Take the Back Alley to Langley - Part One

Reeve Whitson - Freshman Year of High School 

Did photographer Shahrokh Hatami doom Sharon Tate and her friends one March morning in 1969 after a confrontation with Charles Manson at the Cielo front door? Were Rudi Altobelli's tenants cursed that evening when the Rudi told Charlie he'd be in Italy for a year after Charlie stood in front of the guesthouse and said he'd like to talk more in the future? 

Was Manson even there that day? Hatami wasn't sure. Mighty Max Frost, I am reaching out with my mind. Beep boop tell me what Rudi said. 

Today, we're exploring Tom O'Neill's claim that a possible CIA agent named Reeve Whitson has been left out of the Manson study history. According to O'Neill, after hearing Hatami's story, Whitson delivered his friend Hatomi (and his Ides of March tale) to Prosecutor Vincent Bugliosi, and then sat in on the unrecorded interview.  

-  Here is Hatami's backstory in case you think he's some hanger-on with a fancy camera who took a two year degree at Santa Monica College after UCLA laughed at his high school GPA and asked him to jump through hoops before achieving main campus status. Hatami was no state school guy. 

 - Here is Bugliosi's closing argument in the Manson, et al, trial. Photographer Hatami is mentioned fourteen times. 

During the trial, Bugliosi argued that Hatami's high-handed dismissal at the Cielo  to the guesthouse sent Charlie over the edge. Bugs asked about Hatami's aggressive posture, tone, and had him describe how he jabbed an index finger toward the guesthouse when dismissing Manson. 

- Here's a newspaper article from a courtroom reporter (via the almighty) if you are new to our study or desire a quick refresh on Hatami's testimony.  

Others weren't so sure about the encounters. Filmmaker and author Robert Hendrickson smelled a rat and believed Bugliosi needed those March 1969 confrontations to convince the jury Charlie visited Cielo before the murders took place and had an axe to grind after the Hatami and Altobelli brush offs. Hendrickson was so passionate about about Bugliosi's duplicity that he continued his argument across two Hatami posts in our blog library. 

- This video in Matt's post from 2014 shows Sharon and Hatami in better days. Hatami is the shirtless hunk. Sharon is as pretty as pretty gets. Hatami's girlfriend is hanging around because she's no fool. 

That fateful day in March, Hatami takes the chivalry route when an uninvited man reaches the Cielo front door. Not shocking. Manly man exhibitions in front of attractive women have always been a thing, even if sometimes it's only pretend. 

According to author Tom O'Neill, Hatami first shared his Charlie encounter story with possible CIA agent Reeve Whitson. The son of an actress and a circus acrobat, Whitson enters our story when Tom O'Neill has Whitson phone Hatami early that Saturday morning we all know so well before anyone else discovered the bodies up on Cielo. 

In O'Neill's Chaos, Whitson claims to friends he was the CIA surveillance team watching the Cielo house. He was supposedly on the scene early that fateful Friday but didn't stick around. According to his friends, Whitson forever lamented his inability to prevent the killings.  

We need to back up a bit because things are already not making sense. How does Reeve Whitson, a rumored CIA super spook, find his way to the Cielo crowd? 

Bugliosi never mentions Whitson in his book, but Chaos provides insight. According to O'Neill, Whitson might've bonded with Sebring over race cars. And Whitson's mom was good buds with Doris Tate. Third, O'Neill writes, Paul Tate told him Whitson was a friend to himself, Sharon, and Roman.   

So there's three hows. Whitson maybe became a family friend after meeting Sebring at the track. Unfortunately, answering my first question created a second. Why was Whitson surveilling his good friends? 

Reeve Whitson was an archconservative on an anti-drug mission. By some accounts, an ounce of blow was found in Jay Sebring's Porsche the morning following the murders. That's more than a personal stash, Idgaf who you are. An ounce was enough to get half the houses on the block trembling while searching for the man through their bedroom blinds the night of August 8th. Was Sebring doing deals out of the Cielo parking lot? 

