2nd Official Tate-LaBianca Murders Blog

Blow by Blow – A Writer’s Process Through the Manson Family Murders

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Sun, 16 Feb 2025 20:44:00 +0000

56 years.

Yes, 56 years since the Manson Family slaughtered ten innocent lives.

In 1978, the Manson Family killers came up for parole. I remember being glued to the news. I lived some 1500 miles away from the killers, and in Canada, but I remember being swallowed up by the fear those monsters would be set free. When they were thankfully denied parole, I began researching the Family and the crimes in earnest and have continued to this day.

The fear in me had started so long ago, the morning after the massacre at 10050 Cielo Drive. It was all over the news, ground and aerial shots, reporters gathering outside the gate. Southern California, really the world, was stunned by the details that were coming out of that property way up in Benedict Canyon, where the Beautiful People lived.

I was only 5 years old at the time but had my father’s photographic memory and a raging imagination. Nothing escaped me on those subsequent days. The live on-site reporting, the newspaper photos of the dead, and the adult conversations swirling around me, whispered, of course. Those adults tried their best to shield me from the fear. But a child can feel fear in others. There was nowhere for anyone to hide. And in my little girl imagination I was positive Charlie and Sadie were coming for me, too.

As of August 9, 1969, my little world outlook was never the same. But no one’s outlook was.

We had gone from innocent, carefree days, where no one gave a thought to locked doors or hiding behind imposing gates. The 60s had been daisy chain love. Overnight, my generation swam in a blood bath. The open, loving world had shut down, never to open again.

While others penned the umpteen books that are out there on this case, I kept mum. I grew up. I watched and listened and read and quietly researched through the years.

It wasn’t until the internet fired up that more information could be gleaned by the public, and more learned about the case. In 2008, I attempted to join an online group to discuss the murders. Most groups out there were pro-Charlie, pro-Family. When they discovered I had law enforcement familial ties, I was kicked out of their binary enclaves.

Being rejected has never stopped me, especially by those who are or favor the outlaw life. Rather, it makes me smile and eggs me on, as like it did my father, an RCMP — Royal Canadian Mounted Police — Constable. Outlaws say, “Don’t come in, don’t look here,” and by God, that’s precisely what I and my father would do. The old saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer, so applies in this case. Back in ‘68/69, if my father had worked for LASO — Los Angeles Sheriff Office — and worked Charlie’s patch at Spahn, he would have stuck to old Charlie and his spaced-out kids like white on rice, observing every action that group would take to have Manson void his parole and go back to where he belonged. Prison.

And so, in a binary sense, I chose to do the same. I created the 2nd Official Tate-LaBianca Murders Blog — the 1st being a pro-Charlie blog, aligned with those who kicked me to the curb. Yes, my chosen blog title was an online jab. Youbetcha. It would have made my father smile.

TLB2, as it’s known, has always been free. No subscriptions, no fees, no profit at all. It would be my take on what truly happened, by whom, to whom, when, and why, as laid out in firsthand police statements, witness testimonies, lie detector tests, LAPD and LASO case documents, and trial transcripts. You know, those niggling facts that get in the way of an agenda-driven website or a bestselling Tell-All chock-a-block with hype, innuendo, and falsehoods.

So, I investigated and typed my way through TLB2. 300+ posts now reside there. Besides the forensic posts, I wrote on the culture and the times, adding a few fictional works, to give the blog a 360-degree Technicolor feel.

And I watched as others published more books. Some very well done. Many lousy.

People who knew me and knew my vast knowledge in the case always asked, “Why don’t you write a book?” I was asked that for years.

My answer up ’til now had always been, “That would put blood on my hands.” And I meant it. Somehow, I couldn’t mesh the fear I had felt as that little girl, the panic that cloaked my generation in those heart-stopping days, the devastating hurt of the surviving family members, and me writing a book for money.

Years passed. Many. Other than the blog, I kept mum.

And last year, on the 55th anniversary, something in me changed.

I don’t know if the dead nodded their heads in approval or it was me needing to turn the page on my experience. To close the book on my own fear, as it were, and in so doing, offer my final words on the case.

It was as if the time was now, the time was right. The blood, if any, would be ever so slight on my hands, a half century later. I could craft a record on what went down. To fill in the gaps, to answer some questions, to have the last word as my generation ages and passes on the wind.

And so, Blow by Blow — The Manson Family Murders & In-Depth Examinations was born.

Blow by Blow is a re-creation of those terror-filled nights. I fill in the gaps based on learned facts in the case, adding creative license where no information was offered by the killers, in terms of dialogue or actions. It’s set up as a projector of sorts, where the reader isn’t just told about the cases, but re-lives them. To feel the fear, we alive back then felt.

In the second half of the book, The Examinations, I take certain aspects of the crimes and dissect them in their minutia, attempting to offer answers to questions we as outsiders have always had.

Boiled down, Blow by Blow is my book on closing the book on these crimes.

~~~

Time has passed. 56 years is a long time.

There have been people who have been born, lived, died, in that time.

Today on the whole, Manson and his Family are considered by the younger generations to be freaks from the Hippie era, and little more. A blip, a tear in society’s fabric, long since mended.

And maybe they’re right. But those were who were alive back then and felt the fear, lived through the panic that any hippie could be a Charles Manson knife-wielding Slippie… well, it’s a psychic tear that leaves a scar.

In crafting Blow by Blow, I wandered down Memory Lane and Google mapped the principal locales to see how time has shaped them. It turns out, the Present has done a pretty good job at burying the Past.

Barker Ranch — (top) Recondito, (bottom) Craig Baker

Barker Ranch — As most know, the ranch house is now a ruin, thanks to a suspicious fire in 2009. Charlie’s bus was towed out decades ago. The land has been allowed to return to its natural state, shooing evil ghosts with those final flames.

Spahn Ranch (top) Ralph Crane/The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images, (bottom) Google Maps 2025

Spahn Ranch — Today from Santa Susanna Pass Road, you can’t see into the land which once held those dilapidated movie sets. Scrub bushes have grown monstrous in the half-century, whether via Mother Nature or egged on by a nearby church who owns the property. It’s anyone’s guess.

3301 Waverly Drive (top) Bettmann/Bettmann Archive, (bottom) Google Maps 2025

3301 Waverly Drive, the LaBianca Home — New owners, I believe at least twice removed, have done their level best to hide the house from photograph seekers, videographers, and tourist gawkers. Who can blame them? The only things left are the lantern pedestals on either side of the drive to let you know you’re standing where blood once flowed.

10050 Cielo Drive (l) CBS Newscast 1969, (r) Google Maps 2025

And 10050 Cielo Drive — the Tate Home — Talk about a Hollywoodesque facelift surgically applied to this property. About the only real object left is the telephone pole I’ve circled in red, the one Tex Watson climbed to cut the four wires on that fateful night.

On purpose, by accident, or by Mother Nature knowing best, the Manson Family murder stains — those awful moments in those unfortunate locales — are disappearing from view. That generation, my generation, is slowly disappearing, too, as all generations do.

In publishing Blow by Blow, I feel like I’m the last one to turn out the lights and lock the doors on this chapter in man’s inhumanity to man. Maybe it’s fitting. I was born in 1964, the last year of the Baby Boomer gen. Maybe the last one in is the last one out.

And maybe those of us who were alive and lived through those earth-shattering times need to close the book and move on.

It’s funny. I can replay the 1973 documentary, Manson, produced by Robert Hendrickson and Lawrence Merrick, and feel the fear I felt then, rocketing back as visceral and suffocating as it was all those years ago. Some hurts, some trauma, I guess, never truly die.

Charles Manson and his Family were North America’s first domestic terrorists. With their human slaughter of innocents, they crossed a line, one from which society could never return. With Buntline, bayonet, and Buck knife wounds, the damage went deep. Physical to those ten poor souls, psychological to the rest of us. As a pebble smacks water, as ripples roll to shore, so did those murders hit all of us. The daisy chain generation was forced into holding dead blooms.

Below is a street corner shot of LA’s Hall of Justice, where the Manson Family trials took place. Every day during the trials, devoted Family members would sit vigil at the corner of West Temple and North Broadway, singing, praising, and defending Manson and the killers.

By 1972, most of Charlie’s members had ebbed away. After the guilty verdicts and the death penalties given to the killers, most of Charlie’s lost kids figured out Manson and the Family had never been about love, and they slowly walked away, licking their psychic wounds.

Hall of Justice, Temple & Broadway (top) Sandra, Lynette, Manson movie clip (1973), (bottom) same pedestal today, Google Maps 2025

All but Charlie’s two most devoted girls, Sandra Good, aka Blue, aka Blue Collins and Lynette Fromme, aka Red, aka Squeaky.

From 1969 to today, those two refuse to admit they got lost and devoted themselves to a killing machine. I assume they cannot admit said, for their psyches would crumble if they did. They had invested all of themselves into Charlie. Without him and his ideology, they were dust to the wind. It’s through Lynette and Sandra and that street corner I sense a residual haunting, felt by those of us who remember and know where to look.

Today, that pedestal outside the Hall of Justice remains, but doubtful most who walk by it now know its significance. Or if they do, they no longer care.

To me, evil still hovers there, as it lingers ever so slightly at the locales. I would not want to touch or sit on that pedestal or sit on the sidewalk where the Family members camped. Or walk along Waverly Drive and touch the LaBianca lantern pedestals or touch the Cielo Drive telephone pole, or tread on the sand and sagebrush up at Barker or through the scrub and and boulders at Spahn. Some things are better left undisturbed.

Lynette, Sandra (top) Manson movie clip (1973), (bottom) (l) Lynette Briefly News, (r) Sandra Boston Globe

As of this writing, Lynette supposedly lives in New York State. Sandra’s whereabouts are unknown, somewhere along the eastern seaboard or in the Midwest. Wherever those to may breathe air, they are thousands of miles away from the carnage they still defend. Ill assume they planned it that way.

For me, for others like me, who lived through that carnage, some vibes are still too strong, too breath-taking, too horrific, even now.

Yes, I’ve closed the book on this part of my life by creating a book. It’s a physical object I can read and literally close its cover and shelve, never to be touched or read again.

But some things are not as easy to bury. The song Paul Watkins and Brooks Poston sing in the movie Manson 1973 (Watkins and Poston, former Family members, never hurt or killed anyone, and escaped in time) still rings in my ears. Maybe it was a love song to them. But to me, it’s a haunting melody that re-ignites the fear. The fear never dies. It merely lays dormant in me.

The daisy was the icon of the 60s, representing love, purity, and joy. Daisy chains were our crowns.

Until the summer of ’69.

Then the daisies died.

And dead things you cannot bring back to life no matter how you try.

~~~

Blow by Blow, by BJ Thompson.

Available at Amazon, e-book and paperback.

Charles Denton "Tex" Watson... The Man Behind the Monster, Part Four, The Interviews, Part I, Part C

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Tue, 18 Oct 2022 17:11:00 +0000

Both photos, courtesy Rolling Stone

In this last part on Tex Watson's views on the Death Penalty, the delusion of Saint Watson continues...

Q: What are some of the Biblical examples where God has shown mercy instead
of the judgment of death?

Again, the interviewer and Tex are purposely missing the point. Nobody is arguing that God shows mercy on all men regardless of what they do, but while a 7-time mass murderer is on this earth, it's man's justice which must prevail in order to maintain a civil society. You can be given mercy in your heart and soul while you're incarcerated unto death, Tex.

My main question still is being left unanswered: Where was this mercy of which you expound when you knifed to death those seven souls, Tex?

While on earth: You showed no mercy then, we show no mercy for you now.

Q: We hear victims of crime crying out for justice, but I hear you saying that
mercy is the answer, right?

Tex's answer: "Those crying out for justice do not know God's justice."

Disgusting. Tex is insinuating here that the victims' families who demanded justice for their slained loved ones are not close to God, but that a 7-time mass murderer is. The sheer arrogance of Watson knows no bounds.

After seeing what you did to those innocent people, how you literally slaughtered them in cold blood, we are supposed to show you mercy? Seriously? Listen, bud, you can get all the mercy from God you deserve, after you die. While you're still breathing air on earth, you can stay put behind bars, and look at society as having given you mercy by allowing you to live. You've had all the mercy we can stomach for you, Tex.

Q: Do you see the death penalty being unevenly applied in a discriminatory and
flawed fashion?

Finally, something we both agree on. Yes, justice is not applied evenly. Money talks, that is true. But to a cold-blooded mass murderer, of which you are, the death penalty should be evenly applied. You've proven you are not of society, that you have no conscience, that the people around you are easily expendable, so the way I see things is we should send you back to God. Your attempt at being human, humane, was a failure. You are a reject God can deal with. Not society.

Q: Do you believe the death penalty is a deterrent?

Another point we agree on. Of course, the death penalty is never a deterrent to sociopaths. If it were, you wouldn't have eagerly gone up to Cielo Drive and then Waverly Drive and knifed to death seven people. You even had hours in between to consider those heinous actions and not go the next night, but you eagerly went and the idea of mercy for any one of those souls never entered your mind, did it, Tex? If it had, all seven of those victims would be alive today.

Q: Some people believe if a prisoner repents, only then should they be spared.
What do you think?

Tex says, "But I do believe that a prisoner should go through a repentance process
before being released into society."

Another thing I agree with, but any old prisoner versus a 7-time mass murderer is a whole other kettle of fish. Repent all you want, Tex, but for you and the other Manson Family mass murderers, that should never be any Get Out of Jail Free card.

Q: So, am I hearing you saying that a prisoner's life is valuable to God, but not to
man?

Tex says, " That's right. God values every life — man, woman, or child."

That's true, any soul with a conscience. Any person who is humane, who values life.

Here on earth, we punish according to the crime. When you're dead and gone, Tex, God can deal with you how He sees fit.

Again my question to you would be thus: at what point, before you plunged that bayonet into Abigail Folgers body so many times that her white nightgown turned blood-red, did you see her as a valuable human being?

Q: Do you think people are rethinking their stand on the death penalty after Karla
Faye Tucker was put to death?

Tex says, "We human beings
did not create life. God created this life, and He should be the only one to take it."

Right, so when did you decide it was okay for you to become an executioner?

What should society do we people who mow down innocent souls en masse?

Again, I say mass murderers, serial killers, murderous sociopaths like you, Tex, require a special kind of justice for the devastation they leave behind.

Should society pay in tax dollars to have your kind continue to breathe in prison when you've proven your vengeance, multiple times, against man in this world?

I'm no for the death penalty for most, but killers like you, Tex, that's a whole other issue. You detest man on earth, so why should we want you here?

Q: Do you know of any examples of criminals who escaped execution, were
transformed and went on to become decent and useful citizens?

Tex's answer made me laugh. The dude had to go all the way back to the 1920s and child killer, Nathan Leopold, to find an example of a successful second chance given to a cold-blooded killer.

Tex's choice proves my point that failure reigns over success when sociopaths are given second chances at freedom, which means Tex is where he should be if no death penalty is allowed.

Q: Charles, I believe your life is an example of a transformed life, as well. Are you
resigned to the penalty you will pay for your past?

The interviewer is really trying to make us buy this full-on sociopath is now a conscience-holding soulful man. Science knows that if you've gone into adult life not having a conscience, at no time will you grow one later in adult life. To say the opposite just proves a sociopath's inclination for manipulation.

Tex says, "I'm reminded daily of my past. I've been marked in the eyes of man as a murderer..."

My reply: Yes, you have been marked thus, Tex, simply because you CHOSE to murder innocent humans. If you had not, you'd be free today. And as for this God you place so close, my last question to you would be thus:

If society hadn't imprisoned you, would you be such a Bible Thumper today?

Or would you have still carried in society with dealing drugs, conning people and eventually hurting or killing others?

The way I see things, Tex, is I'm relieved we who are on the outside of your prison walls ever have to take that gamble.

Charles Denton "Tex" Watson... The Man Behind the Monster, Part Four, The Interviews, Part I, Part B

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Tue, 06 Sep 2022 19:50:00 +0000

Both photos, courtesy Rolling Stone

Continuing with Tex on the subject of the Death Penalty, Part A here, the interviewer asks...

You're saying that Jesus Christ abolished the death penalty?

Tex says, "I believe Christ took my death penalty."

Sometimes, all you can do with sociopaths is say, Wow," and then say, "Oh, so Christ only removes the death penalty for "special" murders then?

Talk about a 4-star stellar delusional excuse. But for a legal hiccup, Watson would have been dust to the ages in the early 70s. The commutation of death wasn't about a prophet giving Tex a Get Out of Death Free card.

He then goes onto say, "... murder in the Old Testament wasn't the only death-penalty sin," as if attempting to normalize first degree murder, equating it with such no-no's as cursing your parents. If this were the case, every teenager since the dawn of mankind would have been put to death. The skill Tex has for creative excuses spans the length the breadth of all conjuring.

