Knockin' On The Golden Door

Rosalie Jean Willis

Apologies if my discussion topic today was previously covered in a book that is no longer in print, or the edition is crazy expensive on the resale market, or even if I missed fifty-two posts here or on lsb or the Col or any of the other sites that discussed the Manson milieu during the last half century and then some since the crimes occurred. Yes, I read Sanders but probably the 2015 printing or whichever was available. Same for many of the other tomes. Regardless, there's no excuse for my failures. I've been goofy since birth, my brain is mush, and I forget much of what has been said since Brenda McCann's cyan headband was found beneath the passenger seat in Tenerelli's Beetle. 

Okay, there was no headband. But wealthy surfer chicks amirite? Sunshine. Warm salt air above the waves. Baby, young me would kill a giant shark for young you if it swam near our boards.

You can use your sharpened knife to help send that joker down to Davey Jones' locker. Later, we will listen to the Beach Boys in a giant convertible with faux wood panels on the doors. Right, maybe not the Beach Boys. How about a live performance of the Milky Way on a cassette in a cassette player that has not been invented yet? I'll say girl I know we just met but I love you and you will reply shut up you old fool. Wake up and get your post back on track. 

 

Which is sound advice so here goes. I think it's dumb that everyone has to be on Manson teams. Valid reasons abound although I wish we could be like Rodney King. I attempt to mend fences but faces quickly glaze and mouths immediately begin frothing and raging about the Statman-Schreck wars of 2014 and etc. The air around those posts and resulting arguments still hangs heavy like Gettysburg at first light on a foggy, cool morning. 

We should bury hatchets. Scene politics are exhausting. Nearly a decade has passed. 

Personally, I enjoy talking and writing about what went on during the lifetime of Charles Manson with everyone who wants to discuss it even if I'm still learning. 

Now is the best time for researching Charlie & Company since Billy came back to Ohio. New information is uncovered frequently even if it doesn't crack the case wide open. The Internet is an amazing tool. Why can't someone research areas that interest them and seek out convos with others trapped inside this hateful loop without being on a team or an idiot? Stick your expert nose up your butt or go watch Matlock if you already know everything. Or tell your doctor your medication isn't working.

Is solving the murders all that matters anyway? The settings and characters call out to me. Terrified people dying...not so much. 

We study a fascinating subject which endures. New people will never stop entering the community during our lifetimes. Should they continuously fuck off en masse because unbalanced Manson consumers, groupies, and dilettantes masquerading as authorities already argued Carl Stubbs on some primitive website the year the noobs were born or even decades earlier? Time will eventually place more noobs online than traditional Manson"experts." The tables will gloriously turn on who gets to fuck off, and the revenge will be sweet, but what's the point?  

Maybe they're turning now. Who knows. 

I know my pleas fall on deaf ears but dammit Esterhaus was right. Let's be kind out there and remember that Manson history is not an online campaign for student body president at Manson High, but rather an ongoing investigation with constantly improving research tools.  

Imagine how wild it would be if someone you were acting cruel toward was a professional writer and could hilariously nuke you all day long in places that matter. Quick as a hiccup, too. Some would say effortlessly. 

Sermon ended. I appreciate the little crew of  friends I've made here and thank you all for being my pal. You make my time well spent. +ggw

-------------

Okay the post: 

Last week, while digging for nuclear bombs previously hidden by penniless and cigarette smelly white trash in the polluted muck beneath la belle riviere, I realized I was aware of three completely different versions of Charlie's life during the mid to late 1950's.

First, there's the story Rosalie told her coworker in 1978. I screen capped a bit below. 

Deb quickly shuts down Rosalie's fibbing. The birth records she used remain available online for verification if you're a crazy person like me who needs to prove things to themselves instead of choosing a squad and repeating (often) unverified reruns forever alongside a chorus of new best friends in a (personalized) online wind tunnel. 

Always remember that no one in history ever anticipated the Internet. You have a clear advantage over researchers in the past. Even in the last decade or year. Nobody needs to tell you anything. Look for yourself. 

Since we're all liars at times, I propose we forgive Rosalie and move on. 

While there are many books out there brimming with information, and I think we can bring several into our discussions down the road, let's keep things simple for today. I used the most famous work published on the subject, Helter Skelter, and compared it to arguably the most informative eye witness account ever produced in the genre, Lynette Fromme's Reflexion.

If you haven't bought Lynette's book yet you should today. And read it more than once. If she's not the smartest resident of this unforgiving tar pit, she is certainly at the top of the class. 

Charlie doesn't mention anything about his time in California with Rosalie in Reflexion. As always, all citations from Fromme's book refer to the Kindle version. 

"When I married Rosie at twenty years old, I had never been around chicks. Rosie played me like the fool that I was (103)." 

Sixteen year old Rosalie must've really done a number on him. She was cool like cucumber salad when freedom was on the line though. Vince forces Curt to point out that Charlie beat on a pregnant woman. 

via Helter Skelter 

Such is life. One person is told a lie while another person hears the truth. Or both people are bullshitted. You know we live in dangerous times. No one should be alone.

I said I wouldn't hate on lies told for perseverance anymore and shall refrain today. Survival is an absolute necessity. No two ways about it. 

Charlie's version of 1954-1958 in Fromme's book differs from what I found in public records so I made myself a basic timeline in an attempt to keep everything straight in my mind. I left some things out so we don't have to discuss pimping sixteen year old girls and various other successful and failed capers. 

Let's dive in. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

May, 1954 - Charlie earns an early release for good behavior at the Maximum Security Reformatory in Chillicothe, Ohio, and moves in with his aunt and uncle. God bless you, Glenna xo. High school freshman Rosalie Jean Willis lives and works nearby. 