English Major Math time: 

* In 1969, one gram of cocaine cost $100-$150 dollars in Los Angeles

* We know Jay sold little baggies out of his briefcase

* Sebring would be a fool to give rich people his lowest price - let's err on the bigger side this time 

* Twenty-eight grams come out of an ounce - more if Sebring stepped on his dope 

* $150 x 28 = $4200

* $4200 in 1969 money is more than $32000 today 

** Let's pause for reader corrections on the amount of cocaine found in Sebring's car, and also to give others a chance to describe how much blow they snorted some random Friday night in the 80's at a Huey Lewis concert. 

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Discussion Materials: 

In addition to what is linked above, we're using newspapers articles, Helter Skelter, and Tom O'Neill's Chaos. Feel free to add links to any supporting or counterarguments in the comments below the posts. 

Most of O'Neill's research we're discussing in this piece is found in Chapter Six of Chaos, titled Who Was Reeve Whitson? I'm using the Kindle version. You should explore digital searching if you don't already. Yes, chopped down trees feel great in my hands, but they are garbage when I wonder how many times Whitson is printed in the text (150). 

Or Hatami (43). Btw, O'Neill doesn't care which version you buy. Both cost about the same. 

Continues in Part 2...

The Slow Death of William Eston Garretson Jr.

Brethren, lift up your tv dinners and cold cans of Bud and let's toast tonight...

Sometimes I feel like William Eston Garretson Jr. is Charles Watson's ninth victim. Possibly his tenth depending on how you feel about poor Mr. Stubbs. Blog veteran Panamint Patty touches on Watson and Stubbs briefly here in this lovely interview from last spring. I will revisit the interview in an upcoming post, but right now let's talk about the caretaker. 

Other times, I think Tex was just another nail in Billy's coffin. Billy died in 2016. He was likely a longtime sufferer of PTSD that he disastrously self-treated. Tobacco use contributed to his death at age sixty-six. Billy drove a grocery store delivery truck for many years.  

 

He lived in a town where things change slowly and everyone knows everybody's business. This was his final address. 

"My husband, I really don't think anybody in the area here, never gave him a chance of day," Linda Derr, Garretson's ex-wife said. The pair were married for five years and had a son together, she said, adding that their son was born with a severe heart defect and died after his third open heart surgery. 

Derr described her ex-husband, who died in 2016, as a very good man, loving man, and cited those qualities as the reason she married him. 

              - Lancaster Eagle Gazette 20 Nov 2017

Shoutout to Linda up in Heaven for her kindness. She was Billy's second wife. I tried to locate Linda when I was gathering information for this post but I was too late. First, I found her phone number from 2002 on Ancestry. Then, I discovered her Facebook page but noticed she hadn't posted since 2019. After that, Google took me to her obituary. 

Linda Lou Derr died at the end of July 2020. No cause of death is listed but she suffered from genetic heart issues. She was a retired drug store cashier. Her employer, Gray Drug, was founded in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1912. Sherwin-Williams bought them out in 1982. I didn't know other drugstores existed for the first twelve years of my life. 

Linda and Billy were on the same high school yearbook page together. That got me. 

     Billy grew up without a father in this tidy little home. 

Sometime after completing high school, Billy made the mistake of a lifetime when he hitchhiked from Ohio to Los Angeles. Scrolling through the labels along the right side of the blog reveals that this is the thirteenth time blog writers have mentioned Billy (and remembered to make a label). I thought I'd try to add some paint to the outline already laid down herein and elsewhere. Thank you for reading the results of my research today. 

Billy possibly had one lucky day in his entire life and you know when I mean. Maybe two counting when the police let him go. 

Arguably, the aftershocks of August 8, 1969, killed him long before he died. You know already that no one escapes this darkness unscathed. Billy's story should reinforce that belief if you already have it. Or maybe create it if you do not. 