He goes onto say, "His grace and mercy free us from the penalty of death." Okay. Once you're in heaven with the Big Guy, possibly. But down here, on plain old earth, not so much. Tex Watson had a date with San Quentin's Green Room. The laws of California stated as much. No amount of airy-fairy gobbledygook verbiage will eliminate that.

Another question...

So why do we consider murder the only death-penalty sin, when the Old Testament calls for the death penalty for many sins?

His junk logic and a careful Nixonian non-denial denial baffle the mind. He states that if the US put people to death for all the Old Testament sins, that country would be the No. 1 executing country. Possibly, but nice one for AVOIDING the actual question, there, Tex.

He segues nicely to the New Testament, saying that "mercy triumphs over judgement."

Hm... I guess you forgot to tell Steve, Jay, Voytek, Abby, Sharon, Leno and Rosemary about that. According to your logic, all they had to do was ask for mercy, and you would have spared their lives. Oh, wait a sec. They did ask. And you murdered them, anyway, stabbing them over and over again.

There seems to be a glitch in your logic, Tex. Return to your prisoner crones and find another excuse.

Another question...

What was the early churches' attitude toward criminals and the death penalty?

Tex says, "We all die physically unless Jesus Christ returns before that time."

Okay. I'll bite. So, if the prophet returns, we live forever, huh? What does A have to do with B? Somebody who lived, and died, lives again on earth (which to man's knowledge has never, ever happened in the history of this planet, including Jesus) and we all magically becomes like Moses and live for 900 years, huh?

I just love how bible thumpers propose an impossible to justify their illogical excuses.

Tex then says, "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners." A little bit wrong there, Tex. All humans are born sinful, but that doesn't mean we all become murderers. Sinners, we may be. Murders, we certainly aren't. You and murderous sociopaths like you, are. Jesus didn't come for you guys. Jesus came to teach mankind NOT to be like YOU, Tex. You may still be breathing here on earth, but damn doubtful you'll exist in Jesus' world after you take your last earthly breath. Maybe the judgement he holds for you is simply to no longer exist, here, or on any other plane of existence. You know what they say, Tex. True hatred comes from indifference. You have been nothing since August 9, 1969 and will continue to be nothing forevermore.

Another question...

So you're saying God's justice in the Old Testament is now carried out differently in the New, right?

He says, "As a result, when we receive Christ, a relationship of peace with God comes, no matter what our sin. God dealt with sin, made us righteous, and finds no fault with us. Does this sound like a God who demands the death penalty today, or a Heavenly Father who loves even the worst of His wayward children?"

Okay, let's say you're right. No death penalty for anyone here on earth, no matter their crimes, but that doesn't preclude a Life sentence WITHOUT the possibility of parole.

How many sins have you committed, since your murders, by cruelly putting the surviving family members through decades of parole hearings, Tex? How many?

You were given a death penalty Pass because the state of California considered said to be "cruel and unusual" judgement.

Torturing these family members with your pathetic hearings, is that not cruel and unusual judgement???

If you truly walked your talk, put the New Testament where your mouth is, you would have asked for all parole hearings to be stopped and taken your earthly, non death penalty, punishment. Have you done this? Nope. Not even once. You're a conman and a liar. You've been that since you were a teenager in Texas conning your family out of material help, and you're a con and a liar today. Bible in hand or not, you are still the narcissistic opportunist you've always been.

Another question...

What was Jesus' view on the death penalty?

Tex says, "We are to walk as Jesus walked in the presence of our Heavenly Father. Sadly, too many of us reflect the popular political view rather than take a stand for the heart and will of God."

Tex, justice is never "political." You murdered 7 souls with a bayonet. Justice is demanded for your murders. It's as simple as that. Jesus, and the rest of humanity, who are not murderers, value life. You did not. You are as far away from what Jesus believed as you can get. On earth, you pay for those murders. Jesus would wholeheartedly agree. After you die, that's your God's choice.

Another question...

You're not saying the early church believed there should be no punishment for sin, are you?

Tex says, "...the attitude of the early church wasn't to acquit the guilty, but to welcome a returning sinner." Which is what we have been doing with you since 1971, Tex, in prison, where you belong.

He goes onto say, "The early church focused on forgiveness and compassion, in opposition to the strict application of the law."

I say to that: good thing we've evolved since then, huh, Tex. And let us return to the night of the murders... if you had not applied Charles Manson's "strict application of the law" and chose not to kill, then forgiveness and compassion would have been yours, right?

You CHOSE to kill that night, Tex. Nobody put a gun to your head. You and Sadie were high on Speed — a drug of which Manson did not approve — and you were rarin' for the adventure, the game, the blood-soaked creepy crawl. You showed no compassion for the victims, Tex, even when they begged for their lives. All we have left is the application of the law to apply to your disgusting and deadly desires. Jesus knew this. Sentient humans know this. Predators like you never get this. You are where you belong, locked away, paying for your lack of compassion, where you can never hurt another soul.

Another question...

What has been secular society's effect on the Biblical way?

Tex says, "I believe the Biblical way is to incorporate Scriptural principles of grace, mercy and forgiveness in providing alternatives to the death penalty."

Which we have done, Tex. You in prison. Donesco. *Mic drop*

Another question...

But isn't the state an essential part of God's earthly social order in all its functions?

Tex says, "The Apostle Paul said... we should submit to all secular authorities, affirming that they are instituted for our good....Vengeance is mine, I will repay saith the Lord."

Which humans with a conscience do, every single day, Tex.

Yep, Tex, revenge is God's. Time is ticking on your Judgement Day. All we're doing down here is making damn sure you don't kill anyone else. If you had dropped the parole hearings all these decades long, I would have been fine with your pathetic life in prison, but because you've tortured the surviving family members, honestly, I wish you had met your appointment in the Green Room, then they and the rest of society would have had peace. Instead, we have to wait for you to die to receive that and pay for your existence with Americans' tax dollars. Seems a double crime to me.

And finally in this Part B, a last question...

So am I hearing you saying that we aren't called to carry out God Vengeance?

Tex says, "That's exactly what I'm saying. If we're honest with ourselves, we'll have to admit that we're retaliating in vengeance, not justice, when it comes to capital punishment. Vengeance is just a natural response of the vindictive nature of the fallen.

Wow. So, the rest of us who have a conscience, who abide with the laws of man and God every single day, who do not kill for fun or greed or any other moral sin, and who want rid of you from our lives, are the "fallen" ones, huh?

Here's a truth for you, Tex. It's justice, not revenge. If it had been revenge, that death penalty hiccup would have never been entertained, right? You wouldn't have had a reprieve. You would have been fried in 1971/72 and your existence would have been long forgotten.

What justice is, is for you to pay for your crime, one way or another. You were supposed to be dead. All of us back then would have slept pretty darn fine knowing you had been put to death. But you were spared, like you spared no one at 10050 Cielo Drive or at 3301 Waverly Drive.

You are effectively the Breathing Dead to us, Tex.

You should have no voice.

You should have no website.

You should have never had conjugal visits and had children while Doris Tate's child and grandchild were molding in their grave.

But because you have managed to weasel your way into all of these goodies, all society has is time on their hands, waiting til you shuffle off this mortal coil and get the true vengeance your God has in store for you. it's coming, Tex. Your celestial justice is coming, and it's going to make our earthly justice seem like a cake walk, death penalty spared or not.

Charles Denton "Tex" Watson ... The Man Behind the Monster, Part Four, The Interviews, Part I, Part A

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Wed, 06 Jul 2022 19:59:00 +0000

Both photos, courtesy Rolling Stone

In my previous posts covering this extended interview of Tex, conducted in 2003, read below:

Part One, Part Two , Part Three

Part Four: Part A, Part B, Part C , Part D, Part E, Part F, Part G, and the most recent, Part H,

I’ve discussed the mental minutia of the man — very little Good, the often Bad, and the underbelly Ugly. It’s a classic case of an obsessive narcissistic sociopath trading one escapism obsession for another. In Tex’s case – illicit drugs, and his Charles Manson high, for God.

Since I began this examination way back in 2009, Tex has upped his game, revamping his website, Abounding Love, with a super-duper, touchy-feely look (no Buntline or bayonets anywhere in sight) and making a book out of this interview, for sale on Amazon — ebook $1.54, paperback $577.99. No, that’s not a type-O, peeps, and you can bet some schmucks have bought the paperback.

Note: As you go back in time with these much older posts listed above, you’ll see a major change in how I present them — wacky font colors, wacky font choices. When I first took on this blog, fear of these monsters was still very much in the forefront of my mind. Their murders colored my world back then, and as an adult, the only way I could spoon out this horror was by mixing it with a bit of black humor, injecting quirky funny with fact. I won’t be going back to those posts and modernizing them. You’ll just have to tolerate the wackiness. They sit as a time capsule, of sorts, showing how I had to interject sardonic wit to swallow these traumatic events. Since Sadie and Manson’s deaths, there has been more inner peace for me, peace that we all should have experienced when the entire gang received that Death Penalty. Peace has been a long time coming, but slowly, those of us who lived through those horrific days are slowly receiving a measured dose of that peace long coming.

Sociopaths, once you know their subterfuge code, can’t hide what they truly desire under carefully chosen words, to manipulate the public into thinking all’s well, no matter how much blood they shed in the past. Tex, like the rest of the Manson Family killers, never uses the words kill or murder. It’s always “the crime” or “what I destroyed” or “the wrong I’ve caused” or some other emotionally distanced words, as if separating the man from his deeds is easily done, and accepted by all.

In Part I — to be posted in three separate sections — Tex discusses his views on the Death Penalty. In general, I think it’s rather hilarious we should give one hoot about what a mass killer thinks about anything, especially capital punishment. But to ignore his words is to cover over the evil that still lies within this man, no matter what “Statement of Faith” or “Insights into my Behavioral Change” Tex spouts on his pathetic website, or what Bible-thumping gloss he paints over the blood-stained facts.

Here’s a Fun Fact: If Watson had not been stopped buy law enforcement in ‘69, he would have kept on doing drugs and killing to get what he wanted. It’s always a neat little trick that sociopaths only find God after they can’t do anything else. Where was Tex’s God when he drove up to Cielo Drive on that hot August night? Where was his God when he wrapped lamp cords around Leno and Rosemary La Bianca’s necks?

I’ll tell you something else. If I were in charge of his website (and who says convicted killers can have websites anyway?), the visuals would be a heck of a lot more realistic, if only to keep young people from continually falling for this guy’s devious charms.

Let’s dive in, shall we? There’s a lot to cover. I’ll try and keep the dry-heaving down to a minimum…

Q: Charles, I want to talk about the death penalty. But first, by doing this interview, do you fear being misunderstood by the victims' families?

In his reply, Tex talks about this interview as an “apology” to the victims’ families. Tex, the only apology you can give them is to return to your cell and never speak publicly again. They want to at least pretend that you didn’t skirt the Green Room at San Quentin. You do all this publicity for you. You crave the attention. Let’s call a spade, a spade, or a bayonet, a bayonet, shall we?

He goes on to talk about the pain he has caused, and that only God can remove the pain the families feel. No, Tex. You made it so that their pain will never be gone on this earth. The only relief they will ever feel is when they leave this mortal coil and possibly see their loved ones again. People who have been hurt grow protective scars, but it takes very little for those scars to be ripped open when killers like you speak.

He goes on to say that through this interview he hopes to convince “rebellious youth” to find God instead of the path he trod. Wow. Rebellious youth, huh. Is that what we’re calling mass murderers these days? Tex’s way with words is quite the wonder, I must say. There’s a Grand Canyon’s worth of space between a rebellious youth and Tex Watson, and let’s pray it stays that way.

Q: You were sentenced to death for your crime, correct?

Tex readily admits said, but then as easily admits he was originally going for a “diminished capacity” plea similar to what Steven Dennis “Clem” Grogan got away with and was let out of prison due to said in 1985. Funnily enough, the DC didn’t last with Clem. The moment he got out of jail, he made a miraculous mental recovery, playing guitar in front of audiences for moolah. It’s my opinion that the judge who fell for Clem’s game was the one who had DC. Luckily, Tex’s judge had all his synapses firing, so he rightly threw the judicial book at this monster killer.

Q: Weren't you shaken and scared by the sentence?

Tex describes moving from the L.A. County Jail to San Quentin as a “relief,” and that he “started coming back to life.” The only thing I can glean from this is he was happy to have his own cell.His own little slice of Tex life.

He goes on to say God forgave him for “all the evil I had done.” Again, pretty words. No mention of what exactly he had done, which was to kill seven innocent souls with a Buntline and a bayonet. He further states, “I was not willing to give Him [God] my whole life. That would come later.” Right. Because maybe his lawyer still held out hope of lightening the sentence or getting this killer out of prison like Clem. Once he knew he wasn’t going anywhere, then the only guru left to Tex certainly wasn't Manson. It had to be God. Espousing that belief might get him back on top with other prisoners and get him on the good side of the guards for favors — again, manipulation being paramount.

Q: Did you ever think of committing suicide and saving the state the money?

Unless committing suicide is to a narcissistic sociopath’s advantage, they never harm themselves. They have all the guts in the world to harm others, never putting at risk their own life. There maybe a few faked attempts to gain attention or sympathy, but these diseased people put themselves as No.1 above all else. Falling into what he claims was a catatonic state was merely his mind escaping from responsibility, yet again. Better to stop thinkling than failing to get out of jail or out of the reality that he was a mass killer. This constant refrain that Tex believed he was now God’s possession is highly disturbing. All this says to me is he traded one guru for another — Charlie to God.

Q: Why weren't you put to death?

Tex doesn’t simply state that the Death Penalty was overturned. He has to mention the “cruel and unusual punishment” aspect, completely blithe to the fact that as he shot Steven Parent four times and dove the bayonet into Gibby so many times her white nightdress turned red, there was no thought then that night on the 10050 Cielo Drive grass as to “cruel and unusual punishment” behavior towards his vistims. Sociopaths have no capacity to see anything but the “Me” factor in any scenario. And like with other statements made by the other Manson killers, they are incapable of looking outwards at how they destroyed others. It’s always about what happened to them. He goes on to state stats on Americans disfavoring the Death Penalty, as if that’s some kind of proof, See. People love me. Let me live. Let me go free. Then, the ultimate quote from Tex: “I believe there was just a greater sense of mercy and less anger in society at that time.” How he can say that with a straight face and mean it boggles the mind.

Q: Can't you understand how the victims' families wanted you to be put to death?

Tex uses the word, destroy, instead of kill or murder. Always a distanced treatment, as if it was another entity, another person, other than his great and special self, who committed these awful killings.

He states, “Jesus doesn't want me suffering in my sin. He sees me forgiven and desires my total restoration,” simply ignoring that wee thing actual Christians call mortal sin, the old tablet rule, Thou shall not kill. If there’s an accountant in Heaven, Tex maybe facing a price tag that he’s refusing to acknowledge now.

He talks about the idea to “separate the sin from the sinner,” that he can love his fellow inmates by separating the two, inferring why can’t we of him? My response to Tex: A man is more his actions than his words. Words are cheap. Actions live forever.

Q: So, do you think you deserved the death penalty?

Tex states, “I feel that many people who are being executed today are totally changed people from who they were when they committed the crime, but no mercy is found for them.” — read between the lines on this, people. He’s not talking about other inmates. He’s talking about himself. I smell a sense of superiority and a belief that Tex thinks he’s mighty special. Pathetic.

No mercy is found for them or for you? You claim to be a Bible thumper, but the old “eye for an eye” passage, you chose not to believe? Mercy was never even a thought when you annihilated your seven victims, Tex. Why should society ever shower mercy upon you? What, because you’ve faked being a good boy in prison, you get a Get out of Jail Free card? Crikey, even Manson didn’t pretend this much.

Tex, consider yourself damn lucky that you weren’t executed, and doubtful that’s because the victims’ families wanted it that way. Because you live, you keep torturing these families with every damn parole hearing you have, with every word you speak.

Q: What is this term “closure” that the victims' family members use so often?

Tex basically quotes chapter and verse about the evils of the Death Penalty, to include an off-hand remark that more injury would befall the victims’ family members if he were executed. It’s Tex’s word slight-of-hand trick that is so insulting here. It’s almost a threat — hurt me and I’ll hurt you more. I personally am not a fan of the Death Penalty, but sociopaths like Tex need to have no public forum where they can speak. They should be holed away in their cell, virtually dead to humanity. All they ever do when they speak is spew more vitriol and cause more pain. If this interview doesn’t show that in spades, what would? It’s like we have allowed Tex to keep his damn bayonet and continue to slash at society. Bottom Line: he skims over how the victims’ families are feeling — the very question asked here — and returns to his own little Tex world.

He quotes a Bible verse, “…Come to me, all you who are weary and carry
heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle, and you will find rest for your souls” How Tex can liken heavy burdens with cold blooded murder is beyond me. I’m fairly sure Jesus meant a good man’s simple burdens, not a monster’s cold blooded attacks.

