I'll See You In Your Dreams (18 page)

Max chuckled and continued. “My golfing buddy is a surgeon by the name of Dr. Hardwicke. He often makes sport of the shrinks. The one positive contribution, according to Hardwicke, is that it attracts a lot of whackos away from the rest of medicine.”

Max stood, walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out an ornately carved meerschaum pipe. He opened the lid to an elegantly carved humidor and began to stuff tobacco into the pipe. Sam could smell the sweet smelling tobacco as it wafted across the room, adding even more ambience of masculinity, wisdom and control to the situation. Sam wondered if these rituals were consciously affected or just an innate pattern common to powerful people.

The General pulled a polished tubular container from his desk drawer. He pulled off the lid and tilted the tube until a match slid into his hand. He held the match between his curled fingers and scraped his thumbnail across the head of the match. He watched intently as the match ignited, and Max touched it to the tobacco in his pipe. He puffed expansively as the great clouds of smoke engulfed his head. The General emerged from the cloud with the pipe clenched in his teeth. A ribbon of smoke trailed behind him as he returned to his chair.

“So, Sam, your opposition isn’t aided by the psychiatry, per se, but by the superstition it relies upon. It has no more credibility or science behind it than astrology, but if it can sell the idea that it is credible, then it can be used to control people as did astrology in ages past.” Max paused and puffed as he pondered his own musings.

He continued, “Psychiatry continues its existence by selling an idea, not by producing actual positive results. They sell the hope of results. That is propaganda at its best. It’s our most useful tool in the game of war. So to defeat this enemy of yours in Fresno, you must expose the lack of real results or produce better propaganda. Propaganda can win short-term skirmishes, but only the truth wins the long-term conquest.”

“But, Max, what about these wonder drugs and cocaine? Do they get results?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about these from Hardwicke. Yes, yes, the old opium tricks. We British certainly know about opium, yes indeed. Heroin is just refined opium. Opium has been around for centuries. We British made a fortune selling the Chinese opium. We did such a good job that we had a quarter of the population of China hooked on the stuff. It’s a great tool for population control. Keep them drugged up and addicted and they’ll obey your every desire. Ask any brothel owner.” Max laughed.

“But, Max, Bayer Pharmaceuticals makes these drugs. Surely they wouldn’t release an addictive drug?” asked Sam.

Max puffed slowly on his pipe while gazing with affection at his adopted son. He finally removed the pipe from his mouth and quietly and almost kindly spoke. “Sam, I wish it were so that there were good people with integrity who would refuse to be part of an endeavor that would harm his fellow man. I wish it were so, and for the most part, I believe the majority want it to be so. The caveat, the warning, the exception to human decency is money. Sadly, money can purchase the integrity of the majority of the human species. Horrible atrocities have been committed against humanity for money, and there are few endeavors that produce more money than drugs.” Max paused for a puff.

“We British are a good people, but we were certainly willing to destroy Chinese lives when enough money was involved, a shame if truth be told.”

Max suddenly seemed pensive. He narrowed his eyes, and they seemed to bore into Sam. “You must stop these devils, Sam. I suddenly realized my own complacency. Hardwicke and I have discussed this scourge of mankind often and yet do nothing. It seems too big a problem to stop after seeing how effective it was in tranquilizing the Chinese population. The effectiveness of drugs and propaganda, in controlling the masses, is a formidable force to resist for governments.”

“So, it looks like I have my job cut out for me in Fresno.”

“Indeed!” the General agreed.

“Is there anything that can resist such a force?” asked Sam.

“Only the truth,” the General emphatically stated.

“The truth?” asked Sam.

“As it says in the good book, you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free!” 

“Well, I’ve found some truth here about opium and propaganda. Now what do I do with it?” Sam puzzled aloud.

“You have to study these subjects well, and know them hands down, and then the hard part, the almost impossibly hard part.” Max looked momentarily sad, almost apathetic.

