My Life With Charles Manson Chapter The First

[[ By Popular Demand we bring you MY LIFE WITH CHARLES MANSON by Paul Watkins, required reading for all Manson Scholars. Remember the following- Paul was there. Paul loved Charlie. Paul then turned on Charlie. Paul actually tried then to REPLACE Charlie. Read this with all of the above in mind. This book is COPYRIGHTED by Paul Watkins and Guillermo Soledad, and thus also presumably by Martha Watkins. This book has been out of print for twenty five years. We present it here for research purposes only because you cannot find a freaking copy. If somebody objects that isn't Martha or Guillermo, tough titty. And now CH 1. Proceed, Class.]]

Part One: I Am You and You Are Me

Chapter One:

On the day I met Charles Manson – March 16, 1968 – there was enough wind to drive the clouds and the smog out of the L.A. basin. I remember standing on a ridge above Topanga Canyon looking out over the valley. The mountains beyond San Fernando were clearly delineated and I could make out the confluence of highways which compose the L.A. freeway system and beyond it the congestion of greater Los Angeles. It felt good to be miles away from all that, shirtless in the afternoon sun. I took a leak, then hiked back through the oak grove to my campsite to smoke a number.

Several months before, I had left my home in Thousand Oaks and had dropped out of high school, giving up my senior year and the office of student-body president. By that time I’d lost all interest in my studies. I preferred smoking grass and playing music to sitting in a classroom. The world seemed utterly insane to me and I began experimenting with other drugs, until I was busted for marijuana and put on probation in December 1967. That same week, two friends of mine came back from Vietnam, dead. Others my age were enlisting; there was racial violence throughout the country – riots daily; plus, the overriding awareness that a nuclear holocaust could wipe out everything. But the roots went deeper. I remember my parents on the day John Kennedy was shot and how that event devastated them and so many others. It seemed, in a way, that many never got over it, that afterward they just stuck their heads in the sand and decided to live without feelings, without seeing. They didn’t recognize in the midst of all the violence, assassinations, profiteering, and suffering of the late sixties that there was a new spirit being born, something hopeful in the air. I saw that hope in what would later become known as the “psychedelic revolution,” the movement of America’s youth. While police described me then as a hippie and a “runaway,” I considered myself a fugitive flower child in search of enlightenment and truth. I took a hit off my joint and lay back in the waving mustard weed to let the hot sun bathe my face.

From the hillside where my tent was pitched (near the top of a ridge in the middle of a mustard-weed patch), I looked directly down through a stand of eucalyptus and oak to Topanga Canyon Boulevard, which stretched from the valley to the Pacific Coast Highway. Hidden from the road, I could observe at my leisure the endless procession of cars weaving back and forth through the canyon. I had chosen this vantage point for strategic reasons: probation authorities were still searching for me following the December marijuana bust at Half Moon Bay.

That bust was a real revelation. Certainly it made me more sympathetic later to the plight of Charlie and the Family. It happened while I was living in the mountains around Big Sur with a friend called Black Beard Charlie (Charlie Melton). Black Beard was another “runaway” from L.A. who had shined-on suburbia to take to the hills. He was nineteen, a full-on Kerouac “dharma bum” who could assume the full lotus at the drop of a hat and fall immediately into trancelike meditation. He was tall and slender with a gaunt, El Grecolike face which seemed compatible with his vagrant life-style. Brown, wide-set eyes highlighted his dark complexion. His hair hung to well below his shoulders and was tied at the base of his skull with a strip of rawhide. Black Beard was a student of Eastern religions and he taught me a lot about survival in the wilderness with a pack on my back. We had made camp at Hot Springs canyon, near Esalen, and were committed to the gypsy life, wandering through the forests and along the California coastline.

Two weeks after we arrived at Hot Springs, however, the weather turned unbearably cold and rainy, and we agreed to pack up and go looking for a warmer, drier scene. That fateful morning we rolled out early to watch the sunrise through a gray drizzle beside our teepee. We shared a breakfast of apricots, raisins, and camomile tea before loading our packs and setting out for the highway. We were both wearing Levis and moccasins, and I was carrying a pound of grass in a bag strapped to my waist, a stash I had earlier escaped with during the bust of a hippie commune in the valley. We cut holes in our blankets to make ponchos which covered our bodies and helped keep us dry on our trek out of the canyon to the highway.