Q: You mean God doesn't desire that a man be put to death for his crimes?

Tex is in rare form on this question. He states — I gather with a straight face — that God’s mercy has to be incorporated into our earthly justice system, to give Tex yet another Pass simply because Jesus died for our sins. Hey, Tex, the sins of a good men are not the sins of a monster. There’s a reason a separation of Church and State exists on this earth, primarily to deal with monsters like you. If all people abided by the laws of God, principally the Thou Shall Not Kill goodie, then church and state could probably co-exist. It’s because of men like you, Tex, that mercy on earth has to be far different than in heaven.

Okay, folks, that’s it for the Part A section of Part I. I welcome your thoughts, feedback.

It’s good to be back writing again on TLB2. I know, it’s been a lonnnnng time coming. Talk with you soon!

A Notice of Post Rotation for Author, BJ Thompson

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Tue, 19 Apr 2022 21:48:00 +0000

For the foreseeable future, or at least until I complete the two major book projects I have on tap, I will be writing in rotation for this and other websites under my name (see list below, and you are welcome to follow each/all for their updates).

That means that I will still be posting episodes, articles on these sites every Tuesday (or possibly Wednesday for TLB2 — 2nd Official Tate-LaBianca Murders Blog — as those posts can get quite long), but only on one of the five topics per week (copied to all associated sites, of course), so that I may have more time to complete the big book projects whose deadlines are this summer and fall.

I do apologize for this rotation, but I have been neglecting several of these sites that also need my regular attention. I do hope you understand. This rotation will begin next Tuesday, April 26, 2022. Thank you for your support!

Best Always,

Barbara

~~~

Topics:

Words to Write By… and Books by BJ Thompson

Author Website - http://www.booksbybjthompson.com/

Medium - https://medium.com/@BooksbyBJThompson

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/BooksbyBJThompson/

Burb’s Buck & Buntline Inn

Social Commentary Site - http://burbsbuckandbuntlineinn.blogspot.com/

2^nd Official Tate-LaBianca Murders Blog – on Manson Family Murders in 1969

https://2ndofficialtate-labiancamurdersblog.blogspot.com/

STOP Not Writing… NOW

Writers Coaching Website - https://www.stopnotwritingnow.com/

Medium - https://medium.com/@STOPNotWritingNow

Substack - https://stopnotwritingnow.substack.com/

LinkedIn - https://www.linkedin.com/company/74123987

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/StopNotWriting

Simily – Fiction

BJ Thompson – Short Story Works - https://simily.co/members/bjthompson/

Episodic Animal Adventure Series - The Life & Times of Tiger and Rat

https://simily.co/members/lifeandtimesoftigerandrat/

~~~

There's only so many hours in the day...or night...

Manson Murders, 50 Years - August 9, 1969...

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Fri, 09 Aug 2019 01:30:00 +0000

Courtesy Framepool & Rightsmith

“It was so quiet, one of the killers would later say, that you could almost hear the sound of ice rattling in the cocktail shakers in the homes way down the canyon.” ~ Vincent Bugliosi, Helter Skelter

Fifty years is a long time…

Gary Hinman would be 84 this December.

Steven Parent would be 68.

Jay Sebring would be 86 this October.

Voytek Frykowski would be 83 this December.

Abigail Folger would be 76 this August.

Sharon Tate would be 76.

Sharon’s baby, Paul Richard, would be 50.

Leno LaBianca would be 94.

Rosemary LaBianca would be 90 this December.

Donald “Shorty” Shea would be 86 this September.

Instead, every soul listed above has been dead and buried for a half century while their killers — minus Atkins-brain cancer and Manson-heart attack — breathe quite comfortably above ground in prison.

I will not list the killers’ names. It was hard enough on this anniversary to list the two above who finally gave the world some measure of peace by keeling over. It’s amazing how long base and vile humans can live.

Since 2008, I have written countless words about the victims, the murders, the scenes and the times on my forensic/pop culture site,

And yet today it feels as if I haven’t written a single word, and this is August 9, 1969 and I’m frightened all over again. I was only five years old when the murders took place but by the grace, or curse, of an eidetic memory, those murders are burned into my mind and will remain so until I’m dead. Since that horrid weekend in L.A., I cannot look at a window screen in the summertime and not feel a sequestered panic.

Adults across North America were panicked, too, the main thought on everyone’s mind: if hippies there can do THAT, can the hippies HERE do that, too? Trust in the counter-culture exploded and it became an “Us vs. Them” mentality. Local police were far more vigilant and everyone gave the “Flower Children” a second glance and a wide birth, choosing to cross the street to avoid that hippie-slippie scourge instead of risking a confrontation by buck knife, bayonet or Buntline revolver.

I was one of the Us, albeit small. Rational came down to this for me: I like baths and I like life.

My mother needn’t have worried I’d join some kind of hippie commune and sell daisies for a dollar at the Toronto International Airport for the greater good. I’m rather fond of speaking my own mind and a lover of reason over Speed and LSD-induced mania.

Manson was and remains a nobody, but like similar pond scum before and after him — Lee Harvey Oswald and Jim Jones spring to mind — they all devised ways to annihilate and destroy what they coveted most, and in the end, their heinous acts didn’t raise their self-worth one red cent. Borderline beings live borderline lives and die in borderline ways, no matter how many innocents they hi-jack along the way.

People often wonder why The Family killers remain behind bars. The answer is simple. Every reasoned society has a moral red line, and if you cross it, you are simply left behind to suffer the retribution you’re owed, whether or not it’s 48 years ago via San Quentin’s “Green Room.” Some acts can never be excused. There is no place for forgiveness or rehabilitation for sociopathic domestic terrorists, and that is precisely what each of The Family murderers were, and are to this very day.

What a California Supreme Court legal hick-up didn’t do by throwing away the Death Penalty in all of those cases, rotting in prison has done over time, but at extreme emotional expense to the victims’ surviving family members who must attend each and every parole hearing to ensure the killers continue to rot behind bars. Sadly, the death toll goes far beyond the initial ten, as it shortened the lives of Paul, Doris and Patti Tate and other relatives connected to these murders. Such metastasizing ripples are still being suffered today as Debra Tate prepares her younger family members to carry the torch once God calls her home. Having to consider this fight as generational is bloody outrageous.

With such an emotional and legal albatross on one’s shoulders, one wonders who really ended up in prison.

And still the murderers rest easy with three squares a day, heat and air conditioning, and a nice roof over their demented heads.

Know this: The Family was NOT a cult. I repeat. NOT a cult. Ignore the so-called “experts” and the former Family members who take interview fees for TV time and bemoan their victimization. These were drop-outs and bored rich kids who wanted to escape life’s responsibilities and CHOSE to follow a guy who offered them free food and lodging, free drugs, free sex and a 24/7 fantasy life that came with the “fun times” of creepy crawling houses late at night while the owners slept and killing The Establishment’s Beautiful People for bail money. Any one of those idiots could have left, and did, exemplified by Linda Kasabian doing just that even at risk to her own child forcibly being held behind at Spahn Ranch. Atkins, Watson, Beausoleil et al. came and went numerous times but they ALL chose to return and ALL chose to kill.

Unless you were alive in ’69 and remember living through this nightmare, don’t talk to me about forgiveness and rehabilitation. It will never exist for the remaining seven murderers. You cannot rehabilitate Anti-Social Personality Disorder. Death will be their only escape.

California Governor, Jerry Brown, well remembers the summer of ’69 even if some Cumbaya parole board members do not.

To ponder this anniversary and wonder what lives the victims may have led makes one stop in one’s tracks. The losses are so great, your mind freezes, and all that roils to the surface are blank slates of black sorrow, to include the public’s loss of innocence.

By August 11th 1969…

You lock your doors.

You buy a guard dog.

You install CCTV.

And your community becomes gated.

You no longer pick up hitch hikers and you give a wide birth to the unkempt and unwashed, who after these murders and the following muddy fiasco at Woodstock, start to ebb away and disappear. Thank God.

A free-loader good thing never lasts for very long. You can escape into the country and make daisy chains and poo-poo the working class, but once you run out of food and water and your tie-dye togs become threadbare, even the Cumbaya Crowd has to come in from the cold and realize that it isn’t faeries who make stuff and put a roof over one’s head. Even a bloody melee with buck knives, a Buntline and a thirsty bayonet won’t change that fact.

Yes, 50 years is a long time, but it might as well have been yesterday for those of us who were there and saw and touched that fear and felt that rage.

As each murderer dies off, we survivors of their hate breathe a sigh of relief, and whisper, “Who’s next?” for we will never receive a lasting peace until each and every one of the killers is wiped off the face of this earth. Scourge is scourge. Their kind of hate is immune to psychiatry or penicillin.

From July 25th to the end of August, I will choose to think about Gary, Steven, Jay, Voytek, Abigail, Sharon, Paul Richard, Leno, Rosemary and Donald and know in my heart they have been in a better place for this half century. Some time ago, I created a fictional place where those lost souls could meet, so for this anniversary, I have dusted off the tale and republished it here. Let us hope there is light wherever they are, and that such a vile darkness shall never again touch any of our souls.

Potluck for the Dead

Every year since ‘69, a house is chosen for the potluck. Ten people attend. Every year.

It's held on the evening of the 8th of August. Sharon's chosen date. It seems reasonable. After all, it was her idea to have these potluck affairs.

Sharon loves having people over, cooking herself, trying new foods, and having Jay bring the wine. And she's long accepted the fact that this odd band of souls would be forever linked. So why not get together and become good friends? That's Sharon's thinking.

And through these 56 years, the ten have indeed become close, bonding better than blood relatives over an inevitable coming-together of fated moments in time. And well, summer's end wouldn't be with this annual feast.

This year, Gary's place is the location.

LASO

It's never a big deal for the guys to host the party, for they know Sharon, Gibby, and Rosemary will help them in the food and party essentials. The potluck dinner is never stressful.

No, not for the food.

Around 7:30 p.m. people begin to arrive. The time roughly coincides when Sharon, Jay, Gibby, and Voytek head to the El Coyote on a similar summer's eve.

Tonight, each of the ten will "materialize," arriving in cars having a late 60's look and feel. For everything and everyone is frozen in time, you see.

Darkness hasn't yet cloaked Topanga, but headlights are clearly visible as they make their way up Gary's drive.

First to arrive is Jay's Porsche. He gives a ride to Sharon as her Ferrari is still in the mechanic's garage, and will forever remain.

Steven Parent's Rambler wheels up. You hear it before you see it. The car-radio is blaring The Byrd's tune, Turn, Turn, Turn.

It's followed by Leno's Thunderbird with his dear wife, Rosemary, in the passenger seat. The T-Bird still hauls the speedboat.

Gibby's Camero thrums up next. Her ever-present partner, Voytek, rides shotgun. Forgive the choice of words.

Shorty Shea's '62 Mercury is the last up the hill, for he has the longest way to drive. And he's never rushed in any instance.

Soon, all are present and accounted for — cars and company. What is missing in the Gary's driveway are the VW micro-bus and Fiat station wagon. Not surprising, for we know they are stolen by Bobby Beausoleil, Mother Mary, and Sadie on July 27th, never to return.

Carrying various well-wrapped dishes, all climb Gary's bedraggled wooden steps. Jay hauls a cardboard box filled with various Chardonnays and Sauvignon Blancs. Jay enjoys being in charge of the drinks for these dos.

Steven runs up the steps. He's balancing the night's board game and the Sony AM/FM clock-radio in one arm and a bean casserole in the other. Years ago, Sharon put Steve in charge of the after-dinner entertainment. Tonight's game is Mouse Trap. Steven gives the casserole to Gibby and lays the game and radio on Gary's coffee table. Steve beams happiness. He plugs in the alarm clock, so they can have some swinging 60s tunes. He tries to set the right time, but the numbers flip back to 12:15 every year. Oh well, no matter, it's the music they are interested in anyhow.

The line stalls when it's Sharon's turn to head up the stairs, as she's carrying a wicker bassinet bedecked in white linen. Inside is Paul Richard. No one can see the wee tike, but they hear the soft tinkle of a baby rattle. They know he's here.

Hugs and kisses are exchanged all around. It's always so wonderful to see everyone again. Once Sharon finds a nice place for Paul Richard, she joins Rosemary and Gibby in Gary's kitchen to prepare and reheat the buffet. The men get-together in the living room. Jay uncorks the wine. Steve preps the board game. Everyone laughs and jokes, room to room, exchanging pleasantries.

Alone, in the dark, coffined deep within the earth, one surely thirsts for company by August 8th.

And everyone is famished. You get like that not eating for a year.

Each dish is incredible and tastes so fine, and the wine flows brightly. There's a big smile on Jay's face. He is thrilled again to be by Sharon's side. Shorty puts everyone in stitches with his down-home ranch-hand humor. Leno trades horse-betting secrets with Steven. And Voytek asks after Rosemary, trying to make her feel more at ease.

It doesn't matter what place they meet after 1969, Rosemary never quite relaxes. The poor woman always wrings her hands. She secrets those hands under the table, trying to hide her nervous habit. But Leno knows, and is so infuriated. Why can't she settle down, relax, and enjoy herself for one evening? The only evening we have.

Amid the food and wine, the conversation is lively.

Leno is the first to speak. He leans in, hands animated, talking between great gulps of roast pork.

"I never lose bets anymore, you know. I'm at Santa Anita race track every day now, and I always win! But there's no place to spend the money up there." Leno points skyward. "So, I'm piling the bills in $5,000 stacks and building walls to make convenience stores strategically placed around heaven. I don't care where you end up: location, location, location. Everyone gets the munchies, even on Cloud 9."

"Good for you!" says Steven. "I over-see the Geek Squad at that new tech store, Best Buy, the one in the Valley near my parents' house. When those guys get stuck repairing a mother board or installing a car or house stereo, I 'assist.' They don't know it's me, of course. But I get thrills knowing I helped. You should see the components they have today. Man! Wish I had stuff like that in '69. What systems I could have built!" Steven sighs and leans back in his chair, daydreaming, rocking it on the two rear legs.

Leno smiles and nods, displaying a kind of fatherly pride for Steven, who he knows misses his family deeply. Leno enjoys his annual talks with the teen. Nothing keeps you young like talking with youngsters.

"How's the hair business going, Jay?" asks Shorty. "I don't know much about cutting hair, but I know what I like, and that's short hair, not that hippie-girly look. Had enough of that in '69 to do me a lifetime!"

Jay laughs out loud. "Well, Sebring International is still a going-concern. Maybe more so once that movie came out, the one called, ‘Shampoo,' starring Warren Beatty as me. Seriously? Warren looks nothing like me. And I always kept my pants on while working with the stars."

Everyone roars with laughter. Sharon blushes. A tinkling from Paul Richard's baby rattle.

"After I helped Larry Geller get together with Elvis to cut his hair, and seeing how screwed up Elvis's thinking became under Larry's ‘tutelage,' a bad taste got in my mouth about the whole styling business."

"What do you do now between our potlucks?"

"I pal around with McQueen. He's up there with us, you know. I ‘appear' with him at Le Mans every year, and at the Twelve Hours of Sebring. We hit the Land Speed Racing over at el Mirage in the Mojave, too. We quietly tool up and race our own cars and bikes, and we usually come in first, but no one sees us, of course. And if we aren't doing that, we're haunting Clint Eastwood out in Monterrey. We play pranks on the guy, you know, having pens drop or hiding stuff on the dude, just messing with him enough to make his day a little less perfect out there in 'Pacific Coast Heaven.'"

People chuckle in between sips of wine.

"Steve and I used to keep a close eye on Clint's neighbor, Doris Day. She has always been such a ray of sunshine. Doris is up there now, too, you know." Jay points skyward, his expression wistful. "You can often hear her singing Que Sera, Sera with her son, Terry, on a far off cloud."

"You miss working?" Shorty looks at work as fun, always did.

"Nah, not really. Business stresses. I've left them all behind. I choose to enjoy myself these days. I never did enough of that when I was here, always trying to climb some business or social ladder that in the end was meaningless. Now I cherish what's truly important." Jay reaches for Sharon's hand and their eyes glisten.

"You still working with horses?" asks Jay of Shorty.

"Yeah, mostly. I'm at peace when caring for those critters. I brush 'em, feed, and water 'em like I did at Spahn's. And they like me for it. Horses don't talk back. They don't betray you or hurt you. I can't say the same for some people." Donald chuckles. "It doesn't take much to make me content, Jay. It never did. I was never any threat to anyone. Well, not really. Think people got the wrong idea about me, because of my size, or that I would sometimes spout off before thinking. Turns out spouting off can get you killed."