Before we get motoring, I want to assert that one indisputable truth in this whole big Charles Manson milieu is that the road is littered with children no one gave a shit about and often hurt. You can drop a pedantic bootstraps lecture below if you wish but you won't change my mind. 

If you haven't read the Bill (and one post labeled William) Garretson posts on the right, you should. Actually, if you need backstory, start by reading the parts of Helter Skelter that are relevant to Garretson. Like if you have a rainy day or something else keeping you inside. For example, if half of your town has covid and the citizens all want to kill each other because of what they post on Facebook. 

After that, read the Garretson articles on the right over there ------------------------->

For 21st century Billy info, read or refresh yourself on this awesome post by Max Frost. In 2018, I was blown away by Max's post and the song remains the same for me now. It's one of my favorite pieces in the library here. While Billy's house from Frost's account is gone, bits of foundation remain a hundred yards from this barn. Frost's friend possibly heard a story none of us ever heard before beside a bonfire on this property while they shared that case of beer. Neighbors are sparse. 

If you're wondering, I solve the mystery behind August 8th today, so make sure you read through until the end! Just kidding. I never will. But there are lots of people hanging around with the answers. Just ask one. Maybe use your VPN and don't slip up and give away any unnecessary info. Monsters and lunatics are woven in amongst the helpful. 

Billy is thirteen when his dad is indicted in Ohio Amish country for common deadbeatery. Btw, Washington Courthouse is pronounced, you guessed it, Warshington Courthouse. 

Billy wrestled in high school. The above photo is from his sophomore year in 1965. You might think Billy was from the sticks and in a way you're right but his hometown of Lancaster, Ohio, is also basically becoming a distant burb of the state capital these days.

Now, if you want to talk about the sticks, I'm from a place near the river that makes Lancaster look like a full-blown metropolis. If you can believe it, six people lived in my town when I was born. Two were my parents (rimshot). 

Btw, if you ever visit Lancaster, be sure to pronounce the city's name, "Lank-uh-stir." Lancaster is famous for General William Tecumseh Sherman. You can visit Sherman's home online here. The vlog host is from Indiana and mispronounces Lancaster. 

Kids from Lancaster are tough. Sherman was tough. Tecumseh was tough but had an insane brother. And also was not from Lancaster. 

11th Grade. You can almost feel the darkness swirling around the edges. Single mother. Early 60's. Conservative town. Smaller dude. 

Senior Photo. Billy studies business and is on the wrestling team but absent from the team photo. 

Like Max Frost said, Billy's number was in the phone book forever. I know the story as it's told has Billy thumbing a ride to California sometime in 1968, but we are unable to produce an Ohio address for him between late spring of 1967 and early 1970. Yes, he could've lived at his mom's for awhile. Every young person loves living at home after they become adults.  

But if he didn't, where was he? Did Billy split for the West Coast so he could be gay without his mom running the vacuum in the living room while he got his groove on behind his locked bedroom door? And if so, why would he go to Los Angeles and not San Francisco? And why would he marry three women throughout the course of his life and have children with two if he was gay? 

Three wives is deeper than any closet I've ever heard of in the secular world. But spend a couple of minutes in Lancaster and you'll be like oh yeah okay I totally see it now. So who knows? 

Was Billy possibly a naive rumpkin who thought he could go to Hollywood and become the next Steve McQueen? That'd be my bet. Or maybe Lee Marvin. Marvin was bigger in '67. A real tough guy. Billy and so many other youths were drawn west like moths to the flame and it never stops. Has never stopped. 

How many Billy's are running around LA right now believing they're getting their big break except in reality they're being used and abused? A couple thousand? 

You think any young rubes who fell in way over their heads are heading home for good at the end of this month? At the end of every month? Billy was about to turn twenty and return to the heartland when August 8th happened. He said so in his testimony anyway.

Let's back up a bit. We're getting ahead of ourselves. 

Billy Garreston, fresh from his senior year in Ohio, arrives in the City of Angels on the back of a turnip truck and drifts through a year or two of living on his journey to Rudi Altobelli. 