We didn't care much which direction we went, so once we reached the road, Black Beard stood on one side and I went to the other. It didn't take long. Within five minutes we had our first ride-a freezing-ass ordeal in the back of a Chevy pickup which took us to Daly City. From there we flagged down an old-timer driving a fifty Plymouth who must have been as blind as a bat-he was a trip-kept asking if we were in the military, said he used to be; said he didn't know what the world was coming to, couldn't trust anyone, not even your own mother, but that his mother was dead and that having arthritis didn't help "a damn." He told us his name was R.D. and that it stood for "Real Dirty," "but you boys kin call me Red." We drank a shot of brandy with him before he let us out on Polk Street in San Francisco, then we stood on the curb and waved as he disappeared into the morning fog.

The city seemed cold and inhospitable that day. We spent the morning wandering the streets, lugging our packs around, resting on corners, watching people. Sometime around noon, we took a bus ride to get warm but the driver gave us the evil eye for ten blocks so we got off. All the Christmas shit was up: window displays, Styrofoam Santas, colored lights, phony greenery, most of it dripping wet and pathetic-looking. We hiked over to Hippie Hill and found it nearly deserted. The mood had changed completely since the summer of '66 when I first visited the Haight. Instead of hippies and flower children we saw only derelicts and hard-core junkies trying to score booze and smack. Everything seemed depressed and stony and by late afternoon we wound up in Golden Gate Park drinking hot tea and feeding the gulls. When it started to rain again I was ready to split.

"Hey, man, let's boogie outta here."

"What's up, Paul?"

"The rain, man…I'm catching cold. I feel like getting dry."

"Where to?"

"Anywhere, let's just go."

We packed up our gear, took a hit of acid, and left the park, trudging it all the way to the highway. By the time we got there it was bitter cold but the rain had stopped and through a mist reminiscent of that morning, we watched the sun disappear into the sea. One ride with a jocular young sailor and his beer-swilling girlfriend took us to the outskirts of Half Moon Bay. From there we set out walking towards the town in silence, still coming onto the acid. The road was wet and the wheels of passing traffic made a hissing sound against the pavement. I thought of the highway as a snake, hissing as we moved along its back. We hadn't walked a hundred yards when a highway patrolman pulled over, wanting to see our I.D.'s.

The cop was a big, swaggering dude with a wide, sanguine face and freckles; the more I looked at his face the more the freckles looked like islands on some vast sea of skin. He said I'd been walking like a drunk and he stood over me with his flashlight while I fished through my wallet for the I.D. I had two, one a driver's license that was legal, the other a draft card that wasn't. I found the cards and he seized them both. But I was feeling confident, even friendly.

"Which one of these is you?" His voice was hard.

"The license is for real. But hey, man, I'm old enough to be on the road; it's cool. Hey, I'd like you to meet my friend Black Beard Charlie."

The cop ignored my introduction and told us to walk on down the highway to the drive-in restaurant where there was more light. We did and he followed us, radioing in the meantime to another squad car, which careened into the parking lot just after we got there. By then Black Beard was all Buddhaed-out in the full lotus, under a neon light. In front of him, his draft card, and a Bible. The big cop was still examining my I.D. "What's with Moses?" he asked, gesturing toward Charlie.

I shrugged. The other tow cops were looking at his I.D., but he didn't bat an eyelash and they didn't disturb him; they just looked at the I.D., then set it down again.

"What do you have on your back, Mr. Watkins?" the big guy wanted to know.

"Camping gear."

"Let's have a look."

"You can't search me without a warrant!"

The cop sniggered, reaching for the poncho. "Take it off, Mr. Watkins."

"Hey, man, you're supposed to be the law." I pushed his hand away. "This is my house…you can't enter my house! I didn't do anything!" The acid had slowed things down, had removed the filters from my vision. The cop seemed enormous to me now, like Goliath or King Kong, and I felt as though I were acting out a role in some ancient, preordained myth, and that somehow the outcome was already a matter of destiny.

The cop was furious now. "I said take it off!"

"Fuck no! I'm a sovereign being…you're violating my universe, man!"

He grabbed at the pack and the other two cops lurched over to help. I was more exhilarated than scared, driven by an impulse I could only obey as I listened to the cops grunting while trying to pinion my arms; my blood was surging, my adrenaline pumping, and for a time I held them off. But then the big one slammed a leg in behind my knee and threw me to the ground; he had one foot on my neck and the other on my hand, which he crunched into the pavement. I felt a toe of his boot grinding against my fingers at the same time the gravel was cutting into my face. My flesh peeled away onto his boots, onto the gravel. I was aware of warm blood trickling across my skin. I could smell it. Panicked again, I began kicking and flailing like some beached mammal; that's when Black Beard came to life and tried to help me-but one of the cops collared him.