"Yeah," Jay says, thinking back…

Jay and Shorty clap sober eyes across the table. The uncomfortable silence broken when Jay offers to fill Shorty's glass. Donald Shea hates wine, but he never admits it to Jay, never one to hurt feelings. Besides, everything since September 26th, 1969, tastes like a good old American beer to Shorty, anyhow. There are benefits to living "up there."

"Your place looks great, Gary. This must be such a pleasant retreat for you from all the din at UC Berkeley, huh?" asks Gibby. The Folger coffee heiress always show up to these potlucks so well dressed… in anything but white.

"Yeah. It's only here I can think or write music or play my guitar. Be myself, really. Luckily for us, we get to see my house as it was in '69. The new owners have improved on it since then. But for me, my eyes only see my long ago pad. Sometimes it's good not to see into the future."

Everyone nods. No smiles this time.

They watch as Gary rises from the table, walks over to the exterior wall, and tries to wipe away lingering red stains with his napkin. The stains won't disappear.

Gibby turns away. She has no tolerance for red stains. She leans in, takes a sip of white wine, and says, "I'm still reading the same paperback I had in bed with me that night. Darned if I don't turn to a new page and the next thing I know, it's back to the last page!" Gibby laughs and laughs.

A paralytic silence overtakes.

Clearing her throat, Gibby adds, "Have some more ziti, Gary. Rosemary outdid herself this year!"

"Don't mind if I do." Gary returns to the table to accept the casserole dish. The two of them gobble down another helping. Eating kills disturbing thoughts.

At the other end of the table, Voytek and Sharon are seen leaning into one another, quietly exchanging stories on being parents. "How is Bartek doing these days, V?"

"Amazingly well. He's 'up there' with me now. And you know what? He writes, too, just I like I did. I think he writes for the two of us. I'm so proud of him, Shar, so very proud. He's so responsible, mature, and such a hard worker. Everything I never was. He did more with his life maybe because I did so little with mine. Maybe my loss was his gain, but my hurt lived in him, too, and took him too early. We're so close now, closer than we ever were. That's good, right Shar? That's good?" Voytek's eyes beam desperation.

"You bet!" Sharon lives to put others at ease. "Bartek is as good as he is because of you and your life. Nothing is ever in vain, you know. Here or up there, I have no doubt that Bartek is the man he is because of you. A published book or play wouldn't have got you any further or made you any more valuable as a human being, or as a father." Sharon smiles.

"Thank you, Sharon. Thank you for your kindness towards me. I know I didn't always deserve it. But I never meant to cause you any harm."

Softly touching his arm, Sharon's big bright eyes look into his. "Hey, hey, I know that. We're friends forever, and now parents to boot!" Sharon "knows" things about being a mom maybe more than anyone at the table.

All is not perfect in heaven. Voytek still carries so much guilt and regret. Being "up there" doesn't wash away everything.

"I know. Isn't it wonderful? Little Paul Richard is looking so well, such a handsome fellow. But why not? You're a stunner, and even with Roman's hound-dog looks, how could Paul Richard lose?" Voytek makes a funny face.

The two burst out laughing, clinking their wine glasses, and toasting to Roman. Their American absentee, sadly for more reasons than one.

Sharon has the rare ability to know everything after 1969, and so does Voytek. But ability and desire can mix like oil and vinegar in the After Life.

Sensing utter quiet to her left, Sharon turns to Rosemary. "How's the dress store doing?"

For the first time that night, Rosemary's face lights up, her smile wide, her eyes beaming. "Oh, Sharon, so kind of you to ask. It's going gang-busters. So many pretty designs and such lovely store decor. I'm so content when I'm there. I moved it right onto Rodeo, you know. Hit the Big Time. I think Leno is jealous. I spend so much of my time at the store."

Sharon laughs and flashes her doe eyes at Leno. "Hey, ignore him. If it doesn't have four legs and hit Win, Place or Show in the 4th, it doesn't count."

Voytek, Sharon, and Rosemary get the giggles, clinking glasses, and sneaking glances at Leno, who by now catches on he's being talked about, and displays a curious look. He reaches down to hold Rosemary's hand. She meekly smiles, squeezes his hand, then releases her grip, returning to her hand wringing.

Another baby rattle tinkle, a cooing in contented delight.

After the lovely feast, the evening festivities begin. With Gary's dishes all washed and put away, Jay uncorks bottles from vineyards in Napa Valley. The sun long since set, everyone moves to the living room to play Mouse Trap. Whenever they play the game, Voytek always sets off the trap. Everyone stifles snickers as the red plastic trap slams down on the little gray mouse. Voytek pounds a fist on the coffee table and swears in Polish. The sight is just too funny for words.

As time wears on, the gang becomes less jovial and a little more ill at ease. Not in any overt way. It's a vibe you pick up on in the room… if you were there. More awkward silences birth between more stilted conversation. Light and breezy are the topics but they don't defend against the indefensible.

No matter the potluck location, each year the phone rings at ten o' clock. It's Gibby's mom asking if she's all right, and if she's still taking tomorrow's flight to San Francisco. Every year, Gibby lies and says she's fine.

By 11:45 p.m. Steven makes his own phone call but, of course, no one answers like on that night in '69.

No matter, Gibby and Steven repeat the inevitable each year. They don't want to do, but Fate compels.

Mouse Trap played, the phone calls made, and the last wine drank are signs the get-together is winding down. Jay's wine box holds merely empties now. The women wrap up the leftovers and re-pack the containers. The food will go nowhere, of course. It will simply disappear. But that doesn't matter. When the clock strikes twelve, all slowly, and with sober resignation, put on their wraps and coats and head for Gary's door.

The women hug for such a long time and kiss one another lightly on tear-stained cheeks. Handshakes and pats on the backs for the men, who fiercely will away their tears.

"Until next year. Same time, but which place?" asks Shorty.

"Right! Which place?" echoes Steven.

"How about my place next year? I am dying, uh, eager to go for another swim in the pool. I miss floating in my inner tube. And I'd like to splash and play with Paul Richard. He never got the chance to… you know. So, is everyone up for Cielo Drive?"

Everyone silently nods. They stay mum, look away, forcing back more tears. Their throats are choked with emotion at the time lost a mother should have had with her son.

Steven is the first to clear his throat and pipe up. He so wants to distract Sharon from seeing the group's many tears pelt to the floor. "And what about the board game? Any suggestions?"

With her head bowed, and in a barely audible voice, Rosemary says, "How about The Game of LIFE? Anyone for LIFE?" Her tearful eyes rise to meet theirs, desperately waiting for the right answer, the answer that should have been.

Slowly, silently, nine hands rise. A cooing and a rattle tinkle come from the bassinet.

All who are there, and all who know best, voted for LIFE.

That settled, the ill-fated group of ten slowly exit Gary's home, one by one heading down the long flight of stairs. Sharon is first in line with Paul Richard, Jay guiding her way.

Car engines start. All sound pretty darn good for being over a half century old. Headlights beam. A slight dirt and gravel dust-up colors the warm, dry desert air as they reverse and pull out of the lot. From their respective car windows, everyone waves goodbye to Gary… but the house is already in darkness, his aura long gone.

Each soul slowly fades away in the order in which they were killed, so by midnight on August 9th, Gary is well and truly gone. Shorty's presence is the last to fade. Each in their turn will "depart," making their way down Topanga Canyon.

Their soul's pixels of light will extinguish like dying stars in the heavens. Ten auras will float for a time over Malibu Beach and out to sea where they are embraced unto God.

The clinking of empty wine bottles, the click-hum of Steve's clock-radio, and the tiny coo and rattle tinkle from Paul Richard are the last remaining signs this Potluck of the Dead ever occurred. Even those everyday sounds must die. They have to.

Rest well, 'til next year, our dear ten. Rest well.

Charlie Manson Gave Quentin Tarantino Some LSD... and it was a Bad Trip...

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Thu, 01 Aug 2019 22:00:00 +0000

The Cannes Film Fest gave the 56 year-old film maker a standing ovation for his recent creation, Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood. They would. After all, it’s Tinsel Town enablers, enabling. I’m not sure that’s the barometer one should use to assess this celluloid trip.

Quentin was six and I was five when the Tate-La Bianca murders went down. I doubt either one of us on August 9, 1969 were smoking LSD laced cigs in between playing with Barbies and G. I. Joes, but sober and young, we were obviously both affected.

Although light-years higher and farther in artistic success than little old me, Quentin and I have used the same delivery in our works — wrapping a fictional tale around a factual event. For both of us, it’s a way to go down Memory Lane and get revenge or sneak in the last word or just plain have a few chuckles at inside jokes only those present could appreciate. I get that, I do, but here’s the rub… and I will explain via paraphrased dialogue from Robert Redford’s 1976 movie, All the Presidents Men, regarding publishing an article which said President Nixon’s Chief of Staff was the 5th person to divvy out CREEP — Committee for the Re-Election of the President — funds to pay off the Plumbers;

You hit too high, and miss

You make people feel sorry for them [the bad guys]

You can’t do worse than doing that.

What you do is you go from the outer ring

And slowly work in

You hit too high and miss

And it’s over

In other words, Quentin went too far off the rails as per this momentous historical timeline for it to be of any lasting value. He hit high and missed our hearts and minds. The New Yorker magazine summed up its take in one word: inert — of having no effect.

Now, don’t get me wrong.

I love Quentin’s movies.

He has a delivery all his own, and over the decades, has given a much needed boost to Hollywood when its creativity had so plummeted, but in terms of working with an iconic historical event and warping the astronomical shit out of it, Tarantino has cheapened his brand and sullied an already stained time that put all of North America in a hippie panicked tail-spin, and most certainly cheapened the victim’s deaths as a bonus. I highly doubt Sharon Tate’s middle sister, Debra, and Jay Sebring’s nephew, Anthony DiMaria, got much of a Buntline revolver bang out of this demented tale.

Yes. I get it. You go to a Q.T. film knowing you’re entering a frigged-up world.

Yes. I get it. Don’t expect reason or rational anything. Hell, don’t even look for completed plot lines or relevant characters.

Look to laugh and squirm and head-bob to the music.

That doesn’t mean Tarantino’s result is an artistic Tour de Force, peeps.

It may be a Ninja blender’s worth of inedible mush that leaves you sullied and embarrassed and feeling an apology is needed to history on behalf of this hyper producer/director.

Beyond Quentin’s obvious hallucinogenic take, Tarantino got quite a bit wrong even when he chose to dip his toes into a Tate pool of bobbing “facts” (and in no particular order);

· Sharon did not own/drive a black Porsche Spyder. That was Jay Sebring’s car, and Jay did not live at Cielo Drive that his car would have been easily available to Sharon. Sharon’s car was a red Ferrari that was in a repair garage the week of the murders. If Sharon had driven any car down to Hollywood, she would have borrowed Abigail Folger’s yellow Camaro.

Pinterest/murdersofaugust’69

· Two of Sharon’s girlfriends lunched with Sharon at Cielo on August 8th, not a single woman with a baby. It was Joanna Pettet and Barbara Lewis. The fact that Quentin inserted a baby into this scene I’m sure he thought was a “cool” symbolic harbinger of the slaughter to come. The real effect just brought out disgust in me.

· Susan, “Sadie” Atkins and Patricia “Katie” Krenwinkel did not have fixed long blade buck knives at Cielo. They had the folding switch blade models. Charles “Tex” Watson had the only fixed blade and it was a bayonet.

· In 1969, Cielo Drive was not a private, gated drive. It was a public thru-way. There was no right hand side retaining wall. It was merely open ground. There was no large parking spots along Cielo for the other homes (seen right) and all were basically without yards or pools and sat on stilts (pink dot denotes Tate house).

· Sharon did star in The Wrecking Crew with Dean Martin; however, there is no publicly known evidence that she went and watched the film by herself in Hollywood.

· Tate, Sebring, Folger and Frykowski arrived back at Cielo from the el Coyote before 10pm as Abigail “Gibby” received a phone call from her mother at 10pm, telephone records later showed.

· There were no eye witnesses to Tex and the Girls approaching the Tate residence.

· Manson did visit 10050 Cielo Drive prior to the murders, looking for music producer/Doris Day’s son, Terry Melcher, but it was Sharon’s photographer, Shahrokh Hatami (left), not Jay Sebring (middle), who answered the door, and in broken English ordered Manson to “go the back way” that Charlie may have taken as a slight; i.e. the servant’s entrance, when in fact all Hatami meant was to take the back path to the Guest House and inquire there.

Pinterest/LAPD

· There was no Manson Family girl nicknamed “Pussycat.”

· The girl who had sores on the bottom of her feet was Susan “Sadie” Atkins, a symptom from most likely contracting gonorrhea.

· The Tate pool was at the end of the house, not in front.

LAPD

· Abigail Folger and Voytek Frykowski did not do marijuana the night of the murders. Their post mortem toxicology screens showed MDA.

· Steve McQueen was close friends with Jay Sebring. There’s no evidence to suggest that McQueen desired a romantic relationship with Sharon.

To desire to create/re-create history is an appealing prospect to artists, but to take an horrific time and the brutal loss of real lives and force it and them into a pop-culture zeitgeist blender is going beyond the pale. The outcome, if it had been good art… maybe. But Once Upon a Time wasn’t even good art. The characters were caricatures. The acting was flat considering the talent Quentin had swimming around the place. I actually feel sorry that Al Pacino and Bruce Dern got roped into this fantasy fest.

If only Quentin had taken a more sober approach infused with a life lesson he’s known to elucidate so well in his films. It’s not that he lacks for skill. But Hollywood Shock & Awe always supersedes Truth even when the plain truth is psychedelic enough.

Once Upon a Time will leave the theatres this “Summer of ’19” easily forgotten.

The audience will be left feeling empty and embarrassed and maybe even hurt.

And that manufactured standing ovation at Cannes… well, who remembers what happens on those sunshine filled shores once the waves crash in.

I’m not saying don’t go see it.

I’m saying viewer beware.

If you, as I, well remember living through those heady days, your heart won’t be uplifted with Quentin’s tale. And after you finish laughing at the ending, and you will, you may feel like you need a mental shower and an email of apology sent to the victim’s family members, and maybe even one to yourself.

My take: thank God Vincent Bugliosi wasn’t alive to go to the theatre.

Charles Denton "Tex" Watson...The Man Behind The Monster Part Four - The Interviews, Part H

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Tue, 08 May 2018 07:47:00 +0000

Courtesy both photos Rolling Stone

In Charles Denton “Tex” Watson…The Man Behind The Monster

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four – The Interviews, Part A, Part B, Part C, Part D, Part E, Part F, Part G

I continue to dissect and differentiate between what Tex says from what he truly means. In today’s Part H – The Victims, we see how ingrained his sociopathic behaviour is.

In life, when normal people respond to questions, truth is backed by genuine feelings from the heart. And then there's rote regurgitation masked as the truth with sociopaths. Charles "Tex" Watson is stellar at the latter.

In this interview, as in every other one he has ever participated in, Tex has the Bible thumping truisms down to perfection, no matter the question posed.

Too bad it's all just spewed con artistry.

The first question out of the gate was this, "Let's talk about the victims. What do you think has caused you to feel the way you do today?"

Tex grinds out;

"It takes the Spirit of God to produce empathy — a capacity for experiencing the feelings and thoughts of others."

Crikey. It's like Tex was given a text book on how to be human and he memorized it like a theology student would a religious text.

He literally blames God here if you read between the lines. He's saying God didn't produce empathy in him so he was helpless. He had to become a cold-hearted killer. That's not only blatantly wrong, it's blasphemous.

Humans are born from God (if you have a spiritual background) but they have Free Will. They make choices.

Choices, Tex. You ever heard of that word???

Along our life path, we come to many forks in the road—one way is good, the other bad. If you're inclined to be wholly egocentric and narcissistic, you'll choose the bad IF it gets you what you want, faster, easier.

In Tex's youth, he did this. From little things back home in Copeville, Texas to when the stakes got seriously high, from drug dealing, theft and eventually murder in L.A. Former jailer at the Collin County Prison, Bob King, intimates Tex got into “trouble” at home and that’s what made him vamoose from Texas and hightail it for California. It’s obvious that the criminal mindset was well developed in Tex well before he ever set a foot in So Cal.

I suspect deviant ways began early in childhood, as nothing stops a narcissistic personality. In other words, Tex had no innate stop gaps like the rest of us do who have a conscience when it came to taking the wrong path in life. He used his reactionary frontal lobe to decide his next move, and all moves would align with his desires, and if people got in the way, they became collateral damage. Simple as that.

The only thing that changed over time was the escalation of those choices.

Tex states that "I broke" after he read in Bugliosi's Helter Skelter when Vincent writes that Steve Parent's mother became hysterical after viewing her son at the morgue.

I want to ask Tex, How? How did you break? And Why? For the victim and his family? Or for yourself?

