Charles Manson Behind Bars (15 page)

I told Charlie that he had to choose one or the other. In my mind, you couldn’t be both the Satan and God. “There is no in between.” I explained to him. “It’s one or the other.” Charlie disagreed. He wanted to be an abraxas in his own body, a perfect representation of both good and evil, possessing power over them both.

I’ve since concluded that he is a man of opposites. To describe Charles Manson is to identify conflicting forces. He is the yin and yang, positive and negative. As such, he is just like anyone else, having strengths and weaknesses, but Charlie’s attributes are much more pronounced. He possesses both positive and negative forces; he is both good and evil. Those who see him as only evil miss his qualities of caring, of energy, and of love. They will reject him because they say he is such a bad person. Those who see only good are disappointed when they discover that he can show his evil side with no prior notice. In fact, he makes a point of demonstrating evil to provoke fear and shock.

Charlie is a holy man, in many respects, and possesses in his character all the pros and cons that being a holy man entails. He is a flawed human being. As a born leader, he has a way with people, no doubt. He gathers others to himself and sets them on a course of action. In addition, he bears the stresses and strains of being a leader and public figure. He exhibits the shortcomings and weaknesses as all people who are in the public eye. When he does something wrong, it is magnified to far greater proportions than anything I could ever do to mess up. When he does something well, his followers parade it around telling everyone who will listen that Charlie is a savior.

In goodness, Charlie can surpass the humblest Christian martyr. I saw him give and give until it hurt him. I saw him care until it evoked physical pain. Even in the depths of depression, Charlie would look out for the good of others. Yet in weakness, in the cruel place in his heart, Charlie could orchestrate fear, hatred, and even, I believe, death. To deny either part of Charlie’s existence does not do justice to such a complicated, complex individual.

Before people criticize, reject, or dismiss Charlie, they need to remember that he thought, felt, drank, ate, slept, and yelled just like you and me. We all must take a long look in the mirror before we throw any stones in his direction.

One event that I witnessed may indeed qualify as an example of Charlie being crazy. He may have lost all sense of reality. To this day, I don’t understand what was taking place or what he was attempting to accomplish. One morning, he requested to take a shower when it was offered. This was a rarity because he greatly preferred to take “bird baths” in the sink of his cell, rather than utilize the community shower. He never accepted an invitation to go to the showers during the scheduled three-times-a-week shower days. This request occurred after yard visit when inmates are also granted the opportunity to go the shower room. I was in shock that the old man agreed to go.

The guard we called “Pinky” got him his towel and unlocked his cell door. Charlie ambled to the shower area. Fifteen minutes later, Charlie returned to his cell fully clothed and dripping wet. It was clear that he had sauntered right into a shower stall and never bothered to remove any of his clothing. He was completely wet; there was not a dry spot on his clothing. His hair was not clean or altered in any way from the way it was when he left his cell. He left a trail of water behind him on the tier as he entered his cell once again. A guard noticed that he had forgotten to bring his soap back from the shower. When Pinky retrieved it for him, he declined to receive it, asking that it be given to me. I could tell that the firm, dry bar had not been used. It was the most bizarre thing I ever saw my friend do. It made his Kung-Fu act in the cage seem relatively normal. To this day, I can only venture a guess at what he was thinking.

Charlie was not crazy, not in my opinion. I got to know him well enough to understand that he was not out of touch with reality. He was not against using what he knew, however, and acting in unconventional ways (truly unconventional) to achieve some end. He was shrewd. He pretended to be insane to keep others in fear of him and to keep others off balance. He knew how to get what he wanted even if it meant strange actions. He was capable of the unexpected, which ironically we all came to expect. Maybe he was crazy like a fox.

Charlie told me that the best school he ever attended was the Federal Prison on McNeal Island. Now converted into a state prison outside of Seattle, Washington, McNeal Island, as it is called, was originally a federal prison. Charlie served time there from 1961 to 1966. He met a variety of characters there, some of whom were able to educate him in areas that would later aid him in understanding and controlling other people.

