Monday, December 2, 2019

Eve Babitz's Bummer Bob

Blog reader Cristiane brought this book to my attention recently. Eve Babitz was once a fairly common name in Hollywood. This book is described as partially fictive, but this short chapter on Bobby B seems accurate. if you have any interest in reading the book it can either be read on-line or downloaded here.



"Hi," I said. What was her name?

It was another one of those faces, a friend of Karen's, I pieced together, and someone else, too, that guy Bob.

She and Bob had been close and I always saw them at Cantor's together when LSD was the rage. Everyone would leave the Strip at 2 when the clubs closed and go to Cantor's en masse so blasted out of their heads that if you asked someone what time it was they backed away, wide-eyed, as though you'd presented them with a philosophical impossibility. Bob was adorable but so obnoxious that he wore his nickname on his lapel. He'd had it made into a button and it said, "I am Bummer Bob."

Bummers were when the acid had something in it that didn't agree with you. It was anything else disagreeable and a drag as well, so you can't say he didn't tell you. Except that he looked like an archangel. Bright.

People said he was a narc and a thief, but I knew he wasn't sophisticated to be either of those when I let him stay at my house once for a week with his white dog. He needed someplace to stay, nobody would talk to him, and even though I didn't sleep with him, he was beautiful and couldn't help it that he was such a bummer. He never understood anything and always asked the wrong questions. He was so unable to understand anything and he shorted out so many trains of thought that people thought he was a narc. He never took anything from my house when he stayed there, he even tried to buy food.

He left L.A. and I had heard that he'd moved to the country.

After I came back from New York and was up in San Francisco, I ran into him one night in the Fillmore. He was playing guitar in a band, and the leader of the band, my friend, had complained of him and how disruptive he was.

"What else can you expect from someone called Bummer Bob?" I asked.

"I never heard that before," he said.

"That's what he's called," I said. We were upstairs at the Fillmore, and there was Bob, dressed dramatically in black with a top hat and a cape. A look of sudden surprised hospitality flooded his face when he saw me, completely the opposite of the black cape, and he said, like a kid, "Wowie, Evie!"

My friend, the leader, was amazed later, he'd never seen him look like that before. Shortly thereafter, Bob left the group in a lurch and quit rock and roll or said he was going to.

"It's just as well," I told my friend.

Now, I faced this girl in Ohrbach's and I couldn't remember her name. She'd just been, like me, a friend to him when no one would be. She'd been more than me because she'd loved him, I thought, and he had telephoned her from my house every day because he

cared about her. It was a time when no one cared about anyone, so I noticed.

"Have you heard from Bob after he went to San Francisco?" I asked her. It was 5 years later, but she still had this dewy kind of thing about her.

"He sent me a Christmas card," she said.

It was sweet, I thought, that no matter how much of a bummer he was, he held onto the amenities like Christmas cards and daily phone calls.

"How nice," I said. "Where is he?"

"Haven't you heard?" she asked. She looked struck with pain.

"What's he done?" I knew he must have done something terrible from her face. Something ... really terribIe.

"He's been ... in San Quentin. He's the one they call Cupid in the Manson family, the one Manson's supposed to have tried to free by the other murders ... "

Bobby Beausoleil had romped with his dog in my house. He'd worn a sign that said "I am Bummer Bob." I'd let him stay but hadn't slept with him because anyone who called themself that, I figured, must have the clap or some other expensive social disease. He didn't understand. He sent Christmas cards from Death Row.

"What'd he say?" I asked.

"Merry Christmas."

"Oh, God," I said, helplessly thrown back into the archaic idiom that even he had used to describe what he was. "What a bummer!"

She looked away quickly, she was crying in Ohrbach's. I still don't remember her name and I just touched her shoulder goodbye.

Monday, November 25, 2019

Gary Hinman Murder Location

Sunday, November 24, 2019



More than four decades behind bars did not curb Charles Manson's violence or bizarre behavior: He got in trouble more than 100 times for assaults, making threats and even trying to start a fire and flood the prison.

The cult leader and convicted killer, who ordered his followers to murder seven people in 1969, died Monday of natural causes. He was 83.

Manson remained a menace to all around him even after going to prison. While serving his life sentence, Manson attacked prison staff, got drugs and phones into his cell and even tried to escape using a hot-air balloon, according to the Los Angeles Times.

Manson's supposed plan to escape was foiled in 1982, when he was housed in a prison medical facility in Vacaville, California, southwest of Sacramento. Guards found a catalog for ordering hot-air balloons and nylon rope.

"Suffice it to say that he cannot be described as a model prisoner," Terry Thornton, a spokeswoman for the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation, told the Los Angeles Times.

Over the years, Manson tried smuggling in several weapons, including hacksaw blades. The same year of his failed escape, guards found one of the blades in his cell, along with marijuana and LSD.

He continued to either bust free or at least cause chaos on several occasions, such as when he attempted to start a flood in one prison, and when he set his mattress on fire.

He also successfully snuck three cell phones into his cell and was able to make calls and send text messages to people in Florida, New Jersey and California.

Manson got in trouble with guards on numerous occasions, usually leaving the worst of his verbal abuse for female guards. Among the citations were spitting in one guard's face and throwing hot coffee on another.

Prison officials said Monday that Manson died of natural causes. Several members of his cult, known as the Family, are still behind bars for their roles in the killing of actress Sharon Tate and six others.

The group wrote messages in their victim's blood after the murders, including "Helter Skelter," referencing the Beatles song that became synonymous with the cult thereafter.

Monday, November 18, 2019

Top 5 Death Valley Manson Family Hangouts

Sunday, November 17, 2019

Parole rejected for Charles Manson follower after 50 years

By ASSOCIATED PRESS | NOV. 15, 2019 12:43 PM

SACRAMENTO —  A third consecutive California governor is blocking parole for a former follower of late cult leader Charles Manson.

Gov. Gavin Newsom on Friday reversed a parole recommendation for Bruce Davis, now 77, for the 1969 slayings of musician Gary Hinman and stuntman Donald "Shorty" Shea. It was the sixth time Davis was recommended for parole but blocked by a governor.

Davis was not involved in the more notorious killings of actress Sharon Tate and six others by the Manson group the same year.

Davis was convicted of helping kill both men in separate slayings, after which other members of the cult wrote "political piggy" on the wall of Hinman's home in his own blood.

Parole panels have repeatedly decided Davis is no longer a public safety risk, citing his age and good behavior. But his release has been blocked by Republican Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger and Democrats Jerry Brown and now Newsom.

Bruce Davis in March 2018.
(California Department of Corrections
and Rehabilitation )
Like his predecessors, Newsom said Davis remains too dangerous to be free.

Davis has yet to demonstrate that he has a "comprehensive understanding of how he came to participate in such extreme violence," Newsom said. "As a result, I do not believe that he has the current insight and skills to abstain from violent situations in the future if released."

Davis has said he attacked Shea with a knife and held a gun on Hinman while Manson cut Hinman's face with a sword.

"I wanted to be Charlie's favorite guy," he said during a 2014 parole hearing.

Attorney Michael Beckman said his client lacks the money to challenge Newsom's decision in court.

"Six parole boards ... decided he's been rehabilitated" after extensive hearings, Beckman said. "They're wrong. He is rehabilitated and has been for a long time."

Davis was convicted with Manson and another follower, Steve Grogan, in the two slayings. Grogan was paroled in 1985 after he led police to Shea's buried body. Robert Beausoleil, 72, convicted in Hinman's death, remains in prison.

Manson died in prison in 2017 at age 83.

Followers Leslie Van Houten, 70; Patricia Krenwinkel, 71; and Charles "Tex" Watson, 73, are imprisoned for the Tate killings. Their co-defendant, Susan Atkins, died of cancer in prison in 2009.

Newsom earlier this year blocked paroles for Beausoleil and Van Houten.