He states that he rejected help from psychiatrists and drugs and instead gravitated to Christians who were reaching out to him. Why, you ask? Simple. A sociopath's single skill is manipulation. Tex had no control over psychiatrists or drugs but he could control unknowing people, especially those who already had a soft spot towards him. And he calculated that if he got them on his side, maybe that wave of sympathy would eventually unlock his prison door and return his freedom. All sociopaths think they will outsmart the authorities, that they will be found innocent and set free. They have no ability to see fault in their actions, so they surmise, why should anyone else?

What we do know from court and prison records is that Tex had a nervous breakdown and spent considerable time at Atascadero State (Mental) Hospital. He wouldn’t eat, lost a lot of weight and for a time was considered catatonic. Could it have all been an act? Sure. He had this breakdown shortly after extradition from Texas to California. Notice how he didn’t break down while still being held in Texas. Nope. The closer he got to San Quentin’s Green Room by way of an L.A. trial, the more he magically lost it. If his breakdown was genuine, you can be sure it was NOT because of his sorrow for the victims. It was due to loss of face, self-image, reputation, control and power.

In this first question, Tex NEVER mentions any of the victims by name. He only mentions his plight. Just like with co-killer, Patricia Krenwinkel, when asked in one of her parole hearings who the main victim was in all of this, she said it was herself. Tex is doing the very same thing here. Sociopaths are completely incapable of seeing others in their mind. They can spew memorized, canned responses to feign caring and empathy, but when asked to offer true feelings about their victims, the conversation always reverts back to themselves.

Tex saw God as his “Get Out of Jail Free card.” He was told God forgives but he blithely ignored what man has to do to be forgiven. Tex sees himself as being completely absolved of all guilt in those murders, and has about as much emotional investment in them as someone who slaps paint over rotten wood to hide the rot. Susan Atkins took this stance, too, and both, once they thought this was a legitimate out, never looked back and forevermore had that frontal lobotomy blissful glow of innocence.

According to Tex, it was May of 1975 when he dropped his guilt. For 7 spent lives, he breathed a form of guilt for 4 years. That's roughly 6 months mental incarceration for each victim; Steve Parent, Voytek Frykowski, Jay Sebring, Abigail Folger, Leno and Rosemary LaBianca. A disgustingly infinitesimal amount of time. Since then, his life behind bars has been a mental lark.

I’m always inclined to proverbially ask this question of prison Bible thumpers, aka jailhouse believers: If God is the answer why didn't you try to find Him BEFORE you committed murder??? Even if you didn't know He existed (and Tex did know as he came from a devout church-going family, attending in his youth the Copeville Community Methodist Church,

Courtesy Will You Die For Me?

why didn't you try and seek help so you wouldn't harm others? Of course, one is always met with silence as the fast life was what counted before they got caught. Jesus only pops into their head when they have nothing better going on behind cell doors.

Tex further states that, "...that every life--man, woman and child...is of enormous value in His eyes," never mentioning that Tex should value people as God does. Tex admits that, "This thought was entirely missing at the time of my crime, even though my mother had tried to teach me to live for others."

This statement is huge.

It could indicate that his mother had seen deviant tendencies in her boy early on, of him caring more for himself than others, of committing deviant acts to get his way, and she feared that behaviour would grow. Tex's parents were very fine, hardworking people and I'm sure they laid awake at night concerned about their son's callous behaviour. Antisocial Personality Disorder, the clinical term of sociopathy in DSM-5, usually begins to manifest itself in the early years but acting out may not occur until the teenage or young adult years, making Tex's sociopathic timeline spot on. If ASPD people always get what they want when they want it, they may have no desire to harm others. It’s when any obstacle comes in their way, then slashing away that obstacle, human or otherwise, is the default reaction in a sociopathic mind.

Tex refers to the seven murders as "my crime." He’s white washing over his heinous acts to sterilize himself from them, packaging them in a neat dissociative box to avoid getting too close to the reality and having to admit fault and feel fault. He doesn't personalize the victims or use active verbs to describe what he did to them. They are simply, "my crime." This is just another tiny clue that indicates that Tex has never emotionally dealt with his actions and that all his so-called grieving and regret has been for show.

Once in prison, Tex admits that he "...was concerned that I didn't know how to feel about my victims' deep pain..." Concerned. Wow. That's the understatement of the 20th century! This is why ASPD is NOT a diagnosis of insanity. All sociopaths KNOW Right from Wrong, they just refuse to see what they're doing as wrong. You can bet your bottom Greenback that Tex damn well knew driving up to Cielo that sweltering August night was wrong but he did it because his well-being was paramount. His tail was in a crack from the drug deal gone wrong with Lotsapoppa. He knew they needed to get out of town ASAP, so Tex knew money was top priority. If he could placate Manson with his revenge fantasy and get the loot they needed to hide out at Barker, then getting hopped up on Speed and slicing through a few Beautiful People up in Benedict was okay by him. Tex only felt "concerned" once it behooved him to, for his own sake.

He claims an "us and them syndrome" only developed in him while being around Manson. That is true to the extent that Charlie had always fostered that belief in The Family. Yet, Tex knew this of Charlie right from Day One, well before he was All-In at Spahn’s Ranch and while he was still living in that Hollywood apartment with his on again/off again girlfriend to pursue odd jobs and a lofty career as a small-time pot dealer. Tex had countless chances to walk away from Manson. Tex CHOSE to stay. No gun was ever put to his head.

Tex won't "go there" for the interviewer in terms of how he truly felt or feels today toward his victims. He reverts back to his rote responses, never letting down his guard, never saying in plain language what he did and never admitting how truly horrific those details are. A sociopath can never "go there" because they have no genuine feelings for others. Tex will have a soft spot for his parents only because he knew they loved him and gave him what he wanted and for his children who, to Tex, are just lovely reflections of himself, but everyone else may as well be made out of cardboard. He feels no genuine connection to any other person.

Tex says he sought out God, "so I could be healed." I. Me. Mine. Never a mention of how he could and should heal others. We all will immediately think of the victims and their family members but that thought will never be automatic to Tex.

Tex further states, "...guilt robs a person of their future. He has removed those chains. I've come to understand that Christ came to free us of our guilt."

This statement would be laughable if the circumstances of his actions were not so horrible. Tex found a "loophole" in God and he's sticking to it. Tex has conveniently warped God's purpose and spends his life with that frontal lobotomy smile that only comes from ignorant bliss. It makes me cringe to think that idiot was allowed conjugal visits. It must have given Doris Tate nightmares. At least Doris eventually got the law overturned, bless her heart. Watson nor any of the Manson killers, nor any killer period should be allowed to profit from their deeds, nor should Tex have a mental "out" of any kind. But there you have it, folks. You slaughter in ’69 and fool around in a conjugal trailer in ‘71. Fun!

Tex goes on to say, "...to wallow in guilt would only create another victim." Yes, Tex, that's right! That’s what we out here want and 12 of your peers wanted—you dead via the Green Room cyanide gas tour. It's amazing how he chooses to forget that NOBODY wanted him alive after October 21, 1971.

The only true statement Tex utters which he may actually believe is this, "In reality, my crime has tentacles that have spread throughout society and affected the lives of hundreds, or thousands, possibly millions of people. What impact has my crime had? It has had a devastating impact."

I, for one, since '69, have never looked at a window screen without thinking of Tex and his bayonet. I'm one person, out of those millions...

Tex declares that "change is possible," yet we know ASPD people do not change. You can't magically concoct a conscience. In his confines in prison, Tex is prevented from doing further harm, but given an opportunity at freedom, and again backed into a corner, Tex would strike out. The only eventual stop gap with ASPDers can be aging and with it a loss of physical strength to harm others. The only 100% “cure” is permanent confinement until death.

Tex states, "Others are proud of my changed life." And by "others" he means prison clergy, his jailhouse cohorts, other delusional bible thumpers and, of course, for a time the daughter of Rosemary/step daughter of Leno LaBianca, Suzan LaBerge, who went off the rails after her parents were killed, and like Patty Hearst I believe for a time was afflicted by Stockholm Syndrome and befriended the killer. I gather she's since regained a brain and no longer is "proud" of Tex Watson.

Tex readily admits that, “My parents and siblings were disgraced by my crime. My Dad painted over the ‘Watson’ name on his store. He went to his grave with the shame of my life, and all of my family members live with it.”

Courtesy afterimagegallery.com

Yes, there is a ton of pride from imaginary people in Tex Watson’s delusional world.

When discussing the overturn of his sentence from Death to Life with the possibility of Parole, Tex says, "Some call it a fluke in the law, but I believe God had another purpose for my life. We need examples of God's forgiveness and grace in these days and times."

My response: delusions of grandeur that could fill the Grand Canyon.

In 1971, the Hippie Kumbaya approach was still alive and well in California and that mindset seeped into the judicial system. The Manson Family killers benefited from that tree-hugger mentality to the detriment of California taxpayers who have shelled out millions to have these killers breathe air since ‘71, and to the unending torture of the victim’s family members who have had to endure endless rounds of parole hearings. California eventually woke up from its hippie daze for the most part, and thank God Governor Jerry Brown knows to veto any ridiculous parole authorizations from the Board...the Kumbaya mindset obviously still lingers there.

Tex has the balls to quote Bible scripture to defend his ordained raison d'etre, "God deliberately chose things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise. 1 Corinthians 1:27, NLT."

This translates to: I evaded the Green Room and that proves how stupid you people all are.

Right. Like that's not narcissistic and antisocial at all.

*You need only to remember this quote from Tex to prove how dangerous the sociopath Charles Denton "Tex" Watson still is.* ASPD cannot be cured, people. Ever. Imprisoned until death or the death penalty is the ONLY "cure."

Just when you think Tex cannot offend any further, he starts to lecture the victims and their families by saying, "Victims can easily justify allowing bitterness to grow. They have been hurt tremendously and anger is a natural response of the vindictive nature of mankind. But this does not help or make it right. It will cause cancerous disease and create another victim."

I believe, if you read between the lines here, you have found Tex's ultimate fear—disease, cancer. Well, we know now that Manson killer, Susan Atkins, lost a leg and died from brain cancer. I believe that delusional or not, that is precisely what will be Tex's fate. Just because Tex buys his own piety morph doesn’t mean that his body will be so fooled. Most vicious killers, if you see them decades later, their faces, bodies, end up etched in a visual evil, that over time the mask of normalcy disintegrates and their face and body tell the tale of what is deserved and what is not. Time is ticking for Tex, whether or not he wants to admit it, and his end, like Sadie's, will not be pretty.

Tex admits he blocks out all "attacks" levelled at him, from his parent's ultimate disgrace, to extended family, from the victims' families, and from the world at large. He lives in his own bubble and "...prays for those who make false accusations...", in other words, it's out of his hands so he won't even try to make amends. And we’ve allowed him that luxury because of an overturned Death penalty sentence. It's obscene.

Watson still lives within that “Us vs. Them” mentality that he claims only manifested itself when he was around Manson. That’s another lie, for he states, "I leave my enemies and their misdeeds to God."

Enemies for Tex equate to the victim's family members and anybody who calls him out for the vicious sociopathic killer that he is. He acts as if he's been washed clean of his evil while the rest of us are going to burn in Hell for calling a spade a spade. Why do I feel that Tex will need more sunblock than the rest of us, after death?

His delusions of grandeur know no limit, evinced by his statement, "God understands the angry heart and desires to wrap His loving arms around them. I had an opportunity to wrap my arms around a victim's family member [Suzan LaBerge]”.

Tex literally sees himself as God. Clear sociopathic behaviour and what I think attracted him to Manson in the first place. He saw Charlie playing God and Tex wanted to learn how he could similarly act—ultimate power over all people—a sociopath’s dream come true.

Tex goes on to say that "Yes, some have, [forgiven him] but I can't divulge who all of them are for fear they be persecuted."

To my knowledge, it has only been Suzan and only when she had that lapse in reason. And to my knowledge, she has not maintained a connection with Tex since then, and as I've previously said, most likely regrets having had anything to do with the man.

In this interview, Tex's mind is literally on auto-pilot, spewing out answers that put him in a favourable light, that wholly minimizes the murders and his past actions and ongoing deviant mindset. It is abundantly clear to me that if Watson were ever set free, and if he were ever cornered, he would kill again. I have zero doubt about this.

Watson continues to think as the years go on (and this interview was in '78, 40 years ago now), that, "I pray that God will do more miracles like He did with Suzan and I. As God puts it together, more families will contact me, so that greater healing can take place." Hasn't happened. Won't happen. Ever.

His last kick at the can is backing Restorative Justice. I'm all for that with criminals who are NOT sociopathic. You CANNOT reason with ASPD people. It's been proven that even psychotherapy bolsters their disorder rather than diminishes it because the sociopath ends up manipulating the psychiatrist, not being treated by him. And this ability to manipulate a clinician only increases their ego which, in turn, fuels the narcissism. Imagine an average person going up against such a criminal. They would be victimized all over again. Tex caps this idea off with, "If there is a victim/offender group available, offenders should enroll in it immediately..." Yeah, I bet Tex is all for that. It would be brownie points on his record, that to participate would feign caring on his part, and it would be another juicy opportunity to again emotionally harm, to seek further revenge. It's a win-win for sociopaths. Hell, he even writes in to Wikipedia to get changes made on his bio. Tex will NEVER STOP trying to manipulate.

The best and only reparation for victims of such deviant killers is to insure they are NEVER allowed any stage—TV, radio, magazine/newspaper interviews or online—as limelight of any kind only fuels their behaviour and create further public harm. The prison system is, for the most part, wise to sociopathic behaviour; for example, Dennis Rader, the BTK serial killer in Wichita, Kansas, is under orders never to be publicly interviewed or allowed to see himself on TV or in the media. You take away their ability to shine and spew their camouflaged vitriol and sociopaths eventually shrivel up. That, my friends, is the only justice we get from these monsters, short of the Death penalty.

Manson Dead, May WE Now Rest In Peace...

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Tue, 28 Nov 2017 01:57:00 +0000

There's never any joy in death, but there can be a release, and a literal freeing of souls - the one who allowed death to befall others and those who were affected by the fallen.

Charles Manson's passing is in whole part a release to many who knew that all-too-damaged man had tormented himself and others for far too long.

To Manson's credit, he had, at least, acknowledged his status as a permanent prisoner decades ago by relinquishing his right to parole hearings which at least spared the victims surviving family members a certain amount of residual grief. Yet, knowing the man enough through his actions and words, that gesture wasn't a gift to his victims so much as it was Charlie coming as close as he ever would to admitting any sort of guilt as per his actions in the murders of Gary Hinman, Steven Parent, Jay Sebring, Voytek Frykowski, Abigail Folger, Sharon Tate, Leno LaBianca, Rosemary LaBianca and Shorty Shea. Nine people murdered all because Charlie wanted, and got, what he wanted, when he wanted it.

Many kids have abusive childhoods, many people suffer from paranoid schizophrenia, but many seek help and go on to live productive lives. Charlie's single reason for living was to seek revenge on anyone he declared was an enemy, anyone who even resembled any faction he thought had put him where he was in life. There was not, and will never be, any viable excuse for that kind of mindset nor for the destruction which ensued from that mindset, and deep down, I think Charlie knew this, and accepted his fate.

I think it's rather amusing that, in the end,

Classmates.com

no female took centre stage in his life or his Will, rather instead a longtime male pen-pal, Michael A Channels aka Backporch Tapes (pictured here posing behind bars) is claiming to be Charlie's sole benefactor (why do I feel a long protracted Will contest in Michael's future with Charlie's blood relatives?) 'Til death, the resentment he had for his mother reigned supreme in all womankind. In those years before televised interviews of all Califonia imprisoned killers were outlawed, you could clearly see his roiling rage whenever he was interviewed by a woman versus a man. Again, that shows how crucial caring for a child is in those formative years.

Would Tate-LaBianca have occurred if Charlie's mother had ever really cared for her boy? My gut says no. Charlie may still have ended up a roughian of sorts but the psychological damage would have been severely lessened if that woman had ever truly hugged her child and gave him unconditional love, which in my mind bolsters my support for adoption or abortion for an unfit mother-to-be. More global grief can be wrought in bad parenting than in no parenting at all.

At the announcement of his death, my mind flashed to Debra Tate, although my feeling is she would have had very little reaction, except maybe to whisper to Sharon, Patti and her parents, "Two down, my loves, [Susan Atkins, Manson], five to go [Tex Watson, Patricia Krenwinkel, Leslie van Houten, Bobby Beausoleil, Bruce Davis]".

My heart belongs to all the surviving family members who dutifully trek to each and every parole hearing of these killers, who unlike Charlie, keep throwing figurative darts at the parole board hoping, one day, one will stick, and they'll be set free. It is in those efforts that I think Tex's bayonet, the Girls' buck knives, Bobby's 9mm Radom and Bruce's machete wield devastating damage again and again, striking blows into these ever-grieving souls with every spin of the freedom wheel. All of the above should have been executed in 1971, and yet by a legal loophole they have been allowed to breathe and inflict endless sorrow upon those affected.