Or, nineteen year old Billy decides to hitch to California to see the country he thinks he'll be drafted to defend before it's too late. Both work for me but I lean early. Billy says in his testimony that he had a few friends over to swim in Rudi's pool. How long does it take to make friends you trust enough to have over for pool parties where you live AND work? 

Seriously. How much time passes before a yokel like Billy can cozy up to a mobbed-up guy like Rudi and have the skill set to make it stick? And then move into Cielo Drive (albeit the not air-conditioned guest house) with the property owner who also btw runs around town with Hollywood stars? Have you ever heard of a caretaker sharing the use of a private pool with his rich neighbors, aka the paying tenants, who live across the walk and can see him swimming? 

Did Ms. Chapman and the gardener brothers also take dips? 

Quick story. I have a friend who is a flower wholesaler. They service big personal accounts too. The richest couple in his wealthy state receive weekly deliveries. The orders are so large that my friend's company delivers in a big diesel reefer truck that typically backs onto loading docks. 

One morning, my friend's driver takes a leak in a staff bathroom attached to the massive kitchen at the front mansion when no one is around to ask. Mind you, these people are rich for real, not your local busiest orthodontist who married a surgeon or whatever, or a ballplayer or singer. These folks have a few homes on the property but this is the main one we're talking about. The guards see the driver on the camera walking out of the toilet. A little while later, the woman of the house calls my friend on his personal phone and demands he fire the driver or they're done doing business together. 

Because of two minutes in a staff lavatory. Maybe he peed on the floor, who knows. 

I'm pretty sure no one who just read that is sitting there saying, "Wow, that's super mean and odd because none of the rich people I know are like that..." If someone told me that story, for example, I would probably shrug and say what do you expect? He should've known. 

Rich people don't want contact with the hoi polloi. That's not new news. You might even have a story just like it to share with me in the comments. Or maybe not. Donna Jean never gets no love. 

I'm probably just trying to say that Billy was most likely more ingratiated that many people believe. Or maybe employers take nighttime poolside photos of their employees and I've just had shitty jobs. Which is probably true anyway but whatever. 

Even if you stand firm in other beliefs, it's interesting that we might have a block of missing time in Billy's California life as told in the narrative. It's not a stretch to wonder if things he experienced during that period might help us better understand the goings on at Cielo prior to the murders. In a moment, we'll discuss a second and just as interesting block of missing time at the end of Billy's stay in California and its possible effects on his eventual testimony. 

But first, where was Billy before the dog watching gig that came with free rides from Folger family members? 

Did he start out at a primo cruisin' spot after making the decision he could do that type of work and thus accelerated his journey to the Cielo guesthouse? Billy could've been a waiter or a bartender or a whatever if he had a problem with being a male prostitute. Other choices existed. Maybe he tried women's wigs first and failed. 

And didn't he have any fear of the bad things that happen in the skin trade? Getting into cars is totally scary. What if they drive you away to your doom? Who's behind the wheel? Bill Nelson in a Bruce Davis mask?

I would've starved to death. I'm scared of everything. Killers, germs, conversations. The list is endless. Plus, I hate to say it but I think my early Wesleyan training got to me. My internal dialogue is all over-caution and hey don't do that, dude. 

Actually, I'm attempting to appear interesting. I mostly only internally discuss food wants and upcoming meals with myself. Why I shouldn't eat this or that, what about on Saturday though, basic stuff. 

Let's move on to August 9th. If you read through Billy's testimony you will see the police arrested him prior to lunchtime and released him in the afternoon the following Monday (August 11th). When detectives interviewed him Sunday, the 10th, Billy said the dogs were barking two to three hours after Steve Parent left the cottage. 

Maybe it took awhile to receive permission to leave town but Billy remained in California for a full week after the police release him before returning home to Ohio. Billy tells Bugliosi in court that he moved out of Cielo Dr. on August 9th. Where was Billy for those seven days after being released from jail? He had little or no money and was freshly unemployed. 