Sunday, November 10, 2019

Abandoned Home of Former Manson Family Member Paul Watkins

Monday, November 4, 2019

Channeling Sharon Tate

For the most part I have trouble believing that the dead can be contacted. I suppose it can be a positive thing for those here on the earthly plane who need reassurance after their loved one has passed.  Even if it is not true, that the dead can be contacted, there's a sort of tying up of loose ends that transpires, and the loved one can feel a sense of peace with the loss.  Maybe whatever helps a person cope isn't such a bad thing as long as they are not being taken advantage of and only receive reassurances that the person who died is at rest.

In the case of Sharon Tate being summoned by the medium for an afterlife interview it is difficult to understand exactly why.  While we all care about what happened to Sharon, the baby and the others, the general public really has no stake personal stake in the matter.

How do you feel about this subject?

A reader sent us this article which I have copied and pasted below.  If you go to the link there is a YouTube of the same interview.

Elisa: Hey, there, Kim. How are you doing? We’ve got our boy, Erik, and we are going to try to get Erik to bring in Sharon Tate. All I know about Sharon is that she was murdered. She was pregnant, murdered by Charles Manson, and I’m sorry that I don’t really know that much more, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love her.
Kim: Yeah.
Erik: Good morning.
Kim: Yep, he’s getting her.
Erik: I love you, too, Mom.
Kim: Sharon comes in and her energy feels very, very soft. This is actually the first celebrity interview that I’m doing with you and I may be a little bit–I don’t want to say “leery”, but a lot of people do celebrity interviews, and I thought, well, you have so many people that do that for you. So a few weeks ago, because I’d seen it on the Facebook page where people ask, like, if somebody could channel her, and a few weeks ago, I was working with some clients, and I wondered about that. Erik introduced me to her, and she said she would come through. She’s telling me there’s a few common things in her and the baby’s story and you and Erik’s story.
Kim: She’s just starting with, a lot of the reason that celebrities are coming through to mediums is because you connect with the personality, and so a celebrity’s personality has been out there so much that they’re very easy to connect with and for the media to recognize.
Sharon: Me, it was late sixties, I believe, 1969, when I died, and so people aren’t really aware of my personality so much.
Kim: She said she really never tried to do this either. She said the other thing was that the situation was so gruesome that she didn’t want to add any energy to that.
Elisa: Oh, yeah.
Kim: But she said it’s been a long time now, and so she is ready to talk about it.
Elisa: Why did he kill you?
Kim: This was a time of the free love, hippie kind of movement. She says those particular individuals really got into a cult kind of mentality, very mentally depraved-thinking, and she says that he was very paranoid and delusional. She says he had actually, at some point, come to her house and knocked at the door. She must have answered the door. I think he was looking for work. That’s what she’s making me feel.
Elisa: So they had contact before. They knew each other?
Kim: Yes.
Elisa: He was involved with this hippie cult?
Kim: Yes.
Elisa: Okay.
Kim: So she didn’t offer him any work. He went away. She didn’t think anything of it. Then the night of the ambush, that it happened. So she’s saying she hasn’t slowed down really to think about this in a long time. She’s saying so many of these things are published. You can read about them, but she was 8 ½ months pregnant. They had bought a house, L.A., Hollywood area, kind of on the outskirts of town is what it looks like, what she’s showing me, and that her husband, Roman, was actually still across seas, but was coming back soon. She had three friends staying with her at the time, and it was hot. It was summertime. All of a sudden, they were ambushed. These people came in through the window before they even realized it. They had cut either the phone lines or the electrical lines so that they were not able to call for help.
Sharon: They had actually killed somebody else prior to entering the house, but by the time we realized they were there, there was no way for us to get help or communicate.
Elisa: Hm.
Kim: She just briefly talks about it being very scary. They separated. She’s making me feel like two of them were in one room, two of them were in the other room of the people that were killed. Those moments were very scary for her.
Elisa: Oh, gosh.
Kim: And this has been publicized. She was begging for her life, and they were not going to allow her to have it.
Elisa: Did Charles Manson kill all four? Or did others in that–
Kim: Charles Manson wasn’t there. It was his followers.
Elisa: Oh. Oh, wow.
Kim: He put them up to it. It was his followers that committed the murders.
Elisa: So did Charles Manson ever kill anybody? That you know of?
Kim: She’s making me feel like, yes, but it’s more inspired the others to do it, but yes, that he did some. He did do some, she’s making me feel like. I don’t know–she’s not making me feel like it was ever discovered. If I’m understanding it correctly, I don’t think that he was ever caught or discovered, but that he was responsible for many, and that there were more we didn’t know about.
Elisa: Okay.
Kim: I just asked if she’s connected with him and she says no.
Elisa: Okay. Was your transition painful?
Kim: So she said immediately when this started happening, she was stabbed multiple times. She was in such a state of shock that it seemed very surreal, almost like a dream, so she was terrified, but there was an air of calmness around (over-talking 6:14)
Elisa: Detachment. Yeah, sort of like detached emotionally from the–
Kim: Yes. Yes, she said it was like that. She said at the first blow she left her body, although her body didn’t appear to die right away. She said her infant son did not exit the body right away. He did not let go right away. He was kind of in and out, so she stayed at the scene, which was very chaotic, and waited for her baby to exit the body. She said that within a fairly short amount of time, it was like a tunnel experience for her. Her and the baby went together. She talks about her family. She had a couple of sisters and her parents. One of the sisters is with her now on that side of the veil. I’m not sure about the parents.
Elisa: Well, that’s not important.
Kim: She said that her mother had like, a nervous breakdown.
Elisa: Aw. I can imagine. I know.
Kim: Yeah. It took her many, many years to turn that around, but she said that her mother actually, and one sister’s still here. They worked with the court systems and legislation to try to change rights for victims, and that type of thing.
Elisa: Oh, good.
Kim: So they did not allow her death to completely destroy them.
Elisa: Oh, good. Thank God.
Kim: But she said, with her mom, she stayed really close to her because she really had a hard, hard time with it.
Elisa: I can imagine. What about the father of the baby? Your husband, Roman? Is he still on this plane?
Kim: He is.
Elisa: How’s he doing?
Kim: He been involved in some controversy. He’s overseas. I’ve read about this, too. He was accused of something, and so I don’t believe he’s come back to the United States.
Elisa: Was it Roman Polanski?
Kim: Roman Polanski.
Elisa: Oh, okay. Okay, all right. Got it. Got it. Any messages for him?
Kim: She loves him. She watches out for him. She tells me that he felt a sense of–because there was some conversation of him coming back, when he should come back because they were filming overseas, that there was a sense within him of a guilty feeling that if he would have come back with her at the time, that none of this would have happened.
Elisa: Oh. Hm.
Kim: And that he was devastated. He was very devastated by this. She said that she loved him dearly. She said the culture at the time was this free love kind of culture.
Elisa: Yeah.
Kim: She’s making me feel like–I don’t know if Roman was a cheater, but with the position he was in, he had a lot of girls that would throw themselves at him.
Elisa: Okay, well, that’s not important. What about the baby? Are you still with the baby?
Kim: Yes. She’s talking about–I have to have Erik help me with this. What she’s talking about is her and the baby–this was not a charted exit point for them.
Elisa: Whoa.
Kim: This was somebody else’s free will infringed upon her.
Elisa: Oh, gosh.
Kim: She said this was not an exit point, but what she’s saying is that her and the baby, in this lifetime that she was coming into, that they were to have a lifetime where they either died together or died within very short order of each other.
Elisa: Why?
Kim: Because–and I’m having Erik help me with this because it’s a little bit confusing–I don’t want to mix up the stories. There were two lifetimes. One where she was a little boy, and the baby, who Roman named Paul, was the mother. As a little boy, it was in the country. It looks like maybe a couple hundred years ago. The little boy wandered off playing and something happened, and he was lost and never found. He died. She’s making me feel like he might have fallen into like, an animal burrow or a hole in the ground or something and he was never found. That was Sharon in that lifetime.
Elisa: Right.
Kim: Mom, who was the baby, never quite got over that, and longed for her baby her whole life and carried a lot of depression. So that was one contributing lifetime.
Elisa: So she decided to die this life?
Kim: Yes.
Elisa: Both of them together?
Kim: They were going to live a lifetime where they got to stay together pretty much to the end, through the whole life.
Elisa: Okay.
Kim: The next lifetime–or maybe it was before then, I’m not sure I have the timeline right–she was the mother. The baby, Paul, was the child. She died. She hemorrhaged shortly after giving birth to this (inaudible 12:07) who I think was a girl in this lifetime. The baby, Paul, was a girl in this lifetime. She died giving birth. She did not transcend. She stayed on the earth plane with her baby. She carried depression and fear, and that type of thing from the death, and it influenced the baby in that lifetime and as the child grew up because her energy was so sad and being around the baby all the time and had a negative impact.
Elisa: What was that negative impact?
Kim: The baby could feel the sadness–or the child, because it eventually grew up. I keep saying the “baby”–could feel the sadness, could just feel this weight of this (over-talking 12:57)
Elisa: Yeah, but did that make her depressed?
Kim: Yes and didn’t know where it came from. It wasn’t even the baby’s.
Elisa: Aw. So the common theme is–was your mother, and her struggling with your death, what is the lesson to be learned through these three lives? It’s almost like spiritual DNA.
Kim: Right. Well, she says for her and the baby, it was to learn that separation is only temporary.
Elisa: Oh.
Kim: Separation is an illusion.
Elisa: Yes.
Kim: Separation is an illusion. She said her mother kind of had an inkling that something could happen. Her mother–there was a time when they were separated because they were in the military and Sharon was doing something else where the family packed up to be with Sharon. She’s making me feel like her mother really had an inkling. Her mother, in this lifetime, was to be a support, and set up all the circumstances, so that she could bring this baby through and live a healthy life and not be overbearing and that type of thing and impact this baby negatively.
Sharon: We did fulfill what we came to do, which, I wouldn’t say we fulfilled our contract that we died together, but we were supposed to live a much longer life was what it was.
Elisa: Yeah.
Sharon: My mother was the support that helped put this all together. My mother–this wasn’t something we all agreed to in the beginning.