I'm with Debra, or whoever is just quietly counting the downed killers...two down, five to go, and I pray those five, like these two, also die behind bars where their minds and bodies belong.

I'm told Charlie's grandson, Jason Freeman (via Manson's marriage to Rosalie, and their only child, Charles Manson Jr., who changed his name to Jay White, and who committed suicide in his 30s), is attempting to lay claim to Manson's body and is planning a proper funeral (his GoFundMe page, according to the NY Daily News, started by Freeman's friend, John Jones, was shut down after it reached $979) for his grandfather (despite Charlie long ago disiniheiriting all blood relatives) which, good or bad, every human being deserves, but there are many who will not shed a tear come that burial day, for too many tears have already been shed for bodies lowered into their graves some 48 years ago. Murder. It creates death ripples and affects all who are touched by that black mass. As an aside, if no person claims Manson's body within 10 days, the stated is ordered to execute a cremation.

I was not sad at the announcement of Charlie's death, - the psychotic killer/beatnik finally got what he deserved, and the proper sentence was finally carried out. I was melancholy in remembrance of the past, that maybe now with Charlie's passing, the '60s have truly come to an end, and that's probably a good thing, a healing thing, as a long-favoured wound has grown into a fading scar and so ushered in some positive growth, that We All, with each Manson Family death, can move one step closer into the Now, a place Charlie so promoted was the place to Be.

Rest in Peace, Us All, as we continue the count.

Bill Garretson...More Unplugged Than Usual? Part Four

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Mon, 09 Oct 2017 00:18:00 +0000

This is the final part in the Brian Davis and Catscradle77 interview with Bill Garretson, audio-taped six years ago this month on Star City Radio. Parts One, Two A, Two B, and Three are here.

I apologize for the very late arrival of this final episode, but better late than never.

~~~

Before I begin my final analysis, I want to announce to my readership (although by now it is probably widely known) that Bill passed away from cancer, August 16, 2016, at age 66. Brian Davis posted the announcement January of this year, and you can read his take on Bill's loss in his Star City Radio article, entitled, Bill Garretson Has Passed Away

Brian offers a link - lhs60.net - for the short Lancaster High School announcement of Bill's death but currently this link is no longer in operation. This was the announcement below:

Courtesy tlbradio.com

I must say I was rather shocked to hear of his passing at still such a young age, but it should not come as any shock, really, for the collateral damage of these murders has put several of the tangentially affected into early graves. I have no doubt that the cancer of these murderers and their crimes spread like a lethal virus, doing its dirty work on the innocent right up until today.

Bottom-feeders like Manson and his merry gang of socioapths never once considered how their actions would reverberate like deadly ripples into society, filling all our souls with blackness, no doubt the same colour of the killers' blood in their veins.

Courtesy LA Times

Surprisingly though, Bill would often shrug off the psychological affect (which today would most likely be diagnosed as PTSD), but there was no doubt he was deeply affected by this mass murder, and who could blame him? At any age, at any time in life, much less at 18 in 1969, you don't expect to witness something so beyond comprehension. Bill was a small town kid from Middle America. He had more in common with the movie American Graffiti than he did Helter Skelter.

A big part of me wishes he had never been a witness. Sure, he was a font of information as the only survivor from that bloody night, but we will never truly know how tortured his mind was after August 9, 1969, as he lay in his bed at night for the next 48 years. Whatever thoughts, fears, terrors he endured, it all would have taken a toll. So here we are, almost half century later, mourning his loss.

To his surviving family and friends and fans, I offer my heartfelt condolences.

Please know that my analysis of these interviews in no way subtracts from the value of Bill's life and what he meant to us all. Rest in peace, Bill. You deserve peace.

~~~

Part Four:

Throughout these four parts, Bill so wanted to admit that what he thought had occurred, had not, when it came to holding a baby in his arms that night and being told that baby was one Rosie Polanski, the long, lost child of the very dead Sharon Tate. He would begin to admit or agree with Bill and/or Catscradle77, and then just as quick stop in mid sentence.

I believe to even "go there" may have psychologically broken this already fragile man. To have to admit that the Rosie saga was completely false and that he was her patsy, would have either been too much to bear, or that he feared admission of said would have eroded his fan base, the only benefit he ever accrued from this singular nightmarish experience. I believe Bill liked his notoriety, at least in terms of the attention he was paid, as I believe deep down he was a lonely soul. I could be wrong on this but my gut says Bill was lonely.

He readily admits that this Rosie took her sweet time in telling Bill who she thought she was, saying, "...she didn't blurt it out", followed again by his trade-mark "tell", "Something's not--" which in the case of Bill translates into he KNEW what she was telling him was not correct, that it did in fact make no sense. In the process of their relationship, this Rosie had at least no qualms abusing Bill's generosity, ringing up sky-high phone bills, talking to god knows who in her quest to get rich and famous off of Bill. There should be a law for killing a victim twice, as Rosie sure as hell killed Sharon twice in her blatant scam to strike it rich off the backs of her and her baby, Paul Richard.

Bill would never full-on admit he and Rosie had a romantic relationship, responding only, "It's personal" to Catscradle77 when she asked. But it doesn't take a Vincent Bugliosi to put the pieces of that gold-digger puzzle together. At that time in Bill's life, I gather he had no one close enough to him to warn him off her, so, sadly, she may have been the longest romantic relationship he ever had. And if that's true, well, who can blame him for trying? We are all human. How he ends up justifying his time with Rosie made me smile, and had me thinking, Hey, you know what? Maybe this guy was okay, when he said, "If she used me, I used her as well." If that's the case, way to go, Bill!

Bill said that Rosie "...was better than any therapist." I'd like to believe that for Bill. I'd like to think that at least having a confidant to hash out your troubles actually helped that man. But my "spidey sense" fears this Rosie may have made things worse for Bill in the long run, muddying the already deep PTSD waters that Bill eventually couldn't tell reality from fantasy in any aspect of that night, resulting in him having to live out the rest of his life a very distrustful and confused soul.

Bill claims, "...people that told her [Rosie, at age 24, who she was]...she grew up in New York..." Bill never offers up any names of people associated with her time in New York, only a change in his voice hints that the listeners "should know" and be in awe. I assume he's trying to hint at connections Roman and Sharon had in that state, but that hook is left dangling. Bill states that Rosie lived for a time with a friend in South Bloomfield, OH, named Dolly Flebi (exact spelling/identity unknown), this person having absolutely no connection with any the players in these crimes. This Dolly, according to Bill, said there had been a letter from Rosie whereby she stated Colonel Paul Tate had changed his name to Jim Hearns (again, spelling unknown) and that Rosie lived with Paul and the "undead" Jay Sebring, "Jay was still alive..." and "...staying with Sharon's Father"; whereby, Catscradle77 reminds Bill that Jay was murdered that night in '69 and Colonel Paul Tate died in 2005. Bill gives no real response to these known facts.

Bill claims that after he parted with Rosie, she would call his home, leave voice messages, but if he picked up the receiver, she would hang up. In these messages, Rosie would accuse Bill of belonging to the Manson Family and being a "no good--." You can fill in his dropped words. Nice. Real nice, there, Rosie. This, we can surely surmise, is darn well true.

I gather at one point during their relationship, Rosie came to him crying, begging to know if Bill felt sure that the baby he held that night was her. All he could say was, " I cannot say that you are the child I held. I cannot--" Bill may have been a simple creature but in his simplicity he had one shining trait. Bill never lied. He could be fed a load of manure but he was incapable of fudging what he knew to be the truth, for any reason, nefarious or otherwise.

He does go on to offer up a hook—that Sharon was pregnant with twins—and that via other websites, the other twin was a boy but his name was Daniel and not Paul Richard. None of this can be verified and my gut says this is either rumour or Rosie at one time knew a Daniel or just plain liked the name. In Rosie Land there is nothing on which you hang your hat.

Back here in Fact Land, in 1969, in utero scanning was in its infancy, and although there was equipment being built and studies undertaken (see paper entitled, A Short History of Sonography in Obstetrics and Gynaecology), sonography was not in general practice until the mid to late '70s, so on this assertion I have to stay scientifically silent. I agree with Brian Davis of TLB Radio that Sharon seemed big enough to be carrying twins but there has never been any mention of twins on either the Polanski or Tate families. As well, there was what was called the "full bladder method" of detecting fetus size back then that any G.P. would have undertaken, so because she was so far along in her pregnancy I cannot believe her G.P, or OBGYN did not know the amount of fetuses in her womb. And if she had been carrying twins, that fact wouldn't have stayed silent for long and would have become front page Hollywood news, to be sure.

Brian gets Bill back to the issue of the "van" Bill had mentioned in the previous interviews, of a group of people who gave him a ride back up to Cielo that night because they claimed they were headed to a party at 10050. Both Brian and Cats tried their very best to get Bill to finally cough up names, so when Cats cornered him with this direct question, "Did they give their names?", Bill could only spit out, "...they were in the letters, "once the home invasion began; or b) in them, he writes down the names of the people in that "van" or the license plate number of that van, which in this interview he claims he wrote in the letters because he was afraid "I might not be around" to testify to the fact.

Courtesy CieloDrive.com

which in turn gets us back to those infamous letters Bill was supposedly writing before, during and after the slaughter. In saying infamous, I should have said magical because at no time do these "letters" appear in the trial records. If they ever existed, AND had crucial content, both the Prosecution and the Defense would have been chomping at the bit to use them to their advantage, and excerpts of said would have been splashed all over the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite. I'm not saying that at some point Bill didn't write letters to friends and family back home, but there is no evidence to suggest a) he was writing them that night

Bill's thinking was that if he wrote down the names/plate#, authorities would discover the information and know its meaning even if Bill ended up in a pool of his own blood. He references an English school teacher, one "Mrs. Johnson", to whom he wrote, and after the murders, she notified Bill that the police had interviewed her, but at no time that is publicly known are any letters of hers placed into evidence and offered up in the trials during the discovery phase. Bill claims he gave his okay for the police to open the sealed letters so no warrant was needed. Again, no public proof of this. In his final defence, Bill hints that the real reason his letters did not see the light of day in the criminal trials is because Bugliosi didn't want anything to detract from his Helter Skelter modus operandi, inferring that the contents in those letters may have very well resulted in that M.O. being quashed.

As a daughter of a cop, I go back to brass tacks: Time? How much time would Bill have had to write that information down in his letters? And beyond time, Ability? Once he had semi-witnessed and listened to this slaughter, he readily admits he was paralyzed with fear and that he more or less hunkered down and laid still with the dogs until he saw daylight. In that state, is one able to write letters??? Again, my "spidey sense" hollers, No way in Hell.

Bill claims that before he met Rosie there had been an article in The Enquirer reporting that Rosie was suing Roman Polanski for a DNA test. But as well all know, martian and Elvis sightings are also popular articles in that rag. For the record: No such lawsuit has ever been filed between the two, in the U.S. or to my knowledge in France, or for that matter in any country in which Roman resided post '69.

Catscraddle77 quietly offers up the idea to Bill that maybe this Rosie, "...was a serial user of people," to wit Bill offers a, "certainly." It's obvious that by 2011, Bill had more or less accepted that his time with Rosie had been a sham and what she had been peddling to him was a bucket-load of crap; although, throughout these interviews, Bill never wants to fully let go of her story or his belief in holding that 3-eyed baby on August 9th. That acknowledgement would have resulted in still further psychological damage on the psyche of an already damaged man. I shake my head in sorrow for Bill and pure disgust for this Rosie.

In the final minutes of this final Part, Bill offers up some rather prophetic words, given now what we know to be his outcome. At one point in responding to Brian and Cats, Bill says with quiet assurance, "Everything you've been given, God gives it back to you," and when asked how he had survived all of this trauma, all these years, his final words were, "You've got to have faith in God."

Bill Garretson returned to Cielo Drive in '69

Trauma, as we all know now, can have lasting negative affects on one's psyche, and the younger you are, the worse those affects can be. Bill was an uncomplicated man but a man with a great heart and soul, a man who couldn't have hurt a fly skimming quietly over the Cielo Drive pool.

Knowing that, it seems fitting, his final two sentences to Brian and Cats. For a man many took to be simple, whom I took to be a very honest but cognitively challenged individual, I believe Bill Garretson tried his very best to cope with what was an impossible life experience.

My final words on Bill: There but for the grace of God, go all of us.

Leslie van Houten, Please Stay in Jail...

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Tue, 19 Sep 2017 21:46:00 +0000

Courtesy radaronline.com

Pretty.

Courtesy ABC News

It goes a mighty long way to get a Free Pass in this world.

Social Invitations arrive.

Chairs are offered.

Doors opened...but for a vicious home invasion/spree killer, a jail house door shouldn't be one.

Leslie van Houten, by certain measurements, can be considered the second most dangerous killer in the Manson Family, and here's why;

Of all the killers, from Gary Hinman being the first, to Shorty Shea being the last, only Manson himself desired that killing be done, except for van Houten. After hearing of the slaughter at the Tate house that previous August 9th night, and after seeing the ghastly news coverage, Leslie was the only one who eagerly volunteered to go on the second night of murder.

The

Only

One.

Tex and Sadie had to get high as kites on Speed to achieve Tate.

Katie, by this time, was a mere automaton under Charlie's grasp, and as a result would have walked through fire for that demented little dude because he was the only person in her life who ever gave her affection, albeit a conman's version.

Linda went on both nights but did none of the killing. It was her driver's licence Charlie needed.

And although Sadie described the Tate killings in explicit gory detail in the Grand Jury, in her lifelong quest to draw attention to herself, it was only Leslie who exclaimed that the more she stabbed Rosemary LaBianca, the more she liked it.


Courtesy Google/LAPD

Not one other Manson Family killer ever said that. Not a one.

(Yes, Sadie said she had an orgasm when she killed Gary Hinman, and in that statement she was her pathological liar self - she didn't kill Gary, Bobby Beausoleil did - she didn't orgasm - she was too busy restraining the poor man with a pillow so Bobby could get in a fatal stabbing.)

From the trial's conclusion in '71, to their sentence commutation in '72, to Leslie's temporary freedom on appeal, until present day, van Houten has plied the "pretty little girl lost" scam on anyone who would listen, and believe me, many a man has!

And although every one of the killers has been diagnosed with ASPD - Anti-Social Personality Disorder - Leslie's mental disorder is deeper than most. Her admitted desire to kill (that even Charlie didn't want for himself, that's why he had his "kids" do the dirty work) and her obvious crocodile tears display of remorse at the parole hearings puts her in a class by herself as per the killers.

Sadie, Susan Atkins, was a dumb kid seeking attention at all costs.

Tex Watson was a spoiled brat willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted in life.

Katie, Pat Krenwinkel, would have followed Charlie into the gates of Hell for his affection.

Linda Kasabian just wanted to belong and be loved.

But it was Leslie van Houten who had no inner child need at all, except for the sadistic thrill to kill.

In interview after interview, video after video, bloody parole hearing after umpteenth parole hearing, Leslie plays the same card, and thankfully the California Board of Parole has had a brain and denied her the freedom she wants, that she in no way shape or form has a right to have...until, possibly, now.

On September 7th, the Parole Board in its 21st time to convene over van Houten's sentence has recommended parole for the second time for this 68 year old killer. I can only hope Governor Jerry Brown vetoes it for a second time. I beg him to veto this decision. She may no longer be a danger to society but that doesn't mean her punishment has been paid in full. If the Death Penalty had not been overturned, she'd be dead. Simple as that, and some four decades ago, I might add. Commuting that death to life, should be life without parole. Sure, let her have her right to a hearing, but no parole. The dead, however breathing, or not, behind bars, should remain dead to society.

In history, how many untold hundreds of American men have been murdered by attractive, innocent-looking killers?

Before you throw up your "Free Leslie" placards for the nth time, put at least 16 red dots on your body where you'd like Leslie to stab you. To her, stabbing is like eating potato chips, guys, you can't stop at one.

Think about it.

Tell-All Books - The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly...

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Thu, 14 Sep 2017 01:42:00 +0000

Tell-All books.

A umpteen million dollar industry.

Everyone from Indie publishers to The Big Five have invested great time, energy and moola taking on the stories of the main players in the Manson Family murders - the perpetrator and innocent alike - creating eye-catching book covers and swamping the market with promises of new insights and hidden gems into this almost half-century old event.

The over-riding problem in Tell-All's is the duo poison of money and agenda.

Money the publisher wants and is sure to get from a universally popular topic.

Money and Agenda the writer as victim or perpetrator needs.

And the older the players get in these crimes; oftentimes, the more there is a need to get that last word out and get that final pay cheque in...neither of which insures an honest and forthright literary take.

As many of you know, I started TLB2 with the goal of forensically examining these murders in a factually objective light, as all there was online was a handful of, what I long ago coined, "Charliemite" fans spouting rhetoric or hearsay, or just plain lies in an attempt to get Charlie and the Family murderers freed.