While at McNeal Island, Charlie became fascinated with hypnotism, he told me. He met an inmate who was an accomplished psychologist who was in prison for tax evasion. Charlie befriended the displaced doctor and asked him about hypnotism. The doctor explained that he used it in his practice to enable others to kick addictive habits and gain control over their lives. Charlie wondered aloud whether hypnotism could be used to control others. The doctor just laughed.

Charlie asked the doctor to teach him how to hypnotize. The doctor agreed. He offered to hypnotize Manson to rid him of his cigarette addiction, as part of the training. This intrigued Manson because, at the time, he was consuming more than two packs of cigarettes on a daily basis. He didn’t believe that anyone could do anything that would allow him to quit his stubborn habit.

Charlie was intrigued by how simple the process was, when the doctor finally made time to hypnotize him. The doctor instructed him to look at a circle on a piece of paper, allowing his eyes to trace its perimeter. The doctor then spoke calming words as Charlie moved his eyes slower and slower around the circular shape. The doctor asked him to repeat aloud the following phrases: “I do not smoke,” and, “I do not like the taste or smell of tobacco.” Charlie spoke the sentences, as commanded, in a slow monotone, almost a drawl, over and over and over. After what seemed like an hour (but was more likely just a few minutes), the doctor “woke” Charlie and engaged him in conversation.

“Would you like a cigarette, Charlie?” the doctor queried.

“No,” Manson reflexively replied in a monotone. “I do not smoke. I do not like the smell or taste of tobacco.”

After that experience, Charles Manson joined the ranks of the non-smoker, at least for a while. He did not smoke a cigarette for more than a year and didn’t feel the desire to return to his former habit. He did crave a deeper understanding of this unusual trance-like state that had such a powerful effect on him and his behavior.

Over the course of several weeks and many discussion sessions, Charlie learned that the human mind was open to suggestion from the self and others when the body is placed into a relaxed state, a far deeper relaxation than is normally achieved in every-day life. Fisherman and lighthouse keepers sometimes achieve something approximating the state while focusing on the repetitious and monotonous motion of the waves. The full state can be induced by artificial means with a trained hypnotist. Charlie never received certification nor took any classes to learn about hypnotism, but came to know as much as many board certified, practicing hypnotherapists.

Charlie also studied Scientology at McNeal Island. A fellow inmate possessed a number of scientology books that he loaned to Charlie. Together, the two of them spent hours discussing the beliefs of L. Ron Hubbard found in the various books. Charlie never expressed a desire to join the movement; he did want to know how it functioned, what its appeal was to so many young people, and how to benefit from its ideas. He told me that he had occasionally introduced himself as a Scientology expert, especially to teenagers in San Francisco in the late 1960s. I suspect that Scientology became one of the staples of his philosophy, something he pulled out of his bag of tricks when needed, whether he told people that he was an expert or not.

Charlie told me about his experiences learning to be a minister. He had met an actual minister at McNeal. This man impressed him, but not nearly as much as his career did. How was it possible for someone to stand up in front of a crowd of people each week to tell them what to think and what to do? Charlie wanted to know.

He befriended the minister in an attempt to learn all he could about the trade. Over time, he queried the clergyman about ministry, about ordination, and about the skills needed to tend a flock. The minister encouraged him in his pursuit, telling him that he had what it took to become a skilled man of God. Throughout their conversations, Charlie feigned an interest in Christianity. The minister thought that Charlie’s sincerity and his ability to relate to people would take him through seminary and into a successful career in the pastorate.

They began tutoring sessions. What interested Charlie was not the Bible or any teachings of Christianity, though Charlie picked up many words and phrases that would lead others to believe that he was knowledgeable about the Scriptures. My friend wanted to know how to control others. The power exhibited by a religious leader attracted him like iron filings to a magnet. Charlie demanded to know how religious leaders could direct their followers into all manner of strange practice, from building cathedrals to vowing poverty to fighting crusades. He also wanted to know how he himself could get into a position where he could lead others as they listened to, and venerated, his words.