Kim: But it’s like during the course of it, she kind of switched. The grief kind of switched course, and like, “Okay, I have to pull myself out of this, and the only way I can do that is by helping other people with their tragedies.” So she’s saying that was her mother’s role in it was to help other people deal with it, make it better for others.
Sharon: Much the same way as you and Erik.
Elisa: Okay. Were you supposed to, in this lifetime, outlive your mother? You and the baby?
Kim: She said there were more than one exit points.
Elisa: Oh, yeah.
Sharon: We would have most likely outlived my mother. Say you’re given five exit points–
Elisa: Okay.
Sharon: – if that was the amount. You might have two of them early in your life, and your other three at age 70, 80, and 90. The exit point we got obviously wasn’t a chosen one. One of our exit points, we could have died before my mother.
Elisa: Oh, I see.
Sharon: There were exit points where we would have died after.
Elisa: Okay.
Sharon: It was kind of a lifetime that was to be determined by how long we wanted to stay.
Elisa: TBD. So what do you think you were to learn originally in this lifetime, Miss Sharon Tate? What did you intend to learn? The same thing, separation is an illusion or?
Sharon: That separation is an illusion. That life is eternal.
Kim:  She’s making me feel like there were some things with her star power–you know, she was a movie star–that there were some things that she was going to be doing, had she lived, that would have helped the planet growing consciousness.
Elisa: Oh! Okay.
Kim: She says the other thing is Hollywood–that can be kind of a dark place.
Elisa: Oh, God, yeah.
Kim: She was a very light, loving being, so it was kind of countered to who she was. So part of what she was going to be doing was to help shift that darkness, that consciousness. I would just describe her as just a cute, little, sweet girl that lives next door that you just love. She was very authentic, very soft-spoken, very sweet. That’s the personality that’s bringing through. She would have brought some of that through–
Elisa: Hollywood.
Kim: – Hollywood.
Elisa: What about the baby? What was his original lesson, or what was he here to teach or learn?
Kim: She’s talking about with him being a part of that culture, that–oh! Okay, so you know how sometimes things get kind of off-track with families out there, where the kids will get in trouble and the parents will divorce, and there’s all kinds of drama?
Elisa: Mm-hm.
Kim: They were going to demonstrate it down in a nice, loving way, where the child is well-developed, or the child’s not emotionally scarred, that type of thing.
Elisa: Okay.
Kim: They were going to demonstrate that. He basically was just going to have a nice, normal life, grow up. He’d get his family, get a career, that type of thing, but it was really to show how under the right set of circumstances and love that a family could really flourish, that it didn’t have to be all this drama.
Elisa: Oh, that’s good.
Kim: So that was part of it, and also to learn that separation is an illusion. This time, they got to choose to stay together all the way through, or you know, within a very short time at least. They did die separately. I keep seeing like a car accident where they possibly would have died together or maybe the mother would have died, and the child a few years later or something like that, or he could have been an adult at that point.
Elisa: Okay. Have y’all incarnated back on the earthly plane?
Kim: He is telling me that they are, and that they are together.
Elisa: As what?
Kim: He, the baby, is the parent this time. The baby is the mother, and she is a small child. Let me see. Boy or girl? I feel like a girl, like she’s a little girl again. The baby is the mom, and it feels like somewhere overseas, Europe.
Elisa: Okay, somewhere in there.
Kim: It’s going to be a very happy life, and they don’t have those separation issues anymore. They’ve worked through that.
Elisa: Oh, good.
Kim: She said it was like a big imprint where they were separated and torn apart, that they carried that with them, and it was very painful. They don’t have to do it again.
Elisa: Well, what is their spiritual mission now?
Kim: Hm? What is their spiritual mission?
Elisa: Yeah. Obviously, it can be different.
Kim: They’re going to have a happy, normal life.
Elisa: Good. You deserve it, girl!
Kim: Yeah. She’s saying just by them living through it, it’s like it helped them. They finally have come to peace with that and cleared all that trauma.
Elisa: Okay.
Kim: Go ahead.
Elisa: What is your life’s work from the afterlife? What are you trying to do here on Earth? Like, help your mother? I don’t know, whatever.
Sharon: Yeah. Helping my family was first and foremost, but working with victims of violent crimes.
Elisa: Oh, okay. Good, good, good.
Sharon: I’ll get them to clear that trauma because so many people go on where there was the before and the after, and the trauma now defines them.
Elisa: Yeah. That’s right. I know. I totally know. Now, what do you feel–can you tap into Manson’s current state of mind? Has he gotten better? I mean, what’s he like now?
Kim: She says that he did a lot of soul-searching in prison, and she says that he did reach a point. It was the highest point he could reach from where he was at in his understandings. She says it’s not necessarily that she’s opposed to it. She wouldn’t have been at the beginning, but it kind of feels like–okay, like they really have to match the vibrations to be able to connect and interact.
Elisa: Oh, yeah.
Kim: He’s still down here, and she’s up here. So it’s not–
Elisa: Not aligned.
Kim: Right. Yeah, she just doesn’t feel drawn to it at some point. She’s making me feel like eventually, he would raise his vibration where he’d be capable of that.
Elisa: Was he mentally ill at the time of your death?
Sharon: Yes. Yes.
Elisa: Was he paranoid schizophrenic, or what?
Kim: He had those tendencies. She’s saying he was a narcissist. He would feel a thrill when he was harming someone, very sick and twisted.
Elisa: Well, why did he come in with–why does he have mental illness? Was it his upbringing? Was it a spiritual contract that he made to come in that way or what?
Kim: It was his upbringing, his environment. He didn’t come in with that spiritual contract to kill a bunch of people. She’s saying, and I don’t know that she necessarily has full knowledge of that. I’m kind of asking Erik here if he can help to kind of clarify.
Elisa: What did he come in to do? What was his mission, if it wasn’t that?
Erik: You know how we have polarity in the world?
Elisa: Mm-hm.
Erik: And some come into be the good guys, and some come in the bad guys? This time he did really take a bad guy role, but that wasn’t contracted that he goes out and starts to–
Elisa: Yeah.
Erik: That he chose himself. He got this like, false messiah kind of complex where he felt like he could control people. He could hear the negative side of the astral realm. They were influencing him.
Elisa: Oh! Wow, did he have negative attachments, negative entities–
Erik: Yes.
Elisa: – that were influencing him?
Kim: Yes, and Erik also talks about the drug abuse, things like LSD and stuff like that, like heavy, heavy drugs, that that also played a role, and that when he would use those type of things, the astral realm would be able to influence him even more.
Elisa: Oh, gosh. I can imagine. So does he still have these attachments, these negative entities?
Kim: No. No. Not on the other side. That doesn’t happen, and he is on the other side with them. He’s just not as highly vibrational–
Elisa: Oh! Wait, he’s dead?
Kim: Charles Manson?
Elisa: Yeah. Uh-oh.
Kim: Charles Manson’s dead. Yes.
Elisa: Oh, okay. All right. Does he have any remorse?
Kim: Yes. He does, and embarrassment.
Elisa: Oh, man. I would be.
Kim: He’s still got work to do before he raises his vibration. She talks about another one that also died, a brain tumor.
Elisa: Oh, yeah? Who? One of the other killers?
Kim: Yeah. Susan. Susan was the one–oh, no. Okay. So when it happened, Susan and another man–the other man was the one who did the killing.
Elisa: Who was it?
Kim: One of the followers, I don’t get the name.
Elisa: Oh, okay.
Kim: Yeah, he was the one doing the stabbing. The woman, she was begging for mercy. This is the woman who’s died now.
Elisa: Oh, okay.
Kim: She said that she hasn’t connected with her either, but she said there was some talk–and I knew this, too. I’d read it. The family was asking for her to be released from prison because she was dying, and it was brain tumor.
Elisa: Okay. Did she get released?
Kim: No.
Elisa: Okay.
Sharon: At that point, yes, she was no longer a danger to society, and she had done enough work, and was remorseful of herself. But she’s saying, really, these people who were in prison thinking they’d turned a leaf, they did move forward some, spiritually, but as they started to awaken, they couldn’t let go and forgive themselves.
Elisa: Hm.
Kim: Which is something they really needed to do, so they’re still working on it from the other side. I’m asking her if she thinks it’s a good idea. Should that woman have been paroled so that she could go home and die with her family?
Sharon: It wouldn’t have mattered.
Kim: She wasn’t a threat to society, but she said with the intensity of that crime, the violence of it, she said that would have been really hard on her family if they would have paroled her.
Elisa: Yeah. On Sharon’s family, right?
Kim: On Sharon’s family.
Elisa: Okay.
Sharon: It just wouldn’t have sent the right message to the world.
Yeah, I agree.
Sharon: So that happened as it was meant to be. Although, we’re not still holding this woman–
Kim: I think Susan, she’s calling her.
Sharon: We’re not holding her in judgment.
Kim: But she’s got to work through these things on her own until she can connect with Sharron. Although Charlie Manson and them would have told you they’d done their rehabilitative work, maybe they were model prisoners and all that, she said, “That’s just what they thought.”
Elisa: Oh, okay. Well, let me ask you–
Kim: It was only half the way.
Elisa: Yeah. Let me ask you one more question. At the end of his prison sentence, before he transitioned, did Charles Manson stop believing he was the messiah?
Kim: I’m sorry.
Elisa: Oh, I know. I saw that.
Kim: I didn’t hear that.
Elisa: At the end of his prison sentence, when he was still alive, did Charles Manson still feel like he was some sort of messiah, or did he feel remorse for what he had done before he transitioned?
Kim: He was starting to come to a place where he knew what Christ consciousness was. He was starting to understand that. His ego was diminishing, the part of him that thought the was the messiah. He was somewhat remorseful, but not totally. He couldn’t even allow himself to be as fully into it and as remorseful as he needed to forget it and move on because it was such a horrendous thing he did. He couldn’t face himself. That’s what she’s saying. He could not face himself.
Elisa: Oh, okay.
Kim: When he transitioned, he was really forced to, and that’s what he’s in the process of doing now, facing himself and what happened, forgiving himself, and like she’s saying, he is really at the point of embarrassment.
Elisa: Okay, so any last things you want to share, Sharon? Or your baby, Paul?
Kim: She says to her family, she loves them, and they will be reunited.
Elisa: Awesome.
Sharon: Thank you for giving me this opportunity. I knew I wanted to, if I did this, come through on your channel because you know what it’s like for a mother to lose their child.
Elisa: Oh, yeah. Absolutely.
Sharon: I knew this would resonate with you and you’d understand.
Elisa: Of course. Well, thank you so much for coming in. Erik, thank you so much for bringing her forward and helping us out with this. I love you, and you can get in touch with Kim at She’s awesome, as you can see. I will put it right here as the title splash, and I love you guys. Bye. Bye, Kim.