“You have to get others to want to know the truth, despite the fact that the opponent’s lies are far more appealing. They can lie, but you must tell the truth. You must use actual facts, and they can simply make them up. You must rely on real science, and they will just lie.”

“Seems impossible,” mused Sam.

“Yes, it does,” the General answered apathetically.

The General continued to puff his pipe deep in thought. Finally he removed the pipe and began to tap it into an alabaster ashtray on his desk. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small tool that looked like a miniature shovel and began to dig out the spent tobacco. He spoke quietly as if to the ashtray. “Weakness is the enemy, a weakness of honor, of intestinal fortitude.” He slowly, almost imperceptibly, moved his head side to side as in great sadness.

“There were once great men in history that possessed great strength, men of vision, men who led great nations or tribes and virtually conquered the known world at the time. These men invariably created stability that was enjoyed by all. Great leaders turned former enemies into friends and included the defeated into their societies. They ruled in strength and greatness and were generally loved by the vast majority of those ruled. Weak and fearful leaders killed the poor souls unlucky enough to be defeated by them. Torture and massacres were their stock in trade. They’re generally despised, even by their own. Fear is their scepter. Cowardliness and cruelty is their crown, all of it wrapped in a cloak of deceit.”

Max inspected the bowl of the pipe. Satisfied, he carefully placed it into the pipe rack. He returned the lid to the humidor and continued.

“Being weak and cowardly, they seek always the upper hand by organizing gangs. They seem brave only when they substantially outnumber an opponent. Even the odds, and watch them collapse. The weak and fearful, by organizing gangs of fearful people, have successfully destroyed the strong individual leaders. So it is that all must organize into gangs to attempt to create an atmosphere once created by strong individuals in their kingdoms.

“The ignorant masses lack the ability to differentiate between strong benevolent leaders and weak and cowardly tyrants and so prevent the assent of Camelot.”

The General paused pensively in his dissertation. “I suppose it is that the shaman or high priest will be repackaged and like the Mayans, superstition will prevail.  Then the psychiatrist will become the new high priest.”

The General looked from the ashtray to Sam. “It is the king and the kingdom that is dying and a many headed monster without conscience that grows in its place, and as the Chinese say, ‘A many headed dog makes little forward progress.’”

As he looked at Sam, the attention that was lost in contemplation refocused to the present moment, and to Sam. Sam could feel the General’s refocused power as he spoke. “To beat your high priest of horror in Fresno, pull off his cape of deceit and expose him to the sunlight of truth!”

General Maxmillion Novak smiled broadly.

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Sam left his father’s house and headed for Vienna. He wanted to see the place where Ludwig supposedly received his training. He planned to find the truth about Freud and psychiatry and Ludwig’s claims.

Sam arrived at 19 Berggase in Vienna, the home of Sigmund Freud. He noticed what he assumed was the maid as she wore a crisp white apron and a small lacy hat. She was busy sweeping the front entry to the non-descript building that housed the office of Dr. Freud.

“Pardon me, my name is Samuel Novak. Is Dr. Freud at home?”

Sam noticed her look up and appraise the black man standing before her. It seemed she decided that his being well dressed and with a calm bearing marked him as necessary to comply with.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Novak. My name is Elsie. No, I’m afraid he’s in London at the moment.”

“How about his colleague, Mr. Ludwig Diefendorf?”

“Colleague?” She threw back her head and laughed. Sam smiled.

“Oh, he’s used that one before.” She slowly shook her head back and forth and continued, “Ludwig was Sigmund’s house boy even though he often referred to himself as a butler, but all he did was run errands and help organize some of the doctor’s things. Are you a friend of his?”

“No, I am an investigator of sorts, just trying to get some background.”

The maid’s eyes lit up. “I knew he would be caught sooner or later.”

“So he isn’t a psychiatrist, colleague, or researcher then?” asked Sam.

“Oh, good heavens no! Ludwig’s talent was in manipulating people. He hung on Sigmund’s every word and continually told him how much of a genius he was. The doctor needed to hear such things, as he has had only mixed success trying to convince anyone of the psychoanalyzing thing, and is now convinced that cocaine is the answer to mental illness.”