"One of my mom's husbands was a window washer at a U.S. Courthouse. His name was Deere. They got me out of prison and she got me a 1954 Ford. I traded it for a 1952 Cadillac and used the name Charlie Deere (103)." 

---

I imagined a convo that went a something like this:

"Hey, Judge. Got a minute?"

"Sure thing! What can I help you with, Mr. Bailiff?"

"You know that window washer guy who's always out front cleaning the glass when we arrive at work in the mornings? Deere? He asked if you might consider calling over to the prison and telling them to cut his wife's son loose?"

"Say no more, cherished friend and sworn lodge brother. I've always had a soft spot for squeegee men." 

(I could not find a husband named Deere online for Kathleen but maybe you can. I didn't look super hard.) 

The Fifties in Fromme:

The final screen cap is from Frank Costello's FBI files. Charlie and Frank are together in Lewisburg in 1952. Manson claims Big Frank raised his hand and vouched for him in the Fromme passages above. There's no way of proving they were buddies but there are more hints in our pages from Fromme. 

Charlie talks in code so I always look up every name he mentions. For example, he mentions Dewey in his letter to Fromme. Dewy took down Murder, Inc. Charlie later did time with Murder, Inc. member Frankie Carbo. You remember Frankie don'tcha? 

Even though he killed Bugsy Beatty, Carbo is small potatoes compared to the rest of that backstory. Murder, Inc was a dark child of some the most infamous of NYC mafia fathers. Meyer Lansky. The Brain. Lucky Luciano. Frank Costello. 

Let's jump back to Charlie's life in the '50's as told by Fromme. He is released from Chillicothe in 1954 and heads to Cleveland in Fromme's version of events.

That's John Scalish. He's the godfather of the Cleveland mob when Charlie shows up with a stolen car. A Viking Englishwoman says Scalish looks like my Italian brother. I don't think I've ever been that dashing but I do feel like I make that face a lot. 

Scalish had five sisters although I'm unsure if Charlie was implying something or not. I have a mysterious relative everyone in my family thinks was a con man who is buried near Scalish and the rest of Cleveland's gangster royalty. Danny Greene. People blown up by Danny Greene. Scoundrel after glorious scoundrel. 

They're all waiting to resurrect inside this beautiful, old, city cemetery. Huge mature trees dot the spacious landscape making Calvary Cemetery a great place for a walk. You don't want your car to break down outside the gates though. Times have changed in the neighborhood. 

I spent a day learning about the Cleveland mob last week and here is the road to Charlie. Scalish was the second true godfather of the city. Before power was consolidated, several gangs, Jewish and Italian, operated at the same time and sometimes worked together. Eventually, the money coming in from Prohibition became outlandish and everyone started fighting. 

Scalish married a Jewish girl whose father was the boss of a Jewish crew. Maybe they married to consolidate power or perhaps they were deeply in love. I always choose love. 

Around the same time, a local gang split into two rival gangs and a boss and his brother were killed in a Little Italy barbershop with New York's blessing. This is how it went down: Boss Joseph Lonardo, pictured below, steamed to Italy supposedly on vacation. 

Big Joe left his brother John (below) and another fellow in charge while he visited overseas. 

This is the other fellow, Big Joe's advisor, Salvatore "Black Sam" Todaro.

I know what you're thinking. Dude looks totally trustworthy. I felt the same way. The backstory here is Big Joe and the guys who split off into their own crew, the Porrello's, were lifelong friends. Both families emigrated from Sicily together and even named kids after one another. 

This was until Prohibition changed everything. Greed is number two on the list of the Seven Deadly Sins and don't ever forget it. 

Right. So anyway Black Sam cozies up to John while Big Joe is in Italy (It-LEE) and convinces him everything is copasetic between the feuding crews. When Joe returns, Black Sam lures Joe and John to Angelo Porrello's barber shop for a sit-down. Bang bang bang you know the deal. Joe and John are made to feel comfy with a card game, ambushed, and slain by their former friends. 

Following this act of magnificent treachery, Joseph Porrello becomes head corn sugar baron in Cleveland. Corn sugar is essential to every bootlegging operation in case you've never been a bootlegger.   

Porrello was suddenly king but he was also no fool. At least not at this time. Later, definitely. But for now he made Black Sam believe he was the boss of the crew. 

Killing Lonardo got rid of one enemy but another enemy immediately stepped up like they always do in organized crime. The new guys were called the Mayfield Road Mob. Fearing the MRM and attempting to place the local crown officially upon his head, Joseph Porrello holds what becomes the first big mafia summit in a downtown Cleveland hotel on December 5, 1928. Top mafiosos from New York and around the country began to arrive. 

Momentarily, the Cleveland cops said, "Dudes, how stupid do you think we are?" Gangsters were arrested as they showed up. Fearing his imminent demise, Porrello paid everyone's bail. No one was overly offended, Porrello was secretly handed Cleveland, and the MRM was told to go kick rocks. 

To their credit, the MRM was like okay cool yeah we understand no hard feelings. I'm joshing. Don't be so gullible. The MRM waited until June and violently ended Black Sam's lifetime of double-dealing in front of the same barber shop Big Joe and John Lonardo were killed. 

Black Sam, stooge the entire time and betrayed at the end, was gunned down by Lonardo's wife, his son Angelo (named after traitorous barber shop owner Angelo Porrello), and a Lonardo hit man. All had defected to the MRM. 

By the end of Prohibition, most of the Porrello gang is either dead or with the MRM. Porrello is invited to a sit-down at the Venetian restaurant on Mayfield Road. The building on the right in this photo from 1930 still exists today. You probably guessed that Porrello meets his end here and you are correct. 