Monday, October 28, 2019

The Labianca Murder House

Another Greg video. This time, the Labianca house on Waverly:

Monday, October 21, 2019

How Quentin Tarantino got the '60s sound for ‘Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood'

Mark Lindsay of Paul Revere & the Raiders, left,
Quentin Tarantino and David Wild in conversation
at the Grammy Museum on Wed., Oct. 2.(Rebecca Sapp / Getty Images)
Mark Lindsay of Paul Revere & the Raiders, left, Quentin Tarantino and David Wild in conversation at the Grammy Museum on Wed., Oct. 2.(Rebecca Sapp / Getty Images)

OCT. 3, 2019 2:05 PM

For a brief moment in his then-young rock career, Mark Lindsay lived in a gorgeous home at the top of Benedict Canyon. The singer-songwriter, co-founder of the group Paul Revere & the Raiders, moved there with his buddy, record producer Terry Melcher, in the late '60s. He wrote some of his band's best work there, including the single "Good Thing," which he penned on a piano in the living room.

Lindsay left the house when Melcher wanted to live with his girlfriend, actress Candice Bergen. They soon rented the place to director Roman Polanski and his wife, Sharon Tate.

What happened next in that living room inaugurated one of the darkest weeks in L.A. history. But Lindsay still remembers the place fondly, even if he did once bump into Charles Manson at a party there.

"Those two years were my golden years," Lindsay said onstage at the Grammy Museum on Wednesday night in conversation with director Quentin Tarantino. "I remember drinking rosè in the garden with Terry outside in that liquid sunshine and saying, ‘it doesn't get better than this' and thinking it'll never get worse. It didn't until 1969."

For director and L.A. native Tarantino, however, the coincidence is a thread that ties his whole film "Once Upon a Time ... In Hollywood" together. All of his obsessions — vintage rock and roll, movie-business lore, darkly comic idylls cut through with horrific violence — wound through that property at the top of Cielo Drive (it's now demolished, of course). He and Lindsay talked about evoking that golden era of L.A. rock radio in "Once Upon a Time ..." and how it set the tone for the nightmare to come.

"Paul Revere & the Raiders was exactly the kind of band that would have rocked my little socks off," Tarantino said of Lindsay's pre-fab conceptual, velvety-voiced act. "And the reason Manson knew of Terry Melcher was because of Paul Revere & the Raiders."

"Once Upon a Time ..." was the rare original summer flick to best $100 million at the box office this year. The star-packed throwback follows a TV actor (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his loyal stuntman sidekick (Brad Pitt) through the wane of their careers in late-'60s L.A., all while something evil kindles in the canyons over the hill.

Throughout the film, Lindsay's songs help set the hyper-specific tone of the era's music — less the raw psychedelia of the tastemaking historians and more the amber hues of the innocence that Manson would soon shatter. Though Margot Robbie's Sharon Tate pokes fun at the band in the script ("Don't tell Jim Morrison you're dancing to the Raiders!"), their slinky, creepy song "Hungry" plays as she meets her eventual killer for the first time in the driveway.