“Cocaine?” asked Sam.

“Oh yes, and Ludwig would attend Freud’s meetings with his cohorts and stand back as a butler would, and memorize the words and ideas. I saw him many times going through the doctor’s papers, and at first I thought he had aspirations to become a psychiatrist.”

“What did he have aspirations for?” Sam asked.

“Ah, that boy, he had much, much bigger aspirations!” the maid answered.

“Oh, what were they?”

The maid looked up and down the street as though checking for witnesses to either her unscheduled break or to her gossiping, Sam couldn’t tell which.

Satisfied that she was safe, she continued. “Ludwig became quite proficient at mimicking the big words and theories bantered about by Dr. Freud and his colleagues. He was intrigued by the human weaknesses and fears the patients discussed. He would pretend to be a psychiatrist to the various butchers and grocery clerks when he accompanied me to do the doctor’s shopping. He swore me to go along with his charade on the pretext of research for Freud. I must admit I held a grudging respect for his acting ability. His aloof manner and certainty when speaking seemed to imitate the psychiatrist’s.” The maid paused in thought. “Lord, hmmm.”

“What did you think of?” Sam asked.

“Well, I assume that these words and labels psychiatrists put on people accomplish little good. It seems the patient is there as a prop to fit the theory. It looks to me that there is more acting than any proof of anything, but some people just need a word to explain their misery. They’ll pay for that word is my thought,” said Elsie.

“Interesting,” responded Sam.

“Well, I say some people, but most of the neighbors around here make quite a sport of the oddballs that go in and out of here, and not just the patients.” She winked.

“What about the new wonder drug being touted by Freud, cocaine?” Sam asked.

“Oh yes, that. The Chinaman, Mr. Ling, who works in the kitchen, calls it num num juice.”

“Num num, did you say num num juice?” Sam repeated incredulously.

“Oh yes, it numbs. That’s how it affects one. Sigmund’s colleague, Carl, an eye doctor, used it to deaden the eyes before surgery, and he would often rave about its ability to take away pain. So it was only natural that Dr. Freud thought it may numb mental pain as well.”

“How did he hear about it?”

“From a druggist named John Styth Penbertom. He added cocaine to a recipe for Coca Cola. It became very popular. It was also in a wine called Mariani wine. Dr. Freud wrote enthusiastic endorsements for its effectiveness and non-addictive qualities.”

“Where did Ludwig hear about heroin?” asked Sam.

“From a fellow named Heinrich Dreser, who worked at Bayer Pharmaceutical. He invented a powder called aspirin that was truly a miracle. Dr. Freud and his cohorts all tried it and were excited about its ability to stop pain. Heinrich, I think, was a bit worried about, umm, stomach bleeding or some such. His new drug heroin was the ultimate wonder drug. It made a person feel heroic and numb to pain.

“Heinrich tried to convince Dr. Freud that such wonder drugs were the ultimate solution. So Freud began to use it a lot, all for research, of course. Of course, he couldn’t abandon psychoanalysis, as his entire career depended on it, but I think he was convinced that drugs were the future.”

“You seem to know a lot about all this,” Sam cut in.

“Well, for several years I’ve been the maid here and the maid is invisible to the doctors when they have their meetings, so Ludwig and I got quite the education while serving them at these meetings.”

“You seem well-educated yourself,” said Sam.

“I have a university education and I’m studying to be a nurse, so these subjects interest me,” she replied.

“How about Ludwig? What’s his interest?” asked Sam.

“Ludwig wanted the status of doctor, and he was impressed by Heinrich and Bayer. Drugs were the money making scheme of the future, he was convinced. Sigmund’s nephew, Eddie, and Ludwig hit it off and were always scheming on future ways to use Freud’s material and Bayer’s drugs to get rich. Ludwig wormed his way into Heinrich’s trust through his close relationship with little Eddie Bernays. Heinrich didn’t want to lose the Freud connection to legitimize his drug inventions.”