Porrello and his bodyguard foolishly believe they are picking up more than a hundred grand in today's money. Greed, friends, it's a killer. Two hitmen light them up at their restaurant table. Porrello never moves and is later found with his unlit cigarette hanging from his lip. 

The bodyguard is wounded in each side, makes it outside, collapses on the sidewalk out front, the restaurant was where the parking lot is now btw, and perishes following two more shots to the dome. Neither killer was ever identified.

The owner of the Venetian Restaurant, Frank Milano, leader of the MRM, is responsible for the assassinations. But the coast is not clear yet. Porrello's brother Vincenzo "Jim" Porrello becomes the new boss of the Cleveland mafia and vows revenge on his brother's killers. His reign lasts three long weeks before the back of his head is blown off in a grocery store on his home turf. A third Porrello brother, Raymond, swears double revenge. I'm sure you see where this is going. 

Raymond's house explodes three weeks later. Bits of brick, glass, and wood splinters fill the sky before cascading back to Earth in a grotesque shower. Raymond is not home at the time but the Porrello's are nearly finished in the crime game. A couple more guys and a wife await their murders but the Porrello run is over.   

Frank Milano officially becomes the next King of Cleveland. The MRM is mentioned in The Godfather 2 and called by its first name, The Lakeville Gang. Johnny Ola and Michael Corleone discuss the gang and Hyman Roth in that clip. "Our friend in Miami." Roth is Meyer Lansky's character's name in the film. 

I wanna be handsome like young Al Pacino just for one day. "Brenda McCann, leave those slippies alone," I'd say while removing a white bow tie I was born knowing how to knot. "Let's go hang out with Hynson and August."

In 1931, Frank Milano joins the National Crime Syndicate with Meyer Lansky and Lucky Luciano. Meyer Lansky is one of the players connecting the Manson cases to Cuba and JFK. If not for the JFK and RFK assassinations and Black Flag concert flyers, I would not be here today. 

In case you're keeping score, Angelo Lornado, Big Ange, killer of Black Sam, was a brother in law of eventual godfather John Scalish. Angelo swore and got revenge on his father's killers and then the government removed him from the mix. He currently resides in Calvary with his obligatory statue and is surrounded by family, friends, and enemies.  

And my relative who does not have a statue. 

John Scalish was running things as the godfather of Cleveland for ten years when Charlie showed up. Cleveland had a big piece of the Teamsters and were also behind Moe Dalitz in Las Vegas. The neighborhood Charlie describes housed Scalish's headquarters. No idea on the Dago Mick. If you can prove Murphy was Danny Greene, I will send you a giant-sized candy bar and a box filled with assorted zoo zoos and wham whams. 

Charlie might be lying about his connections to the most powerful mafia group in the US but then again he might be telling the truth. He lied all the time but was also honest about things that made me question his sanity, so I am never sure. 

(B.S. Murphy had parts or all of this worked out almost three decades ago. I'm sure it's also in some other books I'm unable to buy and on ten websites that all look like 1995, but I wanted to put it here on the MFB for everyone who arrives after this post and wants to look into Charlie's time in Cleveland, Ohio. +ggw) 

Bonus: Here is the Internet's reaction to Frankie and Charlie in an earlier time. The comments section makes me feel right at home. 

-------------

All righty then. First, we covered Rosalie's lie about never making it out to California with Charlie. Next, we squared away Charlie's 1950's as told to Lynette Fromme, and explained the people and their connections inhabiting those years of his life. All that's left is a bit more from Vince and Curt, and our Charlie/Rosie/Mafia timeline culled from public records and author Jeff Guinn.   

Oh. Duh. We also discovered that Rosalie's mom and sister(s) were somehow already out in Los Angeles when Charlie and Rosalie arrived. Idk if this is new info for the bloated corpus or if Ivor Davis published the news while taking a poop one day before I was born or if some other person who is the coolest toughest senior at Manson High carved it into the bathroom stall with his switchblade but the discovery was an eye-opener for me and the rest of the nerd table. I'm the guy in the letterman jacket showing his fellow concert bandmates the 1350 he got on his SAT in case any haters ever want to stop by and say hello after you finish your lunch of Marlboros and Little Debbies.

Have you ever noticed that even the extras with no speaking parts in this drama are good looking? What's up with that? Paranoid me would surely scream crisis actors were I not so grounded in the universe and oneness and love. I'm not quite sure how these people escaped our dirty river and made it all the way to La La Land and the mighty Pacific and but I'd high five the shit out of them if they were here right now. 

Did Bugliosi not know Rosie's family was out there? The number one selling crime book of all time.

I struggled to find information on Kathleen and Rosalie's roommate situation. If anyone wants to fill in the blanks with an address, I would be much obliged. Or just grateful really. We don't have to owe one another favors or anything. 

Friends, I think we're finished for this week. I provided Buntline with millions of things to look up and typed for two straight days. The remainder of my working timeline is below. I look forward to being called out on every bit of minutia or whatever the opposite of minutia is...bigmutia maybe Idk but basically whatever I got wrong. 

Until next week...

Keep it Green. 

xo

-------------

August-ish 1955 - Charlie and Rosalie arrive in Los Angeles. Charlie is caught with their stolen car and faces federal charges for crossing state lines with it.  

October 1955 - Charlie receives five years probation because Rosalie is preggers. 

March, 1956 - Charlie fails to appear at court in Los Angeles over a federal auto theft charge filed in Florida and is subsequently arrested in Indianapolis, Indiana. His probation is revoked while he awaits sentencing. Rosalie has carried their son nearly to full term. 

April 10, 1956 - Jay White is born in Los Angeles. (Jay dies by suicide at age 37.)