My foundation is documents; court transcripts, first-hand interviews, witness statements, forensic evidence...all if which is never gleaned through Tell-All's.

You can read a Tell-All to see a player's point of view but you must remember: victim or perp, that POV is seen through rose-coloured glasses and the "facts" offered may not be factual.

I'm not saying don't read Tell-All's if you enjoy that kind of entertaining delivery over dry document research, but realize the ratio between entertainment and fact will be heavily one-sided, even if published by a reputable publishing house.

And if you plan on publicly citing a so-called Tell-All "fact", double-check with existing first-hand sources. The amount of "wrong" online and in Tell-All book land could fill the entire Panamint Range Death Valley desert at Barker!

MsBurb is Baaaaack!

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Tue, 29 Aug 2017 00:39:00 +0000

It's not like MsBurb to disappear.

Many people would like that, but I'm like a bad penny slathered in Ebola...I might hide inside a monkey for a wee while but, like Jack said, well, kind of, Here's MsBurb!

First, my apologies...

I went AWOL on both the 2nd Official Tate-LaBianca Murders Blog (aka TLB2) and the Buck & Buntline Inn (aka B3), as for the last number of years I decided to try my hand at longer works, and like chewing gum and walking - and I have no idea how people do that! - I left writing short articles to dive deep and long into novels.

In that time, I've written three books...

No More Blood - on the last three hours of Truman Capote's life - available right now as an ebook at Amazon.

No More Blood, being such a research heavy topic, and my first stab at a long work, took me close to two years to finish; although, Truman had been talking in my ear since '07, I just didn't think I had it in me then to attempt the feat.

18 1/2 - a political thriller where I tell the reader, once and for all, what was on that 18 1/2 minute gap on the Nixon Watergate tape - available on amazon as well.

Sessions - a psychological noir - NOT a typical police procedural - is a kind of proverbial Dodge City at High Noon shoot out between a psychiatrist and a sexually sadistic serial killer who is a 70 year old female...never been caught. As I type this, Sessions is being read by agents in an attempt to get this book traditionally published so as yet not available to the public.

All the while I'm spending all-niters writing these works, I was thinking of these blog sites, but I knew my writer's mind could not do justice to two things at once.

My writing has been under an evolution of sorts this last decade since I retired from the full-time work-force, and for the better, I like to think. But although I am already in preparation mode for my 4th novel, I feel more skilled to handle both long and short works, so here I am, and this time, I mean to stay.

My goal is to blog on Mondays for TLB2 and B3, the rest of the week write on my current novel. I may flounder here and there but I'm determined to stay the course and try my best to get you, my dear readers, back, giving you the attention you deserve.

If there are any specific topics you'd like to see me handle on TLB2 or B3, just email me and offer up your ideas. I have posts in the hopper but it's nice to see what the readership would like me to cover, as well.

If you click back onto the blogs, you will see a New & Improved look to them both, hopefully set up better, offering more and resembling something one would actually find online in this century. Yes, I went kicking and screaming into the 21st. I have the proverbial psychological bruises to prove it!

On TLB2, MsBurb's "Record Player" is back! Email me anytime with '60s songs you'd like me to add to the playlist. I've also added a new Poll at the bottom of the Home Page, if you'd like to have your viewpoint known to the TLB2 reading public! And in the near future, I will add a "Slide Show" of the main photos covering these crimes and those times. These new blog themes are Works In Progress so bear with me...

On B3, a new look as well, but still in keeping with my two favourite things - drinking and being North Irish-Canadian - this blog enabling me to say what doesn't quite fit on TLB2, past and current issues, social/historical events that have shaped our time in this our shared human experience.

I have also begun a third website, entitled,

CLICK PIC TO CHECK OUT SITE!

Words to Write By...Books by B.J. Thompson (aka WWB), where, as a free-lance editor and writer, I discuss the issues surrounding the craft, will pen some short tales and post excerpts from my books, and make those novels available for sale to the general public. So, pour a coffee or something stronger, drop by, and do a little reading, won't you?

So, here we go again, my fellow readers...the Manson and Social Commentary breech. I missed talking with all of you, so like Jack said, well kind of...MsBurb's Baaaaack!

Horror Haunting The Beauty…And Me

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Wed, 15 Oct 2014 02:57:00 +0000

Early Morning…Saturday August 9, 1969
Crystalline, aquiline sky, omnipresent, penetrating heat, a suffocating kind of quiet in
Benedict Canyon.
No birds singing, the usually constant traffic melee down on Sunset Boulevard was mysteriously muffled to the point of non-existent, no voices even, no hint of living things...
The lodge-pole pines bent back and forth imperceptibly, the odd soft creak or groan could have been heard...if anyone with working ears were there...
Now - sheets, nicely laundered, freshly washed bed-sheets, so stark-white they were against the soft moss-green of the front lawn, blades of that grass grabbed by desperate fingers, those fingers now under those sheets in a rigid grip made some eight hours before.
Bed-sheets don't belong on front lawns, do they?
Finally - the hum-click of large professional photographic cameras, the odd hum-click of the pool filter, living beings there now but conversing in reverent tones and only to offer orders. Get this job sewn up as fast as possible, no hair on any man's neck was standing down until that goal was accomplished.
Heat, Los Angeles heat, was hitting 96 F at high noon in the shade, low 90s inside the home, the small panes of picture glass softly sound-cracking from the expansion...
Heating, roasting, burning blood, the odour made one wretch, now the smell of blood mixing with the rancid smell of vomit on that lovely lawn. What was once dead quiet and still, now, an ethereal bile attacking the senses.
Evil would have the final word that day, its speech other-worldly, of course, the vibration of wasted souls translated into the now low-frequency, incessant buzz of blue-bottle flies, the sound growing, the auditory menace over-taking. Even hardened officers haunted.
Body temperatures would not lower that day as those five wretched bodies lay baking in the California sun.
45 years later, if you listen really close, the buzzing of blue-bottles and the wrenching of souls in this dreamy place, once the home of very Beautiful People, can still be felt and heard.
Buzzing in my mind, since, and evermore.

Make-Believe on Malibu Beach - A Story…

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Fri, 14 Feb 2014 00:38:00 +0000

Disclaimer: This is a purely fictional tale, no such encounter ever took place…but oh, if it had…