The following July, when Billy arrives back in LA to testify, he says on the witness stand that the dogs never barked the night of August 8th, 1969. But then also even if they did, the dogs always barked at nothing so lol whatever man dogs are stupid amirite. 

Hearing that, lead defense attorney Paul (PJ) Fitzgerald shoots out of his chair like an ignited NASA rocket, calls time, and screams, "Heyo, most honorable dude, hold up a quick sec. Billy is busted for lying right here and right now. He's impeached. Here's the proof."

The proof is shown but the bench is still all, "Haha no way fuck you, Fitzgerald. We are here for blood." The attempt fails. 

Aaron Stovitz wins the one-liner of the day award. And check out Billy's answer to the last question. 

Brisk and typical, old boy. Cheerio!

With no psychological aftercare or anything else, Billy enjoyed a free redeye back Ohio that evening where the wife he married three weeks earlier waited. They shared an apartment an hour from the airport in Columbus. 

Lovely digs. Just like Cielo. Lots of Beverly Hillbillies actresses and heiresses using the pool with the help. Okay, you got me. There's no pool. Or actresses and heiresses. 

Billy and Wife #1 have a child while living at this address. Their marriage lasts a year and three days. His wife is granted the divorce on the grounds of gross neglect and extreme cruelty. 

I tried to find her but was unsuccessful. There's also a chance she's passed. Please don't stay forever angry, Mrs. Billy #1. He went through some shit he could never tell anyone about out there in sunny California. 

Billy, how'd you meet that mobster? How did you become his rent boy? I bet he loved how young you looked and your wrestler body. 

Billy is dead but also alive on Max Frost's answering machine. Or computer by now. His phone even. Technology is all we have anymore if you think about it. 

I want to pick up the phone while Billy's leaving his message to Max and breathlessly exclaim, "I'm here! What's up, Bill?"

I'd say, "Gimme the straight dope, Billy. How and why were you staying up all night every night? 

And anyway where'd you hide? The turning door handle story is terrifying okay but also reads like literature edited for maximum effect. And did they really come back later that night and loudly argue? Tell me no one, not even that crew, is that stupid, Billy.

And oh btw who told you to sue Los Angeles for $1.25 million? I can't believe you had the nerve!" 

Sadly, there's just not a lot out there to study. None of Billy's few interviews asked the questions I would call the necessary questions. The tv journalism is kinda superficial at times and I know that shocks you. Someone from a Youtube channel called and asked Billy who he thought would win the Super Bowl one year and then uploaded his answer to the channel for some reason. 

Since 2016, Billy is gone and it's possible barely anyone cares. I do but didn't until I looked into his story. I'm thinking about taking a road trip to Billy's grave this week, touching the headstone, and telling him I hope he's found some peace. He's on a little hill with his mom, framed by the forest around them, and watching the sun rise and set every day. 

Just the two of them perfectly together. The little boy his mom called so gentle he wouldn't hunt or fish because he didn't want to hurt animals, and the best advocate that little boy ever had. 

His father's bones or ashes are somewhere else. There's no man hanging around to give Billy his name and then abandon him. Or turn him out. Or spit him back to Ohio after shattering his mind. Just a loving mama safely holding her tiny baby like she did back when their lives had hope. 

Rest in peace, Billy. Like so many of the souls trapped within this dark miasma, you never had a chance. 

The S. Tate Estate

When Sharon Tate was murdered on the night of August 8-9, 1969 she not only died a horrific death but she also died intestate, meaning that she died leaving no will. In an effort to remove his daughter’s estate from legal limbo  and begin the process of property distribution Tate’s father Paul Tate filed a Petition For Letters of Authorization with the Los Angeles Superior Court on December 8, 1969:

The breakdown of Tate’s financial situation is interesting. She possessed cash in the amount of $37,000 ($230,920.92 in 2016 dollars), motor vehicles worth $5,700 ($35,383.04 today), personal property worth $500 ($3,101.78) and an annual salary of $2,000 ($12,415.10), for a grand total worth of $45,400 ($281,822.84). (I found this surprising because I would have thought that she was worth a lot more. Especially in this age of astronomical salaries for entertainment figures the $2,000 ($12,415) annual salary for her work in television and movies seems a pittance.)