December 15, 1956  - Charlie receives three years in San Pedro for violating his probation. I'm so-so on this date. Why would they make him wait nine months? Merry Christmas regardless. 

March, 1957 - Rosalie stops visiting Charlie in prison. He finds out from his mom that Rosalie moved in with a new dude. 

July 9, 1957 - Rosalie files for divorce from Charlie. She is two months pregnant by Jack B. White.  

February 3, 1958 - Jesse James White is born. (Jesse dies of an overdose at age 28.)

September 10, 1958 - Rosalie's divorce with Charlie is official.  Charlie is paroled around the same time. 

November 8, 1958 - Rosalie marries Jack B. White. 

April 4, 1959 - Jed White is born. (Jed dies in a shotgun accident at age 11.) 

-------------

Risin' up to paradise. I know I'm gonna shine. 

Polanski's Macbeth

This is the first post in a series that will discuss Roman Polanski films after 1969.

Roman Polanski chose Shakespeare's The Tragedy of Macbeth as his first project in the months following the murders of his wife and unborn son on August 8, 1969. Apologies for the spoiler but Polanski's first celluloid hero after that grizzly night is a man who is delivered into the world via a bloody cesarean section performed with a sharp knife. The director flashes a baby being removed from his mother's womb across the screen twice during the film.

Funding was a problem from the outset. Shocking, I know. Oh to be a fly on the wall in those pitch meetings. You wanna do what? 

Eventually, Polanski's good buddy Hugh Hefner agreed to float the boat. Columbia Pictures released the film October, 13, 1971. US opening night took place at the Playboy theater in New York on December 20, 1971. No one gave a shit. 

A little background on Columbia Pictures.

They hit the jackpot with Easy Rider in 1969 but spent three times what they took in over the next three years. With blockbusters like The Brotherhood of Satan, I struggled to understand how Columbia was hemorrhaging money. In fairness, Columbia also released The Last Picture Show in 1971. You should watch that one if you love movies. The film was a commercial and critical success and likely fueled a merger with Warner Bros the same year. 

Definitely do not watch The Last Picture Show if you are opposed to seeing young Cybil Shepherd topless. I know sometimes I trigger readers with my effervescent verve. They told me all about it during my review at blog corporate last week. Made me drive seven hours.

Columbia also released Nicholas and Alexandra in 1971. A box office bomb, the film was nevertheless highly regarded inside the academy, earning six nominations and two awards. Sometimes atta boys are free and sometimes they cost two million bucks. I did not watch this one because I generally stay away from movies where actors display physical intimacy on the poster. Germs and mushiness are no fly zones for this buckaroo. 

The remainder of Columbia's catalogue from 1971 I've never heard of but if there's one you think I should watch, please drop a note in the comments below the ones from the people letting me know I'm a bad writer and etc and I will check it out. 

 

"Themes of historic recurrence, greater pessimism and internal ugliness in physically beautiful characters are added to Shakespeare's story of moral decline, which is presented in a more realistic way." Now that's a sentence. No explanation is required.

A quick and painless Macbeth refresh. The battle at the beginning of the film is fought between Scottish Highland rebels led by the head of the Macdonald clan, the Irish, and the King of Norway, versus forces commanded by Scotland's rightful King Duncan, the soon to be wretched Macbeth, and a nobleman named Banquo who is so likable and friendly you just know he's doomed.

You can rent or buy the film on YouTube. It's worth both fees imo. 

Here is an awesome side-by-side translation bridging 1606 and now. I'd watch a bit, hit pause, and get caught up on the modern translation. 

I also linked Roger Ebert's review from New Year's Day, 1971. Ebert was a genius. He was an adjunct lecturer and PhD student at the University of Chicago until he became so successful writing film reviews that he was able to escape the soul-draining clutches of academia. I sat for an hour last week reading his columns. Such craft. 

Anyway, you don't need me to summarize Macbeth. The play has been available to the public for the last four hundred and fifteen years and is commonly taught in schools. Plus I provided links. 

Sharon Tate and Francesca Annis as Lady Macbeth. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Polanski's three weird sisters are captivating. Their scenes threaten to steal the show. 

"WHERE HAST THOU BEEN, SISTER?"

"KILLING SWINE!!!" 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vices are discussed (Modern)...

PRINCE/KING MALCOLM: I know I have so many vices that when people see all of them exposed, evil Macbeth will seem as pure as snow in comparison, and poor Scotland will call him a sweet lamb when they compare him to me and my infinite evils.

Drugs (Modern)...

BANQUO: Were these things we are talking about really here? Or are we both on drugs? 

The weird (Modern)...

DOCTOR: Evil rumors are going around. Unnatural acts will cause supernatural things to happen. 

Guilt (Modern)...

MACBETH (TO THE GHOST): You cannot say I did it! Don't shake your bloody head at me!

Antisemitism (1606): 

THIRD WITCH: Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, witches mummy, maw and gulf, of the ravined salt-sea shark, root of hemlock digged i' th dark, liver of blaspheming Jew...

The self-harm never stops. Polanski assaults himself with this work. Our hero Macduff is asked by future king Malcolm why he (Macduff) fled to England and left his defenseless wife, children, servants, and castle household behind so they were easy victims for Macbeth's evil men. 

All were slaughtered with blades. 

A bit of joy is experienced when Charles Denton Macbeth's head is shown to the crowd!

Have no fear. The actor did not die. 'Twas nothing more than movie magic. Here's our godly sovereign pondering the open-ended invitation Heff gave him for a weekend at the mansion. 

If you have thoughts on the film, I'd love to discuss it. I feel like Polanski punished himself with this project. Listening to the actors repeat those lines until they were perfect had to be brutal. Regardless, the director delivers a great take on one of Shakespeare's most famous works. Definitely worth a rainy afternoon. 