"The room where Abigail Folger slept was my room," Lindsay said. "It's just like I'm back again."

On Wednesday, even Tarantino's conversation was peppered with such callbacks. Onstage, moderator David Wild, a rock journalist and Grammy scriptwriter, got a text from another favorite Tarantino soundtrack source, Neil Diamond, suggesting the director sync a few more tunes in his next project. Tarantino's movies have always mined vintage rock for unexpected revelations and new contexts, ever since his impeccable use of Dick Dale's "Misirlou" in Pulp Fiction.

"I want to be known for my discography as much as my filmography," Tarantino said. When he's picking soundtrack cuts, he joked that he imagines that "every director I know is in there going ‘Oh god, now I have to get out of the business'."

"Once Upon a Time ..." was a chance to marinate ever deeper in the era's AM radio (especially the old L.A. station KHJ). Tarantino and music supervisor Mary Ramos unearthed around a full daytime block's worth of recordings from the era for research — ad jingles, DJ patter and all. Drive-time radio wasn't just a historical reference point in the film, he said, but a way to set the ambience in the eternal, doomed summer of '60s L.A. at the margins of the movie business.

"There's an L.A. quality to Brad Pitt's character where he works in Hollywood but doesn't live there," Tarantino said. "He's given his life to the entertainment business but doesn't have anything to show for it. He drives home to Panorama City, and in that time you hear four songs, which gives you an idea of how long it takes to drive there."

For Lindsay, the return to the stage has indeed been a long drive through a career that, if he hadn't lived it, could have been scripted by Tarantino. It wasn't all L.A. classic rock; Lindsay performed the synth score for the 1980 Japanese action flick "Shogun Assassin," a favorite sample source for the Wu-Tang Clan and other rappers.

But on this night, he did his best to invoke the mood of "Once Upon a Time," performing three songs from the movie with a choral ensemble from Orange County's Tesoro High School.

Lindsay's voice still had that velvety touch that made long, aimless drives through the Hollywood flatlands so moody back then. Tarantino almost always makes stars of his deep-cut soundtrack picks, but this was something else: an ever-rarer chance to hear the actual voice ringing through that house on Cielo Drive, back before everything went dark.

Saturday, October 19, 2019

Helter Skelter Shocker! Sexy Nancy, What Have You Done!

Forgive me, but this is so funny I HAD to share it! They even used Jack's photoshop of Dennis Wilson and Manson. It's meant as satire, but there are people out there who actually believe things like this. And. They. Can. Vote...


VEN (LAS VEGAS) — Anti-American, pro-illegal-alien Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi (D-CA)  has denied reports that she was a member of the maniacal  Manson Family hippie death cult responsible for the gruesome Tate-LaBianca murders in August, 1969,  or that she was head-over-heels in love with cult leader Charles Manson, as reported by TMZ Wednesday.

The former Soul Train dancer explained to reporters late Thursday that although she dated guitarist and Manson lieutenant Bobby Beausoleil "briefly" in 1968, and "may" have hung out with The Family at the Spahn Ranch off and on for several weeks in the Spring of 1969, the amount of Jimsonweed, military-grade LSD,  STP, and MDA she was doing has "clouded" her memory.

"In 1967, I was what the kids referred to then as a flower child and yes,  for a brief period of time after running away from home, I  found myself in the company of what turned out to be some very disreputable people.

"Of course, I didn't realize that at the time, you know, with all the . . . the  love-ins and acid and what not, and hanging out  ahh with with all . . . all these famous people like Dennis, Dennis Wilson (he had such a . . . a WONDERFUL you know house in Pacific Palisades!) and  Mel . . . Terry . . . Melcher who was going to . . . to . . . record Charlie, and . . . of course Jay See,  Jay . . . Jay  Sebring!

"But thankfully, in I think it was June of 1969, before anything really  bad happened,  I was, you know, rescued by my father's friend Anton LaVey and never . . . I never . . . looked . . . you know . . . back!

"I never looked back.

"I mean honestly, who . . . who . . . would?

"So no I was never actually a member of the Manson Family, nor as I recall was I never involved ah . . .  romantically  you know with Charl . . . with Mr . . . with Manson, although I certainly . . .  knew (everyone did!)  you know,  who Charlie WAS!

"I mean he was, Charlie was . . . he had . . .  Charlie . . . this . . .   PRESENCE!

"But no, I wasn't.  I was never.  It was more like . . . like I  . . . like I was . . . the . . .  a  friend of this . . . promiscuous  cousin Squeaky  . . .  who at that time with Charlie, Squeaky and I  you know, like like all teenage girls at that time, liked to,  to, to  cease to exist and  have have  . . . a certain amount of . . . of fun and oh my goodness!  looking back now,  you know  we smoked . . .  oh,  by today's standards . . .  a LOT of . . . of grass and pretty, pretty girl  at that time dropping acid all day and dancing just, you know,  just never learn not to love you — OK? —  and sing and drink Jimsonweed tea and give up our world and just . . . just . . .  come and say you love me . . . !

"Come and say you love me!

A young Nancy Pelosi at the Spahn Ranch, May 1969

"Which is EXACTLY what we're being asked to do by the millions of patriotic undocumented immigrants without health insurance who yearn to be free and who are being disenfranchised by our toxic, out-of-touch America First President!"

"So as far as I'm concerned that chapter, the Manson chapter of my, my life is is closed.  And we won't be . . . talking about that anymore!"

Developing . . . .

Monday, October 14, 2019

Shoshone - The Caliche Mud Caves

A video that blog reader Chris did in Shoshone. The cave seen in this video are where Little Paul Watkins and Paul Crocket stayed after leaving Barker Ranch in fear.

These caves are mentioned in My Life with Charles Manson by Paul Watkins and Guillermo Soledad (1979):
"...I continued to work with Crockett and Brooks, but I was divided within myself. I can honestly say that no time in my life was more agonizing than the months between Charlie’s capture and his conviction. I walked a mighty thin line. The view from the middle often gives a panorama of all sides. But my balance was precarious at best, and what I paid for that vantage point in suffering was more than I could afford. That I survived at all appears, in retrospect, something of a miracle.

"The hillsides around Shoshone are riddled with manmade caves, dug originally by itinerant miners, prospectors, and other vagabonds, who, over the years, found the town a convenient oasis in the scorching lowlands of the Amargosa Valley. Shoshone was also a water stop on the railroad line and for a time the site of a thriving hobo jungle which centered in and around the tufa caves. Crockett and Poston were broke and living in one of those caves when I arrived on October 9. Don Ward had told them (as he did me) not to leave Shoshone, that the Barker Ranch was about to be busted.

"The following day, just before dawn, while the three of us slept off a reunion celebration on the floor of the cave, officers from the highway patrol, the Inyo county sheriff’s office, and the national park rangers assembled near Golar Wash for a raid on the Barker Ranch—a raid that lasted three days and resulted in the capture of Charlie and most of the Family. All were taken to the Inyo county seat in Independence (just four hours north of Shoshone) and booked for auto theft.

"I didn’t know then, nor did Brooks or Crockett, that during the raid Stephanie (Schram) and Kitty Lutesinger (Bobby Beausoleil’s girlfriend, who was then five months pregnant with his child) had been trying to escape from the Family. They asked the police for protection and were taken to Independence to be interviewed by detectives. When it was learned that Kitty was Bobby’s girlfriend, she was asked what she knew about the Hinman murder. She said she had heard that Manson sent Bobby and a girl named Susan Atkins to Hinman’s house to collect some money and that when he refused to pay, they had killed him."

Sunday, October 6, 2019

The Last Manson Mystery

Fifty years ago, Bobby Beausoleil murdered Gary Hinman. Did he set in motion the Manson killings and the myth of Helter Skelter?

