn pounded Frisco around the eyes until they were black and blue.  Then  as though repeating an oath behind his uncle’s dictation he intoned as he hd many times before and would many times again:  “I’ve done to you just what was done to me.  You better tell everyone that you got those black eyes by tripping on the stairs and sliding down them on your nose.’

     Frisco lay choking and sobbing as Disco Donn pulled and pushed his head back and forth by the ears.  Donn who was squatting lost his balance several times wetting the knees of his pants.

page 20.

     Having finished he threw Frisco’s head away from him and stood up, zipping his pants.

     ‘You queers disgust me.’ He repeated after his uncle.

     Frisco lay sobbing as Shaky Jake stepped our from among the garbage cans.  Shaky Jake looked like he souldn’t be alive.  He was five-two and so emaciated from personal neglect that he didn’t break a hundred pounds; maybe he couldn’t even hit ninety.  His body was wracked by the perpetual rounds of gonorrhea and antibiotics.  He had no resistance to diseases.  He sniffed and coughed uncontrollably from a cold that had begun six months before.  He wore a pair of black jeans with zippers everywhere.  the cuffs were zipped tight around his ankles; he had zippers on the knees, his thighs, pockets, across both cheeks, it was hard to tell where the zippers ended and the pants began.  He even had zippers on the sides of his shoes.  The top button of his pants was open and the fly half unzipped, no underwear.  He wore a leather jacket that was also covered with zippers.  He wore it open, no shirt.  Various chains hung from his shoulders down his legs, crisscrossing his body and anywhere that they didn’t  make any sense.  Shaky Jake didn’t care about this or that.  There was nothing in his mind but chagrin and remorse for his seduction.  shaky’s seduction had been gentle and loving creating a wonderful feeling in him, but his subsequent rejection had been cruel and brutal destroying whatever masculinity Shakey might otherwise have salvaged.  Around his neck he wore a sign that read:  Red is a mean, mean color.  Nobody had ever been able to figure it out and Shakey Jake wasn’t capable of telling them its meaning.

page 21.

     Now, standing well out of Donn’s reach Shakey sternly admonished:  ‘Heh ma’.  Whas wrong witchoo.  You can’t come back here in our domain and do that.’

     ‘Can’t I?’ Disco Donn asked in his most quiet and commanding tone.

  ‘No!’  Shakey Jake expleted.

     ‘Why not?  Are you going to stop me?  Do you want some of the same?’  Disco Donn laughed motioning Shakey Jake forward.

     Shakey Jake took a brave stance shaking his finger at Donn:  ‘Don’t think I couldn’t.  Your just lucky the law won’t allow me.’

     Donn laughed contemptuously:  ‘The law won’t allow you?  How’s that?’

     ‘I’m Black Belt.’  Shakey Jake said.  ‘My hand’s are dangerous weapons and they’re registered with the police.  If I were to kill you, which I surely would, I would be charged with first degree murder rather than self-defense.  So you can consider yourself one lucky hombre.’

page 22.

     Donn laughed again but the was stymied.  He couldn’t reach Shakey Jake and he wasn’t going to demean himself by chasing Shakey around.  In frustration he made a feint against the Man against the wall.  Nitti in his hurry to escape tripped over his own feet tumbling onto the putred wet pavement ruining his leathers.  Donn laughed again turning to leave.

     But as he turned the sight of Shakey’s sign:  Red is a mean, mean color, triggered a series of synapses in his mind.  visions passed through his brain with violence and speed as though he were standing on the ties as big ten wheeler blew past.  The roar of the engine, the force of the wind from the drivers and giant wheels blew him back.  He saw all but remembered nothing distinctly.  The vision was one of himself with a sign saying:  Red is a mean, mean color around his neck while he thought he saw his uncle with Donn’s goands on a chain around his neck.  The red blood from from the testicles dripped down his uncle’s shirt.  For a brief instant he understood what Red is a mean, mean color meant.

     Then a miracle occurred.  The memory of his rape had been suppressed with minutes after it had happened and been converted into a fixation with symbols Donn could not understand.  Now the corridlor of his memory which contained the incident opened and for a very brief moment allowed Donn to witness the scene of his rape being reenacted.  If Donn had been able to retrieve the memory and retain it he might have freed himself from his curse.  But as he turned to enter the corridor in his mind to see better the entrance oozed shut.  As Donn tried to push his way through the soft tissue a voice seemed to say:  No. You cannot enter here, the drug has blocked your way.

page 23.

     Overwhelmed by his emotions and the cocaine, Donn’s head swirled, he staggered a step and then regained control of himself.  As he walked, somewhat unsteadily down the long backside of Disco Deep Elum the words of an old Hank Snow song came into his mind which expressed his fears and his hopes:

No use to deny

I wanted to die

The day you said we were through.

But now that I find

You’re out of my mind

I can’t believe that it’s true,

I don’t hurt anymore.

     But if his relief was real it was only temporary.  the next tune that would come to Disco Donn’s mind as he opened the door of his Porsche would be:  ‘It just keeps right on a hurtin’ every minute of every day.’  No, Donn’s relief was not just a motion away.  It couldn’t come from powders, pills or bottles.  For just a fleet moment it was there before you but the drugs kept if from you.  Now, if undertaken, it would require years of analysis.

 

     Come See Donn Home.  As the door of Donn’s identity swung open Interstellar Overdrive ricocheted out of his mind.  The cocaine’s expenditure from his system dropped Donn down to Earth hard on his silver plated heels.  The soft persistent drizzle again began placing little stinging cold droplets on Donn’s hot hand.  His euphoria could no longer support this facet of Disco Donn’s many faceted personality. 

page 24.

     He flipped his mirrored sunglasses onto the passenger’s seat.  The memory of what he had just done came back to him as a vision of something which he had just seen.  He believed he had witness the brutal act but he wasn’t aware that he had done it.  It filled his heart with sadness that such criminal homophobia could exist in such a beautiful world.  It made him angry.  Donn thought he should do something about it.  He eased out of the lot as an ambulance pulled from the curb in front of him.

     Frisco/Chancy Flegenheimer reported the incident to the police as though a man had leaped from a car and assaulted him as he stood taking to friends.  The police report was picked up the Daily Assassin and published as fact.  As is usual in these situation there was no attempt to corroborate the story.  It was assumed to be the natural act of a ‘homophobe’ and reported as true.

     Donn expiated his guilt by incorporating a denunciation of homophobia into a review of a new version of Beethoven’s Ninth.

     Donn was emotionally and physically exhausted.  As he sank further he took off that strange grey hat and lay it on the seat over his sunglasses.  She shook his blond hair and ran his fingers through it to fluff it out.  As he did so he caught his reflection in the rear view mirror.  He smiled at himself and his spirits revived.  The satisfaction he had felt earlier reasserted itself overriding his sense of remorse and sadness.

     Donn threw back his head and emitted a short barking laugh.

     ‘Live is just too damned beautiful to wear a long face.’  He smiled out loud.

     Of course that depends on which end of the stick you’re on.

End of Part One.

Go to Part Two:  Donn Demands Deliverance

and meet Maggie Spingold.