"Out out brief candle..."

Twice As Sweet As Sugar

Twice as bitter as salt. 

And if you get hooked, baby... it's nobody else's fault. 

Yes I know I have anachronisms flying all over the place already but I couldn't find any late 60's people in cocaine ads or rapping about it for you. Regardless, I've grown tired of the stale MDA/MDMA hogwash we volley back and forth forever and wish to look into other intoxicants. It's like we bathe in cognitive dissonance at times. 

Anecdotally, and therefore proving true everything I say afterward, MDMA and MDA were somewhat difficult to consistently score when I arrived fresh and dumb as they make 'em from Tecumseh Hollow at The World at the end of the 80's in the wee hours preceding gentrification. 

Oppositely, dimes and twenties of cocaine were available (conservatively) at every third bodega you passed. A transaction was typically accompanied by an off brand parting gift to make things look good. There was a spot on E. 3rd St. with a city trash can out front filled with unopened cans of soda. I always wondered if the bodega people retrieved the cans and placed them back inside their coolers. 

Lingering while pondering things like that was an extremely bad idea fyi. The door guard for the motorcycles was always watching. Tough guys on that street for sure. They'd sometimes get their payback when locals caught them off the block but not often.  

Before I tell you the story of the rest of my life, let's jump into our bitchin' time machine and talk about a scene that was happening in Los Angeles during the gruesome summer of 1969. 

And listen you can still be right about everything after reading what comes next. Have no fear. I'm here to create content not argue unknown history. I know it's totally outlandish but let's pretend for an insane moment we live in a distant parallel universe where recreational drug users prefer little sexy bumps of energy off beautiful people's bodies in locked restrooms over dingy dehydrations and pills with weird names like mescaline that last eight nauseous hours and come from a stinky guy whose fake name supposedly means wind in some far off language even though he's as white as Christmas.  

His apartment smells like cat pee but I know you know that already. 

Be honest, which drug would you offer Nancy Jo if you were trying to get lucky? 

She's ready for the David Bowie concert. Peace and love is dead in the metro areas. Strummer is already dreaming up perfect lines on his quest to ignite dry sticks beneath Beatlemania. Take a hike with the drugs no one does and purchase yourself a little gold spoon. 

Peruse this Los Angeles Times article from July 25, 1969. Note the cocaine dealer is twenty-one years old. Kids are selling it to their contemporaries and also undercover cops. Blow is everywhere in the cities if you go by arrests and seizure reports in newspapers. The Wiltshire address below is exactly 10.8 miles away from Rudi's place on Cielo where Jay Sebring had cocaine with him the night he died. 

Since you're settled in, wanna see something wild from a Long Beach paper the day Charlie either did or did not shoot Crowe? That $7 million is the equivalent of just under $52.3 million right now. In case you are unaware, the dude drinking for free at the end of the sports pub bar can't get you that much from his guy with a quick text. You gotta know somebody. 

I bet she was woman of the month. Reading that made my gums numb.

Btw, I watched the new George Stimson episode last week. He says Linda arrived at the Ranch July 1st. I believe that's one of the three dates I commonly see given for the Crowe shooting. Busy little bees. What are your thoughts on the episode and podcast in general. I like his presentations. 

Hank Williams died on the road heading toward a New Year's Day concert in 1953. 

Smooth ride to die in, I suppose. I have Jambalaya on an LA playlist I listen to a lot lately. Hank transcends genre. 

And was also mixed up in some stuff apparently. I would not be shocked to find out I'm a distant cousin of the college student driver named Carr and even Hank himself. So rolls the great migration. 

Years before I snuck through the back door of this blog last summer and changed the real writers' passwords (which I continue to ransom btw), and I mean I'm talking forever ago before 5G and 4K when I had an iPhone 4 or something, I read this post about cocaine and immediately started grinding my teeth. 

Just kidding. I know I type hip words to make myself look cool but the truth is I totally failed at that awful drug. Coke dealers relentlessly stalking me and selling me their kerosene smelly baggies of paranoia is one of the reasons I don't drink anymore. Mobile phone companies are in on it too as far as I'm concerned. And bartenders. And guys in bathrooms. 

And waitresses. The list is as endless as the reasons I no longer drink. 

Exhausting conspiracies like those surround us because coke has been readily available for decades everywhere. So stressful. I simply cannot wait for the day I become a giant pearl after eating from a tree filled with different fruits and no longer have to deal with life up here. 

Want to float down a cool blue underground river together? We can make a chain. I heard it takes two weeks. We'll be nineteen and beautiful again. 

The communal clothing pile and assorted other weird germ-y things will not be happening down there. Infectious diseases and viruses are better understood a little over half a century later. To that, we're finito with the dumpsters todos. 

Stylistically, any dudes who show up in satin pirate shirts and etc will not be allowed to miniaturize. The girls will pay attention to you and I'm insecure so away you go. You must continue farther downriver and find the root with Gilgamesh. Watch out for the snake. 

In Patty's post, she asks the person she is interviewing where the cocaine going around Southern California came from in 1969? Was there one source, many, what? Patty brings up the mob. Which is slang for mafia. 

Which is slang for Eugene David Massaro. 

Legit. If you're trying to define streams of cocaine flooding into the Hollywood scene during our research period, stop here for a spell. Eugene was at the forefront of the movement and possibly one of its managers. Cutting and pasting from his FBI files into a document filled up twenty-five pages in MS Word last week. My brain and eyes hurt when I finished. He was never not doing something awful. 

You will find a bunch of backstory on Eugene in the comments below this post. 

Here is what Uncle Sam had on him. It's worth deciphering. Massaro is as fascinating as any character in this drama. Jarrett chasing Massaro through a fiction novel is one I'd love. 