"Hey, Paul," Charlie shouted. "Give it up man! Shit, it ain't worth it!

"No! No! They can't do this," I gasped. "This isn't the law!"

"This is the law, sonny," the big guy snarled, ripping my pack from my back. "This boot on your neck is the law…and don't forget it!" His words fell on my ears like some sort of substance pounded out of cold air. I heard the words being repeated over and over again, then I felt them like a liquid being poured into my head; but it was my own blood I felt, dripping. And I knew he was right, that one man was overpowering another, inflicting his will, is the bottom line of the law. Ironically, this revelation elated me.

I was in a spaced out daze when the big guy jerked me to my feet and held me while one of the other cops rummaged through my pack, scattering food, clothing, and utensils on the ground. Patrons from the drive-in had gathered in an excited gaggle outside the door to watch. I was bloody and exhausted, yet filled with a sense of buoyance, as though I had played my part well and was being cosmically rewarded. Black Beard, meanwhile, has resumed the lotus beneath the light, his eyes closed, his face mirroring an inscrutable calm.

"I found the marijuana!" came the proclamation as the cop jerked the bag from the debris, as if to prove to everyone, including the spectators, that it had all been worth it. His proclamation struck me as uproariously comical and I burst out laughing and cheering at the same time. It seemed to me then that we were all members of some comic acting troupe, a band of gypsy thespians performing on the roadside. And as the proclamation continued: "…in the name of San Mateo County, district…you are hereby…" I continued to cheer and to clap my hands. That's when I noticed the other cop gaping at my hands in unmasked horror; they were all looking at them. I looked down. Both hands were crumpled, my shirt torn to shreds, my arms cut and bleeding; my face was a gouged conglomerate of gravel, dirt, and blood. For several moments I stared down at my hands; they looked mangled beyond repair. The big cop had taken off his handcuffs and he stood over me, hesitating. Then I calmly reached down with one hand and straightened the fingers of the other, felling the bones crunch and crackle back into place, resetting both hands while the cops gawked at me. At last I opened and closed both hands several times to make sure they worked, before holding them out like raw hamburger to the big cop they called Ben. He slapped the cuffs on me, then heaved me bodily into the back of his car.

"Get your ass up and outta here, Moses!" he barked as I maneuvered into a sitting position in time to watch Black Beard collecting the gear from the parking lot and stuffing it into my pack. Then Big Ben got in his car, and the other two cops got in theirs, while the crowd around the restaurant began to disperse.

That's when Charlie ran up to the car and shouted, "Hey, Paul, hang tough, amigo…see you soon!"

We Brodied out onto the highway amid a swirl of gravel and mud, and all kinds of things flashed through my head: like maybe I'd go to jail for twenty years; marijuana was a big offense in those days. But I wasn't really scared; in fact, I felt a strange sort of satisfaction: the acid brought me to the realization that I had created the episode myself, had genereated my own personal catharsis at the cops' expense. I didn't blame them; if anything, I felt slightly guilty for deceiving them. Sitting Indian-style in the cage in the back of the squad car, I watched the clouds clear. I could see hundreds of stars glittering crisply in the heavens. Everything seemed clean and promising and gradually a flood of emotion swelled up inside me; tears streamed down my face. It seemed as though I had just returned from the bottom of the world, that I had been stomped on and stamped with the mark of civilization, but that I had survived and was still free. I flashed on Black Beard sitting in the full lotus and smiled through my tears. I saw the strength in his face and the light in his eyes when he shouted at me through the window, and I felt like a warrior. The moon broke through the clouds and Big Ben and I watched it out the window. He saw the tears and asked if my hand was okay.

"Yeah, it's okay."

I was booked in San Mateo and released the following morning to the custody of my parents in Los Angeles. I ran away again, a a week later I met Black Beard in Malibu; we palled around together for several weeks before he split for New Mexico. That's when I moved into my tent in Topanga Canyon, which is where this story started-on the day I met Charlie Manson.

After watching a wedding caravan scream up the canyon-I remember horns blaring and the flowing streamers and tin cans tied to the cars-I pulled my pack out of the tent and ate some dried peaches and a handful of raisins, which I washed down with water from a canteen. Then I kicked off my moccasins and took out my French horn. The instant I started to play, two blue-jays who hung out in a nearby scrub oak came out and started squawking; they'd been there ever since I set up camp, and they squawked each time I played music. But no one else did. There was no else around.