Charlie told me that what he learned opened his eyes. It isn’t knowledge or wisdom that allows someone to gain control over another. It’s the character and confidence an individual displays that makes the difference. Even the dimmest of people can attract a following, he had concluded. Classroom attendance and scholarship are not prerequisites. If someone has a message, believes that message deeply, and can inspire others with his words, he can attract a wide following and exert control over the group he builds. While Charlie never said this to me, I suspect that this training was the origins of the Manson family that would later emerge in Northern California, and become known worldwide on December 1, 1969.

Charlie told me that while he was in prison at McNeal, his mother paid him a visit. They sipped lemonade after Charlie ushered his mom into the prison’s visitation room. During their discussion, Charlie gave his mother some money and instructed her to purchase a guitar for him. She returned a few weeks later—with no guitar. When asked, she told Charlie that she needed the money for herself and could not afford the guitar for him, even though it was his money. Charlie told me that he was very angry when he walked out on his mother that second visit. He asked to be taken back to his cell, even though he had spent less than 10 minutes with her. At the time, he never wanted to see her again, he told me. He later changed his mind and requested another visit. When she had showed up without a guitar, he had become filled with rage. He hated her. He hated the world. He hated himself. He hated his life. All looked very bleak for Charlie. He was overcome with a bitterness that had first emerged in childhood and was never to leave him.

Charlie noticed a Chinese man performing some strange rituals in the prison yard of McNeal Island. He asked the man what he was doing, to which the man replied that he was a master of Gung Fu, a marshal art. Charlie asked him whether he would be willing to train him in the art and practice of Gung Fu.

It occurred to me that Charlie was adept at noticing the skills of others, and begging for instruction. How many skills had he developed this way, I wondered. He nearly became a bullfighter, he learned hypnotism, and he learned about Scientology. Probably, he picked up additional skills that he never related to me.

“No,” was the Chinese man’s quick reply. “I don’t trust white man. Not trustworthy. They lie.”

Charlie was disappointed at the refusal, but not defeated. He set about changing the Gung fu master’s mind. For many mornings following that encounter he showed up while the man was conducting his exercises. Striking up a conversation, Charlie learned his name and engaged in small talk. Before long, the man trusted Charlie enough to show him a few moves. The man enjoyed the company of Charlie and began mentoring him in a comprehensive training regimen. Charlie demonstrated a couple of these moves for me, one afternoon. On many other occasions, he struck a carefully balanced pose or made a slow sweeping motion in an effort to impress or intimidate someone.

Charlie also learned some fencing moves while at McNeal Island. One day, an elderly gentleman approached Charlie in the yard.

“May I speak with you?” the man asked.

“What do you want?” Charlie inquired.

“I saw you playing handball in the yard, the other day,” the man began. “I saw that you were very quick and could put the ball where you wanted without much effort. I want to show you something, if you have a minute.” The man offered.

“Okay, what?” Charlie was interested.

“I used to be a fencing champion at my school,” the man continued. “I even competed in the Olympics. I bet that I can put my index finger on your heart no matter what you try to do to stop me.”

Charlie was mildly amused, he told me. No old man was quicker than him, he was sure. He knew that he was as quick as the aging athlete that had noticed him on the handball court. Agreeing to the terms of the gentleman’s bet, Charlie bent his knees in a ready position and invited the older man to attempt to place his finger on the right side of his chest.

Immediately, the man whipped out his finger and placed in squarely on Charlie’s chest, exactly pointing to the heart that was encased in that chest. Charlie did little more than flinch. He was dumbfounded.

“How did you do that?” Charlie demanded to know. “Try that again.”

Repeating the process, the old man tapped Charlie on the chest once again with little effort. The younger convict had barely started to block the thrust before the contest was all over. Charlie told me that he became friends with the man, learning about fencing and perfecting some of the moves taught to him. In all of his time at McNeal, he never achieved a quickness that rivaled the old inmate, he confessed. I wondered whether Charlie had in fact been the real initiator with the old man, as he had been with so many other “teachers” in prison. Perhaps, Charlie noticed him and his skill, and not the other way around. No one will likely ever know.