Our man Eugene arrives in Los Angeles in 1967 and takes up residence at 1221 West Horn Ave. 

A quick refresh on Horn Ave or some illuminating backstory if you're new. Newspapers and even the FBI commonly misidentified the avenue as a street. Pro tip if you're searching. You don't have to thank me. It's all gratis as part of your MFB experience. 

Massaro was a bad boy with screws loose and ice water in his veins. He rocked half sleeves in the 60's. He surfed. The neighbors heard him beating his wife while accusing her of cheating. 

The couple worked together at a strip joint. Today, the building is attached to a film studio and has a large privacy fence enclosing it like a pioneer fort in a 1950's black and white movie. 

Surely you feel the thunder clouds gathering. 

During the time Massaro was physically abusing his wife, still 1967 for you scorekeepers, he drove this little honey. 

Massaro possibly had the hard top but c'mon. I'm California Dreamin under dark tall oaks right now. Allow me a sunny breeze. Massaro surfed every day from 10 am until around 4 pm. The Lou Adler production on the song is lovely imo. We argued about the harmonies and if the choice of the alto flute had anything to do with them. What do you think? 

We should back up after you answer. Eugene David Massaro was born in New York in late 1938. He arrives in our story in 1966 in Miami trying to reenter the country on a flight from Colombia with a loaded pistol in his luggage. Airport police and authorities were desperately trying to stop, allegedly anyway, I'm sure some of them were, cocaine from arriving in Miami via commercial airplanes in those days. Never a one-trick pony, the feds considered Massaro a top jewel thief at the time and were already watching him.  

When I saw Colombia, I of course immediately thought cocaine. I went to Newspapers.com and started searching with "Miami," "cocaine," and "Colombia," as keywords. Oddly, the first two suggestions that popped up when I queried articles from 1966 with those keywords were about young men who got caught coming back from Colombia with cocaine but were also caught smuggling gemstones. 

The federales knew Massaro was taking his burgled, robbed, and home invasion booty up to Boston to fence under the watchful eye of godfather Raymond Patriarca. I wondered if Eugene was cutting New York out of the deal. Risky Business. 

Massaro was always working. He posed as flower delivery drivers. Policemen. Whatever was necessary to gain entrance. And then it was over in seconds. Handcuffed victims. If you'd crossed him previously or he imagined you crossed him previously, you likely disappeared. 

Hotel room robberies. Insurance fraud. Extortion. Murder. All of this while importing cocaine. Dude was a serious adrenaline junkie. 

Never one of the good guys. We're talking about a pimp who used a brass candlestick to teach an ugly lesson to one of his hookers. Who outside of Edgar Allen Poe has brass candlesticks? The vending machines Massaro supposedly sold with Tex were never manufactured. That venture was likely a partnership with the Chicago outfit. 

Massaro was connected to everything and everyone. LA Boss Mickey Cohen asked him to come on board as muscle. 

And I could be completely wrong but the FBI report shows Massaro is first charged (at his hospital bedside where he spent two weeks after being shot) with three counts of kidnapping following a shootout where his injuries occurred and a guy named George Piscitelle died. Later, Massaro and three others are charged in the killing of Piscitelle. Was the whole thing a setup? 

If so, it was brutally clever. Piscitelle's karma was likely up anyway. 

Piscitelle's digs at the time of his death. Those trees out front were tiny bonsai shrubs back then. A man who taught Karate to east coast transplants took care of them.

I'm likely splitting Massaro's spectacular adventures into several posts. You will see he was more than a street hoodlum. Massaro wasn't some mob flunkie. He was their man handling things.  

Prior to the Piscitelle murder in 1969, a fellow gave Massaro $11k in 1968, just under $87k in today's US currency, believing Massaro was going to buy cocaine, step on it, and bag it up for delivery. I feel guilty saying this since the man lost his life over his foolishness but good lord. Was his first day in the drug game his last?  

That's a lot of trust. Oh, and Beckham wants me to point out that when Massaro first arrived in Los Angeles, he listed his occupation as "hairdresser." 

How did Tex meet Massaro and how close were they? Read those FBI reports on Massaro and tell me if what happened at Cielo Dr. seems beyond the pale to you. 

From the above linked FBI reports:

3 OCT 20 1969 
5OJA*103 
U.S. Savings Bonds Regularly on the Bay roll Savings Blan 
LA 87-26ij48 

Information received from CII, Sacramento, indicates that contact with employees of that firm locally have stated that none of the machines  have yet been manufactured, although the company has been in operation for some time. This is believed to be merely a cover operation for    MASSARO. 

If the vending machines were never manufactured like the FBI believed, what did Tex and Massaro do when they hung out? Talk about wigs? 

-------------

Before I go, I want to briefly discuss my defense of Glenna Maddox posted a couple of weeks back. It is boorish to condemn Charlie's mother, uncle, and society for his decisions and actions and then turn around and get all fired up and call him out on lies every time the available data doesn't match the accepted backstory. I need way more dispassion at times. 

Moving forward, I will attempt to avoid saying I have empathy for the child raised in the system and then turn around and laugh alongside the Coliseum mob when a clearly mentally ill Charlie is pulled from his cell to perform goofy dances while dodging the sharpened sticks of disingenuous interviewers. 

If I somehow lose my cool after finding several photos of happy-looking seventh and eighth graders who were arrested in the dust with the crew two years later or any other bits of the awful minutia stuck to the barely exposed entrails of this study and rage at every character under that dry 1969 sky from my desk inside the offices of this historic, vaunted blog, I apologize in advance. 

And seriously, if you can verify you were there and have the ability to clear up any misconceptions I'm having about the young loves give me a shout. I'm tired of digging up their photos. It breaks my heart.