It was my custom to sit on that hillside for hours, playing the music to trees and wildflowers, watching the leaves blowing and twisting as if they were dancing to the tune I played-the sensitivity of massive, gnarled limbs betrayed in their nimble leaves. And when it was hot, there were always the white butterflies fluttering in pairs across the canyon, and a myriad of droning bees in the mustard weed. From my hideout I could see the elegant homes of the wealthy perched on surrounding hillsides, and a few shacks back up the canyon. But around me was only a feral expanse of nature, now abloom in early spring; perfect; living in a pup tent on my own private mountain in the middle of L.A. But those crazy birds made me think of my friend Jay, who lived up the canyon on Summit Drive, and I decided to hike down there to visit him.

It was around four o'clock when I put my horn away, grabbed a sweater, and started my hike down the hill toward the riverbed which leads up the canyon to Summit Drive. Descending the slope through the oaks reminded me of similar terrain just north of Taos, New Mexico, where the previous summer (1967), I had spent two weeks in a hippie commune. That entire summer, in fact, I'd devoted to hitchhiking around the country, from Haight Ashbury to Taos, looking for people to live with and make music with-people who sensed then, as I did, that there was a new awakening of consciousness; a generation utterly alienated from the parents by the seemingly unbreachable gap of time and acid.

I had become acutely aware of this phenomenon on my first trip to the Haight that same summer: playing music in the city-in parks, crash pads, parking lots; smoking grass; feeling good. It was the beginning of the psychedelic revolution and it captured the awareness of youth like nothing else in my lifetime. I met people from everywhere, hiked with them through the city and up into the mountains behind Berkeley, where we sang songs and picked flowers; we were like gypsies spreading love, giving love and flowers to people in the street; people of all ages-children, old men, women, bus drivers, cops, newspapermen, grocery clerks, ex-convicts. It was real love and it was contagious. People have forgotten how deeply it was felt because in time it turned into a heavy rip-off drug scene and lost its potency. In fact, by September 1967 (two months after Jimi Hendrix brought "a new soul sound of love" to the Monterey Pop Festival), Haight Ashbury had degenerated from a scene of smiles and flowers into a cesspool of violence and hostility: it had become a terror-stricken ghetto where those "hippies" who remained became victims of phony slop-bucket liberal do-gooders, vicious con men, or worse. But in the beginning the love was real; it had integrity; and it turned my head around. So much so that by the time I went back to Thousand Oaks the following September to finish my senior year, I couldn't handle school any longer. I became one of tow or three out of 2,500 students who started using psychedelics: "outrageous behaviors" for a student-body president. School officials said I should be "setting an example." I thought I was. Two months later, I was removed from office. The only president in the school's history to be so honored.

I hiked along the creek bed which parallels Topanga Canyon Boulevard, taking my time, hopping from rock to rock over the silver trickle of water that glistened in the light. After an hour I stopped on a protruding hunk of gray granite, big enough to stretch out on, and there I smoked a joint while contemplating the shadows on the rocks and the changing textures of the hillside. When it grew cold and started to get dark, I moved on.

Jay's house was located at the end of the creek where the road slopes up and dead-ends against the face of the hillside. All but hidden in a grove of oak, it gave the illusion of total isolation from the world. Beyond it, the rugged hillside swept up into an overgrown mane of mustard weed and wildflowers which looked from the floor of the canyon to be the jumping-off place to the sky. Though there were other houses around, within a stone's throw of Jay's, they were hidden by dense foliage and the rolling contours of the landscape. Being at Jay's, you had the feeling of living in a mountain retreat. Jay was a musician who played drums for a local rock group on the Sunset Strip. I'd met him only recently and had visited him a number of times since moving to my hideaway in Topanga. But I hadn't seen him in over a week.

It took twenty minutes to hike the half-mile up to the dead end where Jay's car was usually parked on a slope above the house. But his car was gone. In its place was an old black and white school bus with a large storage rack on top, secured with rope and covered with an embroidered psychedelic canvas tarp. From a distance, and because of the angle as I approached the slope, the bus looked like the head of a minstrel wearing a top hat. When I turned off onto the dirt driveway and started down the gully which plunges into the oak grove, I spotted a dim light in the living room window. By then it was downright cold, so I jogged down the hill, hopped on the porch and knocked on the door. A can of paint sat in one corner of the porch with a brush lying on top of it; Jay had intended to paint the trim around the windows of the house, but apparently had not gotten around to it. The house was small, made of weathered pine, and painted white. It was old and run-down, but it had a woodsy charm. The fireplace was spewing smoke and I was eager to get warm. I was ready to knock again when the door opened.