The main purpose of the Petition For Letters Of Authorization was so that Tate’s estate could be evaluated for distribution to deserving next-of-kin and others. One person who didn’t want any part of the late actress’ worth, however, was her widowered husband Roman Polanski. Both privately and in a letter dated February 1, 1970 Polanski made it clear to Paul Tate that he wanted no part of the estate of his late daughter. 

Not everyone, however, was content to let tragedy recede. Within a month of the murders, 10050 Cielo Drive owner Rudi Altobelli had resumed residence in the main house. On April 13, 1970 he filed a claim with the Superior Court of Los Angeles for monetary damages against the estate of Sharon Tate on the basis that Tate had not purchased $125,000 of public liability and property damage insurance as required by the lease agreement between the Polanskis and Altobelli. For this offense Altobelli requested relief for damages in the amount of $15,000 ($93,113.27 in 2016). A further claim was made due to the fact that the original lease stated that the premises could only be used as a single-family residence and that the presence of Frykowski and Folger on the property as full-time residents violated that portion of the lease and damaged him in the sum of “at least $30,000” ($186,226.65 today).

But Altobelli’s ex post facto irritation at the presence of Frykowski and Folger at his house seems opportunistic, because he almost certainly knew that the pair had been residing in his house almost as long as the Polanskis and therefore had would have had numerous opportunities to broach the subject with the latter if he had had real concerns about the situation. 

The Polanskis rented the house in early February 1969 but went to Europe in March. Voytek Frykowski and Abigail Folger were already living in the house at that time. At the time of the murders Altobelli must have known about the living situation in his house because he knew that Roman Polanski was already in Europe, and he obviously knew Sharon was on her way to Europe because she was seated next to him on the airplane when he himself went. And when Altobelli recounted to Vincent Bugliosi Charles Manson’s appearance at Cielo Drive on March 23, 1969 he recalled that Sharon, Jay Sebring, Frykowski, and Folger (whom he referred to familiarly as “Gibby”) were all present in the main house. (Altobelli and Sharon Tate flew to Europe the next day. He was still in Europe when the murders occurred. Sharon, very unfortunately, returned to Los Angeles and the Cielo Drive house on July 21.)

Altobelli lived in house for another twenty years after the murders, apparently unfazed by the slaughter that had occurred there. “It is a home,” he said during the murder trial. “It’s not going to be a tourist attraction or a freak show.”  Years later he recalled, “"I moved right back into the house three weeks after the murders happened. When I came back to that property, I felt safe, secure, loved and beauty." Eventually he was also likely unfazed by any financial damages he night have incurred due to Sharon Tate’s not obtaining public liability insurance and the presence of Voytek Frykowski and Abigail Folger as illegal house residents: Altobelli sold the house in 1989 for $1.6 million, 18 times what he paid for it ($86,000) in the early 1960s.  He died in Los Angeles on March 26, 2011.

In Touch with Rudi Altobelli and Terrie Spahn

The July 1974 issue of In Touch magazine featured an article on great American tragedies of the late 60s and early 70s written by Barry Glassner.  The Manson murders were included in the article.  Glassner managed to depart from the usual recitation of the crimes by speaking with Rudi Altobelli and Terrie Spahn,  a granddaughter of George Spahn.

Altobelli comes off as if the murders were a personal affront to him depriving him of the full value of his home and he sure doesn't like Roman Polanski.  Included mid-article is an interview with Altobelli when he finally sold the home years later.  I guess he had to sit on that home for quite a while before realizing it's full financial potential.

Terrie Spahn, on the other hand, comes off as a reasonable, non-judgmental person, who attempts to see the brighter side of life.