That's probably it for me for today. I'm better suited for lonely databases where I can reflect the sun back into the eyes of El with my shiny keyboard. If you're one of the kids who ate trash casseroles on the saloon floor, I'm glad you made it here. 

-------------

So long for now from the banks of the Ohio. The leaves are turning while we feed and provide just-in-case places for a herd of deer during hunting season. My family purchased this land with timber, ore, and their blood in 1803 after defending a tiny cabin just across the river against gory privations for a decade. Our No Trespassing signs are not suggestions and we allow no hunting in these woods. 

Do not bring your guns up here.  

+ggw

-------------

* My process is to take what is commonly believed and endlessly repeated and attempt to verify the info. Thanks to Deb, Patty, Beckham and the illustrious Jackie Buns for lending me their ears last week. Long live Karate Sue. Tell me that's not the sister of the guy in the striped shirt mugshot. 

Who Is David Ralph Baker and James Region Jarrett Ain't No Joke

Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods? 

Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds? 

Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed? 

Umm I mean pommel horses sure. No worries. 

But we haven't had any living breathing equines since the ranch burned to the ground. 

Will a Twinkie truck do? I mean look at the driver. Handsome as all get out. His name is Karate Dave but we call him 31 because of the night he bowled a perfect game. 

(This post is a collaboration between myself and M.A. Beckham of The Paulcast. Thanks to Matt for entertaining my dumb ideas here on the blog. If you're reading this Sunday, October 10, 2021, and would like to discuss Karate Dave and Jarrett with some of us live, we'll be over at The Paulcast at 1030pm EST tonight.)

ADDENDUM: Here is the interview that accompanies this article

In case you're unaware, our Karate Dave candidates were discussed previously on this blog in a much better and more in depth post by Starviego back in Fall 2018. It's been three years and we thought we'd revisit. We also knew you couldn't sleep without a bit of new info, a photo, and the best interview you will ever see with James Region Jarrett. Plus, I could type Karate Dave endlessly and be happy. Karate Dave. 

Apologies if the gymnastics photos were indeed in the earlier article as I can't see them anymore. I noticed a photograph or two are possibly missing from the bottom of that post. At least for me. 

LFG! Hit 'em with the description, Squeak. 

(Fromme Kindle, 259)

Karate Dave was a straight up beast. Chicks dug him. Look at his face in the high school gymnastics photo. Stone cold confidence. 

Barbara Hoyt played Ewok Village with Karate Dave behind the Yellow Submarine. Leslie the corpse mutilator tried to throw him under the wheels of Mike McGann's bus. He owned an Indian motorcycle. And like Fromme said above, Dave was trained in the marshal arts. 

Jokes. My house is completely made of glass. I misspell with impunity.  

First Contestant...

Are we solid on who Karate Dave was in real life? 

Nope. Sorry. We changed our minds so many times. 

Sometimes I lean heavily toward David Ralph Baker but man do James Region Jarrett and Baker look alike. My brain has a hard time telling them apart. Jarrett was busy at the time is one of my larger issues but there is definitely room in his timeline for some ranching. 

The family that didn't call themselves a family are as pretty as actors some of them. Why do good looking people mess up their lives? It's like the whole world is set up for them to enjoy. 

Anyway, Baker maybe fits the timeline better. Here's a bit of backstory. 

Thankfully, a genealogist in his extended family already plowed the heavy snow for us. People are alive out there and we don't dox but Dave's papa was handsome like his boy. A couple of regular Brad Pitt's if you ask me. Dad Baker was born at a Kentucky coal camp in a place that is still unincorporated today. Dave's mom was from Portugal. Later in life, she was the cutest little old lady you ever saw. 

Dave would have little problem hanging around with Charlie once their shared Kentucky connection was understood. It's a Highlands thing. I have relatives who are still angry about something that happened in Scotland in 1692. True story. 

Baker was engaged to the third girl from the left up there. She earned a bunch of degrees. Her mom or whoever put their engagement announcement into the newspaper busted Dave out on his high school and college and gave us a trail to the photo. 

His address in the engagement announcement btw is Camp Pendleton. Summer '66. Three years in the Corps already. 

If DRB is indeed our man, Little Paul slyly told us he was a gymnast. Tidbits of truth are everywhere it's true. Read everything. Things get repeated until they're the facts but sometimes they just aren't.

For example, someone with a better search engine than us recently confirmed Dave's military service in the United States Marine Corps. Dave was out in 1966 on a general discharge. 

Not AWOL in '69. Repeating that is awful btw when you're not sure. 

He was also twenty-three during the time Little Paul is describing. Watkins simply said whatever he wanted and called it a book. Journalists also do that too at every stop along this timeline. Kathleen was twenty-one at the time of her crime? Let's publish thirty. 

Garbage in. Garbage out. 

This Karate Dave was discharged. Home safe. Finito la musica. I saw his service record and so did others at the blog. I don't know if it's something I'm supposed to share or allowed to share so I refrained. 

Baker wasn't over in Vietnam pushing pencils. No sir. Government records show his disability payments. 

If you lean Baker, what do you think Dave's actual role was with the Manson group? Head breadtrucker? Was he around solely to make sweet love to Barbara Hoyt in a treehouse and get bit by serpents? 

(Fromme, Kindle, 295)

Did you know Dave married a gal who was seventeen in November 1970? Dave was twenty-four and his bride was almost eighteen. If she wasn't almost eighteen that's what I hoped for and told myself. Regardless, they gave it a chance. 

Do you think his wife could be a young love from the Ranch who split with Dave after Mike Love refused to shower with Lynette? 

Speaking of snakes, maybe young Mrs. Dave watched Charlie touching the rattlers' tails while dancing that one time. There is a world of possibilities out there if you think about it.  