By ERIK HEDEGAARD (Rolling Stone)

On the dusty, heat-blister town of Vacaville, California, halfway between Sacramento and Oakland, sits the bleak squat prison that holds a trim, handsome, highly articulate inmate named Bobby Beausoleil, almost 72, who has spent the past 50 years behind bars for murdering a musician friend of his, Gary Hinman, either as part of a drug deal gone bad or as a straight-up robbery, all depending on which version of events you believe. All of it happened under the dark cloud of another of Beausoleil’s friends, Charlie Manson, the pint-size, so-called hippie-death-cult mastermind ex-con Svengali, who was convicted in 1971 of directing the horrific Tate-LaBianca murders, which left seven people dead and a bunch of his followers behind bars for life, and who died in 2017, much to the dismay of very few.

Beausoleil is in the prison’s visiting room now, hands folded together, fans moving the air around some. He wears jeans, a plain, pressed, standard-issue shirt, rimless glasses; he smiles easily, laughs easily, has kind eyes, professes to follow a Buddhist philosophy, seems gentle enough. Indeed, last January, for the first time since he went to jail in 1969, after 18 previous rejections, the parole board recommended that he be released, based on its finding that he did not pose “an unreasonable risk of danger to society.” It also noted that he “has accepted full responsibility for his actions in killing Mr. Hinman.”

Even so, the board did have its concerns, especially given that Beausoleil’s version of the events that led to Hinman’s murder — the motivation for it — has wobbled about over the years and, in fact, does not at all square with the official version that, in brief, on July 25th, 1969, Manson sent him to Hinman’s to rob the guy of some rumored $20,000 inheritance. When no money was forthcoming, he then ordered Beausoleil to kill him, although not before Manson himself showed up on the scene and slashed Hinman across the ear and cheek with a sword. Beausoleil’s version has the whole thing revolving around a soured drug deal, with Manson ordering no one to do anything. In previous hearings, the discrepancies caused the board to deny Beausoleil parole, figuring his story was basically a way for him to distance himself from Manson and the slaughters that followed, but not this time. It let the long-gone past be long gone and looked only at the future, based on a 2016 psychological assessment stating that Beausoleil was “statistically low risk to re-offend in the free community.”

It was then left up to the new governor of California, Gavin Newsom, to decide whether or not to follow the board’s recommendation.

Beausoleil was hopeful — “I like Newsom. He’s kind of ballsy. He talks a lot about reforming the criminal justice system. I’m not planning on hanging out too much longer in here. I’ve pretty much already said all my goodbyes.” And he made plans. Before jail, he’d been a musician of considerable promise. In San Francisco, he fronted a band called the Orkustra that, at one point, played alongside the Grateful Dead, and for a moment, he played rhythm guitar in what would become the seminal psychedelic group Love. He was a baby-faced kid who was nicknamed Cupid and wore a top hat around town, carrying himself with enough cool-cat swagger that underground filmmaker Kenneth Anger cast him in a movie project, Lucifer Rising. Like everyone else in those days, he was full on into being a rebel. But then he drifted south from San Francisco in 1968, met Manson playing music at some roadhouse around L.A., thought he was talented, spent time where Manson lived with his gang at Spahn Ranch, had a blast roaring Army-surplus wagons through Death Valley, never considered himself a member of the Manson tribe, just liked hanging around them, laughing, getting high, having sex, playing music, being free.

“Man, it was great,” he says. “That’s what people don’t get. At first, it was just fun. Then again, maybe that’s just what Charlie chose to show me, the happy-go-lucky, lighthearted vagabond musician, when he wasn’t being so many other things to other people. Whatever works in the moment. That was Charlie’s unifying philosophy.”

Beausoleil still plays music. While in prison, he completed the soundtrack for Lucifer Rising and has released six other albums since. He’s led several prison bands, playing prison-owned Strats or the acoustic that he wired up for electric-jazz-box sound using a soldering iron cobbled together out of paper clips and a AA battery. He’s also an artist, and his fanciful mythology-based pieces can be seen all over the internet. Two decades ago, he drew scenes of children getting their bare bums spanked that appeared in newsletters like Sassy Bottoms, published by his late wife, Barbara, before authorities caught on and he was forced to stop, even though a postal inspector said it didn’t rise to the level of kiddie porn. Regardless, he has a number of life skills that he thinks should serve him well on the outside. Already, he’s sat down with Holt McCallany, one of the stars of the Netflix show dramatizing the FBI’s early days of serial-killer profiling, Mindhunter, about scoring an upcoming movie project.

“He’s been a model prisoner,” says McCallany. “Having met him and talked with him, my very clear sense is that this is a guy who just wants to try to rebuild what remains of his life. The notion that he would kill again is preposterous, and if he hadn’t been tainted by his association with Manson, he would have been paroled long ago.”

Once out, here’s what Beausoleil wants to do. “First thing, I’d like to get a dog. I’m 71 years old. I still got women competing with each other over me, and I don’t know what the hell that’s about. I was married for 31 years to a wonderful human being, and when she died . . . I don’t want to pair up again. I’m not looking to hook up. I just want to be a bachelor and adopt a companion, which is how I did it when I was on the streets before. The only time I’ve ever gotten in trouble is when I didn’t have a dog. Last one I had was named Hocus.”

In April, however, Newsom reversed the parole board’s decision and thrust Beausoleil back into the system for at least another year, when his case will be reviewed again.

Newsom said he understood that Beausoleil was just 21 years old when he committed the crime. He acknowledged that Beausoleil had spent much of his time in prison making efforts to improve himself, but in the end Newsom couldn’t get over the crime itself. And what he said it led to: “Mr. Beausoleil helped perpetrate the first of the Manson family’s atrocious, high-profile murders in an attempt to start a civilization-ending race war. Mr. Beausoleil and other Manson family members kept Mr. Hinman hostage and tortured him over several days in an attempt to finance their apocalyptic scheme. When Mr. Hinman refused to cooperate, Mr. Manson sliced Mr. Hinman’s throat and severed his ear, before Mr. Beausoleil stabbed him to death.”

Never mind the numerous errors in Newsom’s narrative — for one, Manson didn’t slice anyone’s throat — or that Newsom goes on to say that he’s worried that Beausoleil might start smoking dope again if released, hence he must be considered “currently dangerous.” It’s pretty clear that, in addition to Hinman’s murder, Newsom also holds him partly responsible for the murders to come. And of course, there’s no way any governor in his right political mind would free anyone associated with Manson during the 50th anniversary of the Tate-LaBianca slayings, what with the arrival of Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time . . . in Hollywood, featuring a smiling Manson and a goodly helping of the girls looking murderous, along with all the attendant retellings of what happened or may have happened or didn’t happen at all.

Plus, there’s Gary Hinman’s cousin Kay Hinman Martley saying, “The jury gave him a death sentence, and he got a second chance by having it commuted to life, and that’s what he deserves,” while urging anyone who will listen to sign anti-release petitions at And Sharon Tate’s sister Debra saying, “His parole plans include a life of grandeur and becoming a rock star, basically profiting off his crimes. Fifty years and nothing has changed. What happens when he gets out and he’s not getting his way? I’ll tell you: The same shit that happened back then, because that’s the nature of a sociopath. They don’t abide by the laws of God or man. Put him back on the street, and people will lose their lives.”

And so here Beausoleil sits, in the visitors’ room, saying, “To me, my story is how I’ve come to interact with the world and how I’ve transcended the crime and Manson. My story is how I broke through my own prison to comprehend what I’d done to Gary. But I don’t know if that’s enough to ever compensate for taking a life. I owe Gary’s family a life. I made a terrible decision to commit a horrible act. There’s no changing that. Reprehensible. But according to the law, I have done my time.” And yet, even though that might be true, the Hocus of his dreams will just have to wait.