A warm, soft-breezy day on Malibu Beach in August of ‘59.
Not a busy beach day for it’s Monday but some pale-skinned tourists and well-healed retired couples and Mothers with young children are quietly filling up the sandy shore. It’s a Teacher’s Day today in High School so teenagers from the Greater L.A. Area are haunting the coastline too - a rare thing for a weekday.
One Mother had to drive all the way in from the Valley to get her teenage daughter to the beach she loved the best, for this young Valley Girl had yet to attain her own driver’s license and was therefore at the mercy of her more-than-patient and loving Mom.
Another Mother had to merely stroll outside onto her own balcony to watch from afar her young child playing in this Pacific Ocean paradise, for this Mother and this child lived right on Malibu Beach, in a very pricey beachfront home. Afar was just as far as this socialite Mother would go in attending to her daughter anyway, so it was just as well they lived on the beach, for she never really wanted to get too involved in her daughter’s life, doing so might distract her from Country Club activities, Bridge games and volunteering for Charity Balls - top priorities for her and all the well-placed Malibu wives of leisure. Who could possibly have the time nor, dare we say, the interest, for a child under foot, when the social ladder had to be climbed for themselves and for the sake of their career-driven Los Angelian husbands?
Not a cloud in the sky and the Pacific was its usual dead calm. Rhythmic, rolling, roiling waves broke ever so smoothly against the pearlescent sand - so warm to the touch and so very dry on shore, so refined as to dare to be pure silica, slippery and oh, so soft it was.
The Malibu Beach Life Guards were at their posts but socializing was more on tap than the thought of saving lives, for the ocean-going populous was so low on this day and the visibility was so high, the water so tame, that to warrant more attention on the well-behaved bathers was a sheer waste of time when girl-watching was so at hand.
Off, down a ways, near Guard Shack #3, the Valley Mom parked her station-wagon and out popped her daughter from the passenger side. Stunning, this teenage girl was, golden blond-haired with a sun-kissed tan, the epitome of a California Girl if there ever was one. Her Mom followed behind her, slowly lugging beach paraphernalia as she went. This Valley Mom was not as beautifully striking as her daughter but you could tell that maybe, in her hay-day, she was. She would keep polite distance from her daughter today, taking up solo-residence on a brightly coloured, hibiscus-flowered beach blanket, her sun-bathing set-up positioned just in the right spot on the beach – close enough to keep an eye on her Valley Girl daughter as she mingled with all of her other teenage friends, far enough away to give her the independence she craved. The Valley Girl hurriedly dropped her shorts and T-shirt to reveal an adorable pink and white polka-dotted bikini, kissed her Mom quick on the cheek and joyfully jogged toward her volley-ball playing friends, when out of the corner of her eye she spotted that young child who luckily made Malibu Beach her home.
Malibu Girl sat in the middle of a plethora of sand-castle-making tools and a couple of what looked like brand-new Beach Barbie-dolls for 1959. One doll was dressed in a lovely blue and white one-piece jumper, the other doll in a matching blue and white sun-dress, matching sea-blue eye-shadow and sun-glasses to boot, a small, white vinyl Barbie carrying-case with all the accessories Barbie would ever want or need and a wondrous mini Barbie Beach house, both tucked away nicely on a beach towel behind this little Malibu Girl. But what caught the Valley Girl’s eye was that this little girl was not playing with her toys at all, for a sure and steady stream of tears which flowed down her cheeks prevented her interest or ability. This lucky little Malibu Girl seemed so lonely - her face so full of sorrow and sadness – emotions utterly contrary to the sheer beauty and tranquility of her surroundings. The Valley Girl stopped in her tracks wondering how on earth anyone could ever be sad on Malibu Beach, thinking that such an emotion must be against the law, or at least the law of any reasonable beach-loving California girl.
“Hi there. Hey, you have the new Beach Barbies, don’t ya? My kid sisters would kill for those dolls. And just look at all those clothes and chairs and towels and shoes and that fantastic beach house. Why aren’t you playing with them, little girl?”, said the Valley Girl to the Malibu Girl.
“No one to play with, I guess. You can’t play Barbie’s and have lotsa fun just by yourself, you know”, said the little Malibu Girl in between sniffles and gulps of air, this Little One possessing the reasoned maturity and the hopelessness of an aged senior citizen waiting for God.
The Valley Girl hearing the Malibu Girl’s response quickly forgot about her teenage friends who were frantically waving at her to come join them in their beach game and instead plunked herself down next to this lonely little Rich-Girl, the warm sand below them and the warm sun above, and without further ado or explanation, the Valley Girl got down to some serious make-believe.
“It’s so great to be on the beach at our nice little Barbie beach-house, Sis. I love our matching outfits but should we dress into our matching bathing-suits instead and go for a swim before Ken and G.I. Joe arrive for dinner?”, said the Valley Girl for her Barbie-doll.
“Oh, yes, let’s!”, said Malibu Girl for her Barbie, her sorrow washing away as with the outgoing tide.
So the two girls began diving into the Barbie carrying case to whip into their new ensembles with accessories - beach shoes, matching towels, mini plastic bottles of suntan lotion, chaise lounge chairs and the all-important Barbie surf-boards - the fact that there were eight years between these two girls didn’t make an ounce of difference. Once their precious dolls were ready, they held on to them for dear life and gleefully ran to the shoreline to dip both their Beach Barbies and themselves into the frothy, silky-smooth waves, giggling, romping, talking for their dolls, having their Barbies surf like the real big girls were doing right in front of them, Malibu Girl and Valley Girl having the time of their lives. The Valley Girl was reminded that you’re never too old nor too mature to play with Barbies. The Malibu Girl wishing she could be best friends with her new, older friend, for the rest of her life.
All afternoon, the pair played without a thought or care, the Valley Mom immensely proud of her teenage daughter, that she would sacrifice her day for this lonely child, lovingly watching her daughter and this little waif from a discrete distance, bursting with pride this Valley Mom was, her daughter blooming into a mature, giving woman, right before her very eyes. If Valley Mom lived a thousand lifetimes, she knew she would never be any more proud of her Valley Daughter than she was today.
The Malibu Mom, on the other hand, not as aware, not as proud, barely glancing down at the two girls in between trips back into the beach-house to fill her martini glass, in between phone calls with her society friends, in between applications of sun-screen, in between reading the latest Hollywood rag, not noticing nor caring, really, that some good soul had made her daughter’s day.
Valley Girl’s friends finally went on to play volleyball without her, realizing the Good Samaritan their friend truly was. The brilliant day wore on for all and as the sun finally lowered in the horizon, Valley Girl’s friends packed up the game and began heading home for the day, a cue for Valley Girl that it was time to say Goodbye to her new little friend as well.
As Valley Girl wiped the sand off of her legs as she rose, she saw that the wide-grin and toothy smile of her new play-mate, Malibu Girl, had washed away and was replaced by an immediate second river of silently flowing tears;
“Oh, please don’t go”, pleaded Malibu Girl. “We just met and, well, I have way more Barbie’s at home, a dune buggy and a camper. I can run to my house and get’em, if you want? Please don’t go, ‘cause if you go, I’ll have to go home for good”, this little girl added, sniffling and gulping yet again.
“Look though, your Mom is waving you in and I know my Mom over there has had enough sun. We have to go, both of us, and who knows, we’ll probably play together again some time soon, I come here lots, it’s my favourite beach. I hope to own a posh home on this beach some day like your parents own. You’re so lucky to actually live here, you’ll soon forget me, having all this before you all the time”, said the Valley Girl, gently patting Malibu Girl’s head as she continued to sit stoic and sorrowful on the sand, arms folded in desperate defiance.
“No. I’ll never see you again, I know I won’t. As soon as I can, I’m leaving here. My family doesn’t even know I’m alive hardly. Sure, we all live under the same, nice roof but we just pretend to be a nice family, our parents don’t even care we kids exist. Yes, once I’m your age or thereabouts, I’ll be gone and find people who really love me, a real family, just you wait!”, cried out Malibu Girl to her new teenage friend.
The Valley Girl saw that there was no use in debating, she could see the hurt in Malibu Girl’s eyes and the determination, even at such a young age, that she meant what she said. To be that disillusioned with your family at such a young age sent pangs of sadness through Valley Girl’s heart, secretly hoping that when she made it big in Hollywood as a model or an actress, she could herself rescue this Little Girl and keep her for her very own.
“Hey, we played all day and I didn’t even get your name”, said Valley Girl, trying to get Malibu Girl to forget her woes.
“Nancy. But I’ll change that too when I leave. I hate my name as much as I hate my family. Brenda has a nice ring to it; I’ll probably be named Brenda when I’m a big girl.”
Clearing her throat and really on the verge of tears herself for this Little One, “So very nice to meet you, Nancy, my name is Sharon. I like my name so even when I become a star, I think I shall stay a Sharon.”
“So nice to meet you, Sharon. We’re best friends now, aren’t we?”, asked Nancy.
“You bet, Nancy, best friends forever”, responded Sharon in the sweetest, most heart-felt way she could.
Nancy got up, wiped sand off her legs too and slowly gathered up all her Barbie accoutrement and began to pad back to her beach house. Sharon, once she had seen that Nancy made it safely to the steps of her home, strolled back to her Mom, Doris.
~~~
Nancy, now known as Brenda, dutifully in tow behind her new “Father”, Charlie, would view Sharon’s mutilated body on her California dream-house living room floor exactly a decade plus one day later.
The girls never played Barbies together again.
Barbie doll title photo: ngm.nationalgeographic.com

Bill Garretson…More Unplugged Than Usual? Part Three

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Thu, 29 Aug 2013 19:30:00 +0000

Bill –

“Now [I] wake up to a nightmare in my mind.”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“Am I being framed for something?”
What happened, what happened – nothing is making any sense to me.”

One could, without much thought, just decide that Bill is one Tate property Christmas light short of Sharon’s entire string of bulbs but I know that just is not a fair nor accurate assessment. Anyone in Bill’s shoes that bright and sunny Saturday morning would have reacted the exact same way. Bar none! The breaking in of the Guest House door by a gaggle of LAPD uniformed cops, the rough-housing physical treatment they gave to Bill upon his on-site cuffing, the smell of dried blood in the sweltering Los Angeles sun and the incessant buzzing of blue-bottle flies around the corpses of Gibby, Voytek and Steve…as far I am concerned, lesser men would have outright fainted at the sights and the smells, let us not forget that.
Bill, from what I have gathered over the years, is quite the laid-back individual with that very passive personality exterior most small-town/farm country Anglo-Saxon Easterners possess and that combination could be seen as odd to over-hyper Los Angelian city-slicker cops in terms of how one behaves and talks in the hours and days after surviving such an horrific event. Bill does not strike me as an aggressive nor over-talkative sort so a pounding of the fists on an interrogation table and a barrage of “I’m innocent, goddammit!” exclamations would not have exuded from Bill to those Parker Centre detectives, giving rise, of course, to the doubts and quizzical looks those cops began to have about Bill in those early hours and days.
This murder scene, within hours of its discovery, became a media circus and poor Bill was essentially Ground Zero in all the chaotic handling, to include a barrage of lawyers jockeying up to represent him, not because he was anybody special but because he was there, the only surviving person amid a quadrangle of Beautiful People mayhem. There would have been no way for this country boy to assess these lawyers’ motives or for that matter judge who would be the best to represent him. He was in a whirlwind and just basically hanging on for dear life, trying to breathe amid the shock and dismay, the utter confusion of the whole scene, hoping against hope to survive the Legal as he had done the Lethal.
These “ambulance chaser” lawyers would have said they were “friends of ours” or “sent by Rudy” even if they hadn’t been. Bill took and continues to take those introductions as some sort of conspiracy theory clue surrounding these murders, asking himself how could this be, who sent his eventual lawyer, Barry Tarlow, when no personal calls were ever made by him to anyone, including Rudy. Hey, this is Hollywood, Bill. Someone needed to tell Bill this is the Home of the Lie, how else does anyone get anywhere in Tinsel Town without playing the Using Game?
Bill’s main concern was, “I hope this news doesn’t go back to Ohio.” and who could blame him? He heads out West from his small town existence out East and the next thing his family and friends know is he is taking centre-stage in one of the biggest mass murders of the North American 20th century. How do you start THAT conversation>>> “Hi, Mom, yeah, I’m fine, weather is great out here, met some celebrities, never knew so much blood could come out of so many bodies, so how’s Ohio these days?” …*sigh*…
I simply cannot, even with my more than 3D Technicolor imagination, conceive of that initial conversation Bill had with his Mom nor how he would ever wrap his head around this event as it continued to unfold around him. I somehow imagine it’s like being on the

Full Throttle Roller Coaster at Six Flags Magic Mountain,
there is no way to catch your breath until the ride finally comes to an end, your sheer terror either making you laugh uncontrollably, vomit or cry. I’ll bet Bill never really took a decent breath until he flew home with his Mom to Ohio a week later and we know by his own admission he did have nightmares for some time after the murders.
Bill claims that he remained in a “fog” for years - “Nothing got clear until, like, in the 90s and then by, um, well, actually when Rosie called and how she introduced herself and everything. Rosie put me back into hell basically….She did me a favour. This would have been locked away.”
That admission is very disturbing to me for a couple of reasons. First, 1969 to the 90s? Some two decades later? It seems to me that no one, no agency, no organization, no psychologist, no social worker, no lawyer, no cop, in effect no one came to Bill’s aid to help him digest and work through this trauma. After his testimony at the two trials is was “Bill Who?” and off he went by himself back East to try and cope through the rest of his life on his own. Don’t you just WUV the Good Ol’ Days when we would suffer through a shocking event and no one ever thought about the survivor? How he or she would fare, knowing damn well such a trauma would scar anyone’s psyche for life if left untreated?
Is it any wonder that when this Rosie came along, Bill was at least subconsciously desperate for some answers and possibly so desperate that the “answers” this Rosie was giving were good enough for Bill?
Am I the only person who wants to hit this “Rosie Tate-Polanski” with something hard and sharp?! Without a shred of doubt from me, this con-woman damaged forever Bill’s memory of that night. One wonders now with her exploitive influence if a true outline of the events would ever unfold from Bill even under hypnosis? She may have helped Bill in the revisiting of that trauma but I highly doubt muddying the waters with her personal get-rich-quick agenda helped Bill in separating fact from fiction.
She saw Bill coming or rather, she put his face on a dart board and there would be no way for him to escape becoming her bull’s eye, Bill’s more than suggestive nature ripe for the picking.
Even today, in this Star City Radio broadcast interview, having been many years since his involvement with this Rosie, Bill’s memory is still spattered with the fantastical ideas Rosie fed Bill and although you do get key-word phrases showing that even Bill doesn’t truly buy what he is saying, no longer can he easily separate the real events from the utterly made-up ones, his memory forever muddied by the likes of that woman.
One can only go by what was presented in the trials but in neither do any numbers on a piece of paper come into evidence. Bill is convinced that a) he had written down a license plate number from the van or car that gave him a ride back up to Cielo one night; and b) that the LAPD knew about this number and had found this note somewhere in the Guest House (possibly near the phone). This is a disturbing chain of events as it is never stated by the police nor the D.A. that such a license or any type of numbers were ever seen on any piece of paper nor retrieved from the Guest House.
Bill states that an unidentified detective investigating this case asked of Bill, while he was incarcerated in the first jail and before he had legal representation, “What’s these numbers?”
Bill replies, “What do you mean numbers?”
Detective – “Look like license plate numbers.”
Bill – “I just left it. I was being placed with morons. They’re charging me with murder and they want all the answers…and I don’t have any answers!”
Let me see if I get this right…
You are freaked out enough by whomever gave you a ride up to your house the very night before the murders or a night close to that date, that you jot down their license plate number, then you wake up one morning to find a slaughter house outside your front door and when the cops ask you about “numbers” you go, “What numbers?” Okayyy. I guesssss. But if I’m Bill, I am SO shouting out about that piece of paper even before they haul me out of the Guest House, I’m continuing to rant and rave about that license plate number in the cop car all the way down to the Beverly Hills station and I SO jump like a lion when, finally, a cop gets around to asking me about those numbers…that is IF a) I actually got a ride from someone before the murders who actually DID freak me out; and b) I actually decided TO write down that license plate number.
I don’t see Bill’s treatment by the police as a case of being handled by morons. I see it as a logical set of questions if such a piece of paper ever existed. And Bill should have realized that too IF such a piece of paper ever existed and IF such a weird hitch-hike event ever took place for Bill prior to the murders. And as for the LAPD wanting answers, Bill is the only surviving resident of 10050, who the heck else will they ask for answers? I imagine if you are breathing while all others around you are not, yeppers, you’re up for a Question Fest, then as now. In fact. I’d think it more odd if I were breathing and no one cared what I had to say.
Then Bill says the oddest thing;
“The more they played with me, the more things got locked up in my mind!….basically 30 years for it to come around.”
I’m no psychologist but all I can gather from this admission is that the more Bill talks, he thinks, the more fear he has that he will be blamed for this event. Bill must have believed the more he locked away the details, the more he repressed the trauma, the less he would be damaged by it in every respect. Usually, or at least it’s been my experience, the more one talks openly about a traumatic event, the less one is disturbed by it and the less one feels the need to repress and hide from that event, that “openness” inevitably viewed by law enforcement better as aligning with a truthful demeanour.
Not everything became “locked up” in Bill’s mind. When asked how many bodies he saw that day, Bill accurately responded with, “three”. The detective pushes, “You sure you didn’t see five?” and Bill replies, very clearly, with, “No, just three.”
When Bill knows the complete truth, he states it, very decisively and with no hesitation, no self-questioning with phrases like, “What the hell’s going on?”.
Naturally, then as now, Bill begins to try and surmise what may have happened that previous night;
“Here’s a woman, just ‘cause I’m having a baby and how could she kill all these people?” [referring to Sharon] “The car was missing – her Ferrari – is it Ferrari? Sharon’s Ferrari. And I’m thinking she’s killed these people and took off! And how could she do it?! Giving birth to a baby?! Stupid things that’s been planted in my mind”, basically admitting that things can be planted in his mind very easily, like the Rosie “stories” later on. Bill knows he is suggestible and this weakness is well known even to himself.
“They transported me from one police station to the bigger one, the detectives playing Good Cop, Bad Cop. These people were idiots. Then they said the polygraph test, ‘Would you be willing to take a polygraph test?”, Bill states he was already legally represented by then but they ask him directly and Bill says, “Sure.” His lawyer, Barry Tarlow says to Bill, “I wouldn’t advise that”, himself thinking Bill might be culpable; whereby, Bill responds, “It sounds like you don’t even believe me. This will clear me.”, Barry asks, “Are you sure?” and Bill says, “Yes!”
Another clear-cut, no self-questioned response from Mr. Garretson.
*When the complete Truth is known to Bill, he NEVER hesitates nor qualifies his answers. Ever. Remember that when deciding what is True and what has been suggested as True to Bill, vis-a-vis the Bill Garretson Story in the Tate Murders.*
Bill is rather traumatized by the next event which happens in the Break Room of the police station as he repeated this event to the Polygraph examiner and decades later continues to re-tell this story. I guess, to him, having police admit that he was the killer only hours after being arrested, the investigation hardly begun, sealed to Bill, his coming fate, that maybe he would spend the rest of his life in a California prison, convicted of multiple murders and all because he wanted to “see the world” before he was drafted into the Vietnam War, to then “legally” commit multiple murder against the Viet Cong. Dramatically ironic to Bill as he sat hand-cuffed in only a skimpy white undershirt and jeans, awaiting such a possible fate;
Bill- “Had me down at this Break Room where there is cops in there”
Unknown Policeman – “There’s that kid that killed all them people in Beverly Hills.”
Bill – That’s [the] kind of shit I had to put up with.”
In addition, as with the license plate “note”, Bill swears that the letters he was writing that night to friends back East were confiscated by the police as well, yet no such letters, like that license plate note, were ever entered into evidence at the trials, D.A. Bugliosi in his book “Helter Skelter” never refers to them and no one associated with this case at the law enforcement level, who has come forward and given interviews, has ever referred to them since. That is not to say such items didn’t exist for I do feel Bill was writing letters back home that night but like so many possible evidentiary pieces collected at murder scenes, after they were examined, held no evidentiary value.
This is where I’m sitting right now on this whole license plate “note” and the “letters” business: I do NOT believe in the existence of that license plate note but I DO believe in the existence of the letters. I do not believe, however, that the letters had in them ANYTHING to do with what Bill heard and felt that night as he wrote them. In essence, they were just normal letters written to friends back home and nothing more. I know, I know, I killed another possible “juicy” piece in this already over-the-top “juicy” story. Hey, I’m not out for a popularity award here, just assessing the evidence and letting it tell me where to go and how to think. Sorry if that bores and is anything but Shock & Awe but I can’t call something a firecracker if it doesn’t even light up.
Bill’s take on the Polygraph Test was one any lay person would have, having had no previous experience with how examiner’s assess the base truth level of a person before they are examined. He does not get into the details but you can tell from how he words this most recent Star City Radio re-telling that it was the questioning of the one-off homosexual act he had experienced at a party in the valley prior to coming to Cielo which outraged him the most during that Test;
Bill – “That polygraph test, some of the questions they…had on there, it was more or less murders committed and they’re wanting to know, ah, shit that doesn’t even pertain to the murders.”
Brian, Radio Host of Star City – “What you had for breakfast two weeks ago or something?”
Bill – “Basically more stupid shit than that, they know, and the thing was even with the letters that they confiscated at the House, at the Guest House, no attorney, no nothing, and what I wrote in the letters.”
Bill leaves that Test outrage in this interview, becoming easily side-tracked as he talks with Brian and Cats, and reverts back to the letters he wrote and again, he references the “Rosie Method” to either justify the importance he places on those letters or to continue to hype-up this radio interview;
Bill – “Now Rosie basically knows what [were] in the letters…some of the letters, ah, she knows and how she knows is because basically to the highest bidder anything can be sold…that’s why I believe who she is!”
Cats, Manson Forum Administrator and Brian’s Radio Sidekick for this Garretson Interview – “She has copies of the letters…”
A surprised Bill completely denies that option - that the reason Rosie “knows” what’s in his letters is because she illegally bought them or obtained copies of them - rather than wowing Bill with her “magical” knowledge of their content, as if she is some kind of miracle, other-worldly gifted, Tate-Polanski baby. Man, it is tough not to want to slap this woman. This Rosie has done such irreparable damage to Bill, emotionally and psychologically but then again, maybe it’s these fantastical accounts which allow Bill to function day-to-day, these extraordinary “excuses” sitting better for Bill as to why what happened in his life, happened. Maybe just the plain truth was too hard for Bill to swallow.
I still wonder how Bill makes the connection, that psychically “knowing” what was in Bill’s letters is proof of Rosie being Sharon’s baby??? There is no logical step to this kind of reasoning. Bill is grasping at straws to defend Rosie, in defending his own now warped version of the “truth”. It makes me very sad for Bill and gets me very angry at people who exploit this disconnect in Bill, in interviews.
Exactly one week after the murders, Bill is by then freed from jail and allowed to head home with his Mother, back to Ohio. One can only imagine the exhaustion Bill felt on that plane trip home, and the utter confusion still being felt, of the Who and the Why five people were slaughtered to death mere footfalls away from him and he lives and breathes to not be able to tell much of a tale.
Cats – “And then you had to come back to testify…”
Bill – “In both trials, which was rehearsed…[D.A. Bugliosi supposedly saying to Bill], ‘Just say you can’t recall if you don’t know….’ I didn’t want to recall shit! I know I’m being accused of something I had nothing to do with.”
Bills hints that there was some ulterior motive behind Bugliosi going over the questions Bill would be asked in court, when truly that kind of rehearsal is always done by lawyers with their witnesses pre-trial, especially with witnesses who may have difficulty giving straight-forward answers on the stand. Bill, as we can see here, in this interview and in the other public accounts he has given, is apt to expound and give opinions well beyond the arena of the facts, so as I see it, if Vince had not rehearsed Bill, that would have been the injustice to his testimony, not the other way around.
Brian asks of Bill – “After the trials, did you disconnect or did you keep up with it [the media unfolding of the murders]?
Bill – “There was nothing to keep up with, as far as Bugliosi’s book, “Helter Skelter”, that’s his, you know, I mean I’m sure that allot of investigation that went through it in his book, that what he put together, same thing with the trial itself, which articles I read, complete circus. In life, you see, what it is, basically there were things there, things could have went different. I couldn’t figure out, like it was completely blotted out of my mind – the baby….That took over 28/29 years, it came out little by little, bits and pieces…The rest of it came out later and it wouldn’t have had it not been for Rosie.”
Bill is speaking the truth whether he realizes it or not.
He’s admitting in a round-about way that Vince’s book was and is the complete Final Word on these murders, the players and the outcome, as per the facts and evidence in the case and, of course, Bill would be right. Every book published since HS has been a sheer fictitious Tell-All, with some or another “shocking” new tidbit that is never corroborated nor proven, just some hyped-up morsel of fantasy offered to the always-hungry readers of these murders, to grab on to and gnaw away at, colouring an already over-the-top psychedelic history of events, all for the sake of a fast publishing buck. Bill knows in his heart of hearts that D.A. Bugliosi did do one heck of allot of pre-trial work and research, leaving no player nor evidentiary stone un-turned. What’s putting a kibosh on this awareness for Bill is this oh, so damaging influence Rosie had on him to create a disconnect between what he has always known about this case and what exploiters like Rosie and others want him to believe. Bill, being present at both trials, knew first-hand the “circus”-like atmosphere the Manson Family and the Media made of these trials, how the Hall of Justice became quite literally a 3-Ring Circus. I shudder at how all of those Family and Media antics would play out today, in our world-wide-web, have-it-all-Now social media existence. You’d have to wear scuba suits in your living room to survive the drooling the producers of CNN and Fox News would be doing, the 24 hour cycle being tailor-made for such a murderous display.
Bill, you can tell, is rather philosophical now about the whole experience, knowing that some good things and some bad things happened in reference to the part he played in this case. And quite noticeably, Bill is still confounded at the Rosie-baby scenario. Of course that “tidbit” was “blotted” out of his mind, fantasy never has any place in reality. I imagine every single day since his involvement with Rosie, he has tried to put those pieces together with what he directly experienced and all I can think is that it’s a crying shame he has been left like this, mired between what was real and what truly never was and no ability now to tell one from the other.
I still sit here today and continue to state: Hypnosis, even today, would be highly beneficial for Mr. Garretson, if only to possibly separate the wheat from the chaff so he could achieve some inner peace. It’s hard to say though if such treatment could be effective, knowing how infected his memory is now with these Rosie tales. We Followers of this case figuratively lost the last witness to what went on at Cielo Drive in those early morning hours of August 9, 1969 by the possible permanent damage done to Bill Garretson’s memory. But I’d like to think a complete memory retrieval is still possible. We, as children then having been so affected by this event, would be grateful for the Truth and Nothing But The Truth; and Bill, having obviously been severely traumatized by those hours, could do well with a similar Final Word as to his direct involvement.
Photos, in Order of Appearance: Star City Radio & YouTube; sixflags.com/full-throttle/

Potluck for the Dead…A Story…

noreply@blogger.com (B.J. Thompson) — Thu, 08 Aug 2013 22:16:00 +0000