-------------

Next Contestant...

Now comes the alternate candidate for Karate Dave, James Region Jarrett. 

We want Jarrett to be Karate Dave but have questions like why didn't anyone in the Family and ephemera ever say, "Hey! That guy was named Karate Dave five months ago!" Charlie also surely would've slipped something cryptic in there at least once when claiming to know why the Prince of Portugal has Polaner All Fruit for breakfast every morning and etc. 

Would you please pass the jelly? 

If you're joining or attending the discussion on The Paulcast tonight, here is a video to watch first if you wish. It's enlightening even if Jarrett says a couple of words here and there that are no longer okay in polite conversation. 

The interview is enthralling. Jarrett talks about joining the LAPD after serving in Vietnam at 1:06:32. What do you think about the reason he gives for later leaving the police force? Legit? 

Compare the Jarrett in the video to the Jarrett described by the LA Free Times writer. Thanks, Starviego for that amazing pdf link. 

Might we surmise that Jarrett's undercover persona is that of an unhinged man but the real James Jarrett is a bit more saavy? Even the hippie press admitted Jarrett showed himself to be kind, patient, and helpful at times. You know I don't bet but if I did I'd wager he was kind around the people he didn't think were commie POS's trying to overthrow the government. 

Sandy said she was at war. Jarrett played on the opposing team. Each side calls the other unbalanced. What don't we understand? 

Does Jarrett seem like an off the rails sadomasochist here? And why did the journalist use that word twice? Beyond cringe. That level of acute pedantry essentially forces me to root for the cops.  

I stared at that photo endlessly while I typed this post. Not sure anything in life is cooler. I want it on a t-shirt. And I do think that's Jarrett if my vote counts. 

Actually, I don't care. I just want my shirt.  

Grizzled veterans of this case all surely recognize Bob Calkins and Mike McGann from the banks of the Bann flanking JRJ in my t-shirt photo. If Jarrett is deep undercover against the radicals, why is he allowing himself to be be photographed with two lead homicide detectives working the Manson cases? Maybe LAPD didn't have enough guys on the force and people moonlighted across departments. 

Those moronic GreenWhite claims are debunked in comments section below. 

Bucksnort where I live is the same way. Three total cops if you can believe it and I'm related to two of them. The other guy is a real prick. Anyway, did you know that Calkins and McGann also worked together on a couple of other famous Los Angeles cases? 

Bob Calkins says goodbye to evidence and investigations. Highlight: Calkins had Sirhan Sirhan's pistol in his pocket immediately following the shooting of RFK and for the next twelve hours. Sirhan claims he does not remember anything that happened that day and eyewitnesses reported shots from multiple directions when the shit hit the fan. 

These were trusted dudes. 

From the almighty Cielo.

Imagine if I told you I recently received FBI documents that describe a secret investigations squad within the LAPD at the time that took on their highest profile cases? That would be crazy, right? I wonder who was on the squad?  

I guess we'll never know. Let's get back to the things we can view together. 

Baker and Jarrett are one another's doppelgänger. It's crazy. The Jarrett interview was seriously messing with my mind as I stared at his face. 

To confound matters, Baker had a sister who looked more like Jarrett than Baker. Check it. She looked like both of them in an Amy Winehouse wig. 

But I mean super pretty too. Not like a dude. And not that dudes can't be pretty. Be whatever you want. I'm cool with every pronoun. 

GW is always for the underdog. 

Jarrett in his interview talks about sneaking up on an enemy machine gun position and tape recording the conversation of the guys inside the bunker. His unit gathered intelligence as part of their regular duties. Here's what the Internet says about them.

By the end of the Jarrett interview he was one of my heroes. Orphaned. Bootstraps. The whole thing. These folks had a different view of course. Lost Boys film buffs will recognize one of the small children in a non speaking role with a gun to his head is indeed Kiefer Sutherland.

Playwright Don Freed from the above link is eighty-nine and teaching online. You can find him if you want to go deep undercover. Here is what the Internet says about Mr. Freed.

A bit of info about the play the police raid made Freed late to rehearsals for on Broadway.

All this stuff makes me remember paperback spy novels I'd buy for a quarter and read three in a day. What are your thoughts on Freed? Would Bonnie Tyler hold out for him? 

Jarrett looks like the surface level winner of the Hold Out Award but you never know. Bonnie might prefer intellectuals. But then Jarrett also earned a PhD. He listens to classical music and enjoys reading. I wish he'd share his involvement in the Manson theater with us. IG Messages or wherever really. 

Imagine Jarrett and Freed waging war as younger men in this modern age via FB memes and blocking one another on Discord? Not as exciting. 

-------------

What will you do if Schreck, Starviego and sundry others were right all along? Tear your hair and rent your clothes? 

-------------

I'd like to say again that I do not have a dog in this crazy fight. I'm nothing more than a Gentry typing words while dreaming of my prized vittles each evening. I replace keyboards as I wear them out. 

My interest lies in the people involved. Their early foundational years. The character arcs. 

The fifty-nine existing Manson theories where every theorist is indeed the correct theorist and the competing theorists from the other teams in and around the Manson business are all a bunch of imbeciles and nincompoops is just not my bag, man. Like Sammy and the Satanists, I'm only here for the chicks. 

But I'll also say I viewed some FOIAs this week that make me want to pull my tinfoil hat from the closet shelf I placed in on long ago and dive right back into the madness. It's visceral I tell ya. Holy moly some of these guys. Crazytown.

And don't let me find Calkins' or McGann's names on any secret document regarding any secret squads investigating Geno Massaro and the Manson crew. You'll have to read about it every time Matt lets me post on this historic, vaunted blog.