Until recently, the Helter Skelter theory for the Tate-LaBianca murders, as promulgated by prosecuting attorney Vincent Bugliosi, who died in 2015, has been the go-to explanation, pretty much along the lines of what Newsom suggests, to start a race war after which Manson and his followers would assume command of the chaos. It may sound lunatic now, but at the time Bugliosi sold it to the jury and the rest of the country, it somehow made complete sense that a Beatles song could crystallize thoughts of mass murder, such that on August 8th, 1969, Manson directed Tex Watson, a former high school jock; Susan Atkins, who once sang in a church choir; Patricia Krenwinkel, a Catholic-college dropout; and a recent arrival named Linda Kasabian to go kill everyone who lived in the house at 10050 Cielo Drive in L.A. and make it look like the murders were racially motivated. Among the butchered were pregnant actress Sharon Tate, 26, wife of director Roman Polanski; celebrity hairstylist Jay Sebring, 35; screenwriter Voytek Frykowski, 32; and Folger’s-coffee-fortune heiress Abigail Folger, 25. And then the next night, the killers did it again, again under Charlie’s direction, with former homecoming queen Leslie Van Houten added to the group. This time, they hacked up grocery-store-chain owner Leno LaBianca, 44, and his wife, Rosemary, 38. In both cases, they also left words like “pig,” “healter skelter,” and “death to pigs” scrawled in blood on walls, a door, and a refrigerator. And thus, with the deaths neatly tied to the Black Panthers, was the revolution started.

Of course the uprising never happened, and everyone but Kasabian, who didn’t participate in any of the killings and turned state’s evidence, went to jail, destined for the gas chamber until the death penalty was up-ended and their sentences were commuted to life. Afterward, Bugliosi wrote a book about his triumph, Helter Skelter, which became the bestselling true-crime book in history, and Manson spent the next 48 years proclaiming his innocence, mugging for the cameras, and just in general carrying on like a deranged gooney bird. In 2013, I myself went and spent two days with him at Corcoran State Prison, where he stroked my forearm, alternately calling me “jitterbug,” “soldier,” and “honey,” before announcing that if he could touch me, he could kill me. And then he growled and railed on about how he was “an outlaw, a gangster, a rebel, a desperado, and I don’t fire no warning shots,” which may have unnerved ABC newscaster Diane Sawyer back in 1993 when he barked the same sort of bravado at her, but to modern ears, all it does is make you chuckle, albeit not out loud, because you never know.

Meanwhile, after his arrest, Beausoleil set about doing himself no favors. Called to testify in the 1973 trial of other Manson associates, he said, “I’m at war with everybody in this courtroom. . . . You better pray I never get out.” That same year, he gave an interview to Truman Capote, author of the seminal true-crime book In Cold Blood, for a long time the genre’s Number Two bestseller, right behind Helter Skelter, in which Beausoleil came off as a preening, self-regarding asshole.

Capote: “Did you see Manson as a leader? Did you feel influenced by him right away?”

Beausoleil: “Hell, no. He had his people, I had mine. If anybody was influenced, it was him. By me . . .”

Capote: “Do you consider killing innocent people a good thing?”

Beausoleil: “Who said they were innocent?”

Capote, later: “The truth is, the LaBiancas and Sharon Tate and her friends were killed to protect you.”

Beausoleil: “I hear where you’re coming from.”

Capote: “Those were all imitations of the Hinman murder, to prove that you couldn’t have killed Hinman. And thereby get you out of jail.”

Beausoleil, later: “If a member of our family was in jeopardy, we didn’t abandon that person. And so for the love of a brother, a brother who was in jail on a murder rap, all those killings came down.”

In other words, according to this back-and-forth, forget Helter Skelter and a race war. They had nothing to do with it — it was all done to spring Beausoleil from prison. It does make a certain amount of sense, given that the blood writing at the Tate-LaBianca killings does mimic what Beausoleil wrote on the wall at Hinman’s, using Hinman’s blood: the words “political piggy,” along with a panther paw print. And at one point, Beausoleil did testify to calling the ranch after he was arrested: “I ran some things down to them . . . and within two days seven people were killed.” So, no Hinman murder, no Tate-LaBianca murders.

In recent years this theory has supplanted Bugliosi’s sensationalized Helter Skelter motive as the most probable driving force behind the killings, to the degree that a second-season episode of Mindhunter, as good an arbiter of current pop-culture conventional wisdom as any, pushes the theory. And what the fictional Manson said on the show is pretty much what the actual Manson said when I saw him. “That’s exactly why they did it, in my eye,” Manson told me. And who exactly came up with the copycat idea? Tex and Susan Atkins? “I know, but I’m not telling, because I don’t tell on other people. That’s called ratting. And I’m not a rat.” Then Manson took a moment and said, “It was not one person. It was a team full. It was all, everybody.”

Which is probably true, as well, that the idea could have evolved out of the collective psychotic puddle in which they all swam, which also leaves room for Helter Skelter to have figured into events, along with any number of other theories. That includes the one involving Beach Boys record-producer Terry Melcher, who once lived in the house on Cielo Drive, and who Beausoleil says promised to pay Manson $5,000 for his song “Cease to Exist” and then reneged, which would have made a vengeful guy like Manson murderously angry.

Essayist Joan Didion later wrote of that time, “Everything was unmentionable but nothing was unimaginable.” But out at the ranch, nothing was off-limits or unmentionable, especially as the evenings came on and the acid seeped into the system, and skin touched skin, and all longings, needs, and fears mixed into one. “At first, it was centered around peace and love,” recalls Beausoleil. “Charlie was fun to be around and insightful. He could do these comedic improv sketches, and you would just be in stitches.”

But then, on July 1st, 1969, Tex Watson got into a beef with a black drug dealer named Bernard Crowe, and Manson stepped forward to shoot the guy. He thought Crowe was a Black Panther, that he’d killed him, and that the Panthers were going to come after him, at which point the possibility of going back to prison gripped him around the throat and paranoia flooded his brain. He needed money and he needed protection, which he partly got in the form of a motorcycle gang called the Straight Satans. As to money, Manson had heard that Gary Hinman, a Buddhist hippie musician, had recently come into some, so he decided to rob him and sent Beausoleil to do the job, along with Mary Brunner and Susan Atkins.

Or else straight-up robbery had nothing to do with it. According to Beausoleil, he’d bought 1,000 hits of mescaline for $1,000 from Hinman on behalf of the Straight Satans. Only they took some, said it made them sick, and demanded their money back. So off Beausoleil went, to Hinman’s place in Topanga Canyon, with Atkins and Brunner tagging along, apparently just for the ride. Hinman was a 34-year-old sociology student at UCLA, somewhat of a political activist, a pianist, a music teacher, someone whom Beausoleil had lived with for a short while and considered a friend. “He’s kind of a milquetoast,” Beausoleil says, “but bless his heart, because I respect that now, though I didn’t then.” Getting the money back from him would be no problem.

Beausoleil grew up in Santa Barbara, California, the eldest of five, raised Catholic by a stay-home mom and a working-class dad who made the rounds as a milkman by day and ran a liquor store at night. They lived in a tiny GI Bill tract home. Starting at the age of 12, he became well acquainted with penny-ante trouble, engaging in the kind of truancy that eventually landed him a one-year stay at a reform school when he was 14. Afterward, he took off for Los Angeles, where he began to establish himself as a guitarist, before gravitating north to San Francisco to form the Orkustra, dropping south again, hanging out in Laurel Canyon, where he first took LSD, winding up in the company of Manson, and then arriving at Gary Hinman’s house in Topanga Canyon.

“When I first met Bobby, in the middle of the night, underneath a light, he was 19,” Manson once told me. “He had on a big old stovepipe hat and Indian moccasins and a hawk on his shoulder, playing guitar, picking that guitar like he owned it, lots of soul. He was cool all the way around. He’s a tremendous human being, man. We played a lot of music together. What happened at Gary Hinman’s, he did a good job of what he was doing. He did right. He asked me to help him, and I helped him as much as I could, but he wanted to be the man. And that’s cool. Beausoleil. You know what it means? Beautiful sun.”