Barry Glassner is the author of several books on social issues including of The Culture of Fear, a bestselling book that has recently been updated.    http://www.barryglassner.com/

Bel-Air, a suburb of the supreme suburb of Beverly Hills, is where the elite hip pose for Newsweek while talking of grass, group therapy and gayness.  I drive up Benedict Canyon and Chevy Chase Roads, trying to find a house on a street called Cielo Drive.

The street number of "The Tate House," where Sharon Tate Polanski and four others were brutally murdered on August 8, 1969, does not appear even after a half-hours search.  I finally decide to interview neighbors about the effect of the murders on their lives.

The answer comes from the loud barking dogs in every hallway and the alarm-system warning signs on each front door.  Nobody answers doorbells, even at those houses where piano playing and walking noises can be heard as I approach.  At last, a woman agrees to come to her window and point out the way to The House.  I trudge up a private road hidden by a corner, but once there can't figure out how to inform the inhabitants of my arrival.  A tall electric barbed-wire fence separates me from the building; for several minutes only the birds and the trees know that I'm there.

Then I find a telephone on a post behind some trees, pick up the receiver, and hear a loud male voice say "Well..."

I explain.

"So you're doing a story on this house," he replies.  "Why do you want to drum up old memories?  I have a lot of money invested in this home.  I've lost a lot.  I used to rent it out, but now I can't."

Another phone rings in the background and he's asking me to hold on.  When he returns, he says that he will not let me in, even though I sound like a songwriter friend of his.

The man never gives his name, but he does say that he has taken no additional security precautions since the day Manson's minions allegedly preformed their acts on Sharon Tate and her companions.

"What you see is what we've always had.  If you hadn't picked up the phone, I'd never had known you were there.  We did buy a dog, though.  If he attacks you, run into the car."

He takes a sip of something, thanks someone by kissing him or her, and continues:

"Yeah, I've owned this place all along.  This is a fucking private home, see, and I don't want it to be a museum.  They call it 'the house on the hill' now, don't they?  That's because of asshole Roman Polanski, you can quote me on that."

I ask him what he means , but he doesn't explain.  I try a question about how the neighbors have taken it all.

"Listen I don't even know my neighbors.  Try talking to them," he says.  Our conversation is obviously ending, and again I ask to see the house.  This time I am refused with a somewhat intriguing signoff:

"I have to go.  Just say that this is a house of love... In fact, if you want to make love, jump the fence."

I demur.  Driving away, I notice that the fence is 20 to 25 feet high and extends all the way up the steep hill.

Sunset Strip- the Whiskey-A-Go-Go, Dick Clark Productions, dozens of poster shops.  I visit a real estate agency, where a stately lady at the front desk tells me that I probably spoke to a talent agent, who she says owns the house with a fellow agent.

Near an out-of-business hot-dog stand once called "The Watergate," I find a phone booth and set out to reach somebody connected with the Spahn Movie Ranch, where Manson and his clan had lived.  The ranch, located in nearby Chatsworth, had burned two years ago, but my first dime gets me Terrie Spahn, the 20-year old granddaughter of former ranch owner George Spahn. 

Terrie Spahn says that her grandfather is now 87, blind, and not thinking too clearly.  When the fire hit the ranch- and several nearby miles of Chatsworth- her grandfather disappeared to someplace in Oregon.  "He was almost dead because no one was feeding him there, and he had lost 12 of his best horses in that fire. 

"Some of the girls still call him here sometimes, trying to reach him.  You know, almost 30 people lived there at the time, and most of them weren't involved.  Mostly the girls would take care of grandpa, and he liked that because he couldn't take care of himself and he's a dirty old man.  Of course he couldn't see what was going on because he's blind.

"I used to go up there and give them clothes I didn't want any more.  They were always real nice to me."  Terrie herself was just married at the time of the murders, working as a hairdresser.  When her husband died a while ago, she started using her maiden name again.

I ask if she thinks Manson's people committed the murders.  "I guess they were the ones," she says.