Beausoleil’s story about what happened at Hinman’s has changed radically over the years. But here’s what we know, more or less: On the evening of July 25th, 1969, armed with a 9mm pistol, he entered Hinman’s place, along with Brunner and Atkins, and demanded money, thinking that getting it “would be a piece of cake.” Hinman said he didn’t have any. Beausoleil knocked him in the head a few times with the gun. Hinman showed him his checkbook to prove how penniless he was. After some discussion and violence, Hinman agreed to sign over his two jalopies, a Fiat wagon and a late-Fifties VW bus, if only Beausoleil and the girls would leave. Done deal. All was well. According to Beausoleil, they got ready to go.

There was a knock at the door. Hinman swung it open. And there was Manson. One of the girls had called the ranch and gotten word to Charlie that they needed his help. So here he was, offering the kind of help he came to be best known for: misguided, off base, and catastrophic for all involved.

“Charlie!” Hinman shouted, happy, because he’d spent time at the ranch, knew and liked Manson.

Without a word, Manson produced a sword, swung it out, gashing Hinman’s left ear and cheek.

Beausoleil was appalled. He’d been just about to leave, pink slips in hand, and now this. “Why’d you do that?” he asked Manson, as Hinman’s cheek leaked blood all over the place.

Manson said, “To show you how to be a man.” Then he was gone, leaving Beausoleil and the girls to deal with Hinman. At one point, someone — Beausoleil says it was him — attempted to stitch Hinman’s wound together with dental floss. The next day or so was spent trying to persuade Hinman he didn’t need to go to the hospital; that would only get the cops involved. When Hinman couldn’t be convinced, Beausoleil called Manson and said, “Look, man, you’ve left me with this problem. You came and cut this guy. There was no need for that. It’s your problem.”

Manson said something like, “Well, you know what you need to do as well as I do.”

Beausoleil stepped outside. “I paced and fretted and psyched myself up and made a decision. I felt like I only had two choices. Take him to the hospital or take him out. I stabbed him once. I think he was on the floor the second time. I didn’t give myself a chance to think. It wasn’t even a couple of minutes after I talked to Charlie that I did it. I felt trapped. It was animal desperation.” He takes a moment. “What’s become obvious to me over time is that to the exact degree one is under the influence of a fear, desperation, paranoia, and anger is the degree to which one loses the ability to reason.”

Another moment passes. “After killing Gary, I went back to the ranch,” Beausoleil says. “One day, Charlie found me down by a creek and said, ‘How does it feel to kill your brother?’ That was brutal, him saying that. He was twisting the knife. As far as stabbing a man and then having to stab him again because he didn’t die the first time, that was just agonizing.” Shortly thereafter, he got in Hinman’s Fiat and headed north, toward San Francisco. The damn thing broke down near San Luis Obispo, so Beausoleil pulled over and decided to take a nap. The cops rousted him, found the knife that he’d used on Hinman, and that was that. It was August 6th, 1969.

Two days later, with Beausoleil in jail, off Tex Watson went, under Manson’s explicit orders or not, with the girls, to kill and kill some more, leaving signs at the murder sites similar to what was at Hinman’s. Hence, the copycat theory — the only problem with which, according to Beausoleil, is that it’s not true and never has been true, no matter the similar crime scenes or what he may have said to Truman Capote or his previous court testimony about calling the ranch shortly after his arrest or anything else. He says that Helter Skelter was nonsense (“I’d known Charlie for 20 months and never heard him talk about a race war, not even after he’d shot Bernard Crowe”), and so is the copycat idea.

“Look,” he says. “I didn’t call anybody after I was arrested. The only phone at the ranch was a pay phone, and you can’t make a collect call from one pay phone to another.”

What about what Capote wrote in the Seventies? Beausoleil says it was largely fiction, spun out of Capote’s fantasies and booze-drenched brain. “He had a fetish thing going on for handsome young men who killed people. I was just a device for him.” As evidence, he rightly cites the controversies surrounding In Cold Blood, many details and scenes in which, over the years, most people have come to believe were made up or, at the very least, greatly enhanced.

When Beausoleil says these kinds of things, though, it’s hard to know just what to think. He murdered a man. He spent his first 10 years in prison lying about his involvement. His current story, about a drug deal gone bad, is one only he tells. The others involved — Atkins, Brunner — have said it was just a robbery attempt, although Manson occasionally went along with Beausoleil’s explanation. But they’re all known liars, too. It’s a brain-hurting confusement.

To a certain degree, sitting with Beausoleil in the drifting heat of the Vacaville visitors’ room is just like sitting with any other old duffer, with him telling stories about his glory days in San Francisco circa 1967 and the Summer of Love. How he wore that top hat and became known for it and how his band, the Orkustra, had once played a gig opening for the Grateful Dead and he saw a guy in the crowd who wore a top hat too, so he turned to Jerry Garcia and said, “Hey, Jerry, he’s got one just like mine,” to which Jerry said, “Don’t worry, Bobby, everybody knows you’re the original.”

Mostly, Beausoleil has spent his time in prison bettering himself. He’s been a videographer and multimedia content creator for the prison system. He’s worked with at-risk youth. He’s completed various levels of a nonviolent communications program and been active in AA. He’s built his own double-neck guitar, made do with his band when the drummer got sent to the hole before a gig. He improvises.

“No one is defined by the worst thing they ever did,” he says, “unless that’s all they ever did, not even Charlie.” He looks sad now, fingers laced, eyes turning a bit milky. “You know what the hardest thing has been?” he says. “Getting past the shame for what I did. That’s been the hardest thing.”

It’s difficult listening to him talk about shame and how he came to forgive himself for murdering a man he called his friend. Of course, life in prison hasn’t been easy. He ran afoul of some white supremacists — first in a vicious prison gang fight in 1974 and then again when one of them came looking for payback in 1982. “I wound up getting stabbed in the heart and both lungs. Which is exactly what I did to Gary. Karma, man. I effectively died on the operating-room table, and being able to go back through that experience, in a very intimate way, enabled me to bring some kind of closure to that trauma. Crazy as it sounds, when I did, it was really healing for me. What I did to Gary was exactly what this deranged individual did to me. And I was deranged at the time I killed Gary or else I couldn’t have done what I did.”

He says these experiences wouldn’t have changed him the way they did had a friend of his not sent him a piece of paper on which was drawn something psychedelic. Still on death row, he waited until late at night, when the hell of the day was over, and chewed the paper up, embarking on LSD trips that further removed him from his current circumstances and opened his eyes to other possibilities. Even today, he finds it hard to describe the changes that took place, only that “they were the beginning of shaking things loose, that’s for sure. It was cathartic. It wasn’t instantaneous. Little by little.”

But then he comes back to the copycat idea, as he has to, to separate himself from the murder spree that started two days after his arrest.

“It had nothing to do with me,” he says. “I didn’t command that kind of loyalty. Here’s what happened. By sending Tex to Tate’s, he was taking care of two problems. One was, after Tex witnessed Manson shooting the Black Panther, Manson needed to bind Tex to him so he wouldn’t rat. The other was, Terry Melcher had burned him on that song. I know there are stories that he knew Melcher no longer lived there, but I think that’s all bullshit. At one point, I was in a holding cell with Charlie and I said something to him like, ‘What the fuck?’ He’d never admit that he did anything wrong, but he got this embarrassed look. ‘I sent Tex to kill Terry,’ he said. And then the whole thing blew up in his face. So, that’s it. Guaranteed. I have no doubt about it. Tex was going there for one guy. Everything else they say about it, like Helter Skelter and a race war, was after the fact.”

Then again, of course, everything else has also been after the fact. What he says could be the God’s honest, or it could be total bullshit, or it could be a mix, or it could be what he himself has come to believe. Sitting in the visiting room, it’s hard not to like the guy, to want to forgive, to want to believe, to want to forgive even if you don’t believe. He’s been here for 50 years. It’s been a long time.