Two naked, wispy-legged teenage girls with waist-length hair stood in the doorway, greeting me with quizzical, appraising smiles. I felt the heat from the fireplace waft across the porch and I smelled the fragrance of marijuana.

"Is Jay around?" I stammered.

"Jay doesn't live here anymore," the taller girl said; she pulled a strand of hair away from her eyes and smiled. "I'm Snake and this is Brenda…Would you like to come in?"

They asked my name and I told them as they stood aside to let me enter the house.

Brenda (Nancy Pitman) led the way. She was about five-three, and had wavy blondish hair that hung to her butt. Her body was slender and suntanned; she looked like the classic little surfer girl from Malibu, which, as it turned out, is what she was. Snake (Diane Lake) was about five-five and had a more rounded, voluptuous body; beautiful, upturned boobs and an incredible jungle of fire red-hair, so thick it seemed to coil out of her head as though charged with electricity. All but obscuring her pixie face and large fulgurous green eyes.

The living room we entered was spacious, with windows fronting on the thickest part of the oak grove. A luminous glow emanated from the fireplace and the smell of pot was intoxicating. Ten or twelve people, all but three of whom were girls, sat on the floor around a knee-high wooden table, the top of which was covered with a red embroidered cloth. There were three or four candles on the table and two bowls filled with candy bars. About half the girls were naked; none of the guys were, though the one at the head of the table who held the guitar was shirtless. At my feet, lying across the entrance to the room like some exotic Playboy Bunny in repose, was a pretty dark-haired girl who was subsequently introduced to me as Sadie (Susan Atkins).

"This is Paul," Brenda announced in a husky voice, a childlike voice which seemed compatible with her rosy, cherub face; she addressed the guy at the head of the table, the shirtless one who held the guitar and who smiled warmly, raising his hand in a gesture of welcome.

"I'm Charlie," he said. "Won't you stay and make music with us?"

Daddy's Little Girl

It's one year ago TODAY that Col. Paul J Tate died.

I spoke with my Texas sources and confirmed that Mr. Tate has still not had a proper burial.

It is believed that the remains are still somewhere in the home of his daughter Debra Tate.

Perhaps she takes him out at night and gloats.... "I couldn't be a movie star daddy, but I'd even sue you to control Sharon's likeness. Anything to make you like me the best."

I don't know what she is doing with his remains and neither does the rest of his family.

Debra, you've had him to yourself for a year. Can't you just let the man rest in piece?

Mission Statement

The Purpose of the Blog-

- To get to the truths of the Tate-LaBianca Case
- To provide you with accurate research and positive actions in order to uncover said truths. Other boards will link. We do the heavy lifting.
- To find out why the public was lied to and what can still be done about it- if anything
- To question everything, including me. No one is automatically correct- ESPECIALLY Vincent T. BUGliosi
- To be uncensored
- To soar while others choose to crawl

Please- if you like what we are doing here the past ten months (shit does time fly!) tell a friend.

My hope would be to turn this place into Nellie's old place, without profiting from death, religious self-righteousness and child molesting.

Thanks for your support.

Bruce Davis, Model Citizen

We've been talking about Bruce's surrendering in the comments.

On the hilarious Manson2Jesus site Brucie claims relatives convinced him to surrender.

Uh Huh.

Bug says Charlie made him surrender.

I love the internet.
No one can lie to the Col anymore. I think the footage speaks for itself.

Courtesy of the Col, enjoy BRUCE DAVIS SURRENDERS TO LAPD.

Whatever Happened to Carl Stubbs????

The book 5 TO DIE by Jerry LeBlanc and Ivor Davis is now pretty obscure. A supermarket quickie, it suffers by the fact that historians came after and uncovered better information. It does have VERY good photos however. It benefits from proximity to the crime- they were able to interview many of the important players.

Here's page 238 referring to Patricia Krenwinkel. HE refers to her dad Joseph Krenwinkel.

His next contact with her was across a narrow wooden table in Lancaster, California, jail where she was being held on suspicion of murder.

The details of the case were shrouded in mystery and the local Sheriff's department is saying nothing, which in itself is some indication that this is almost certainly connected with the Tate and La Bianca investigation. All they will say is that she was detained in Lancaster and was part of an investigation into the death of an old man who had befriended some hippies.

There is one little known brutal murder in that area which to all outward appearances remains unsolved. The details of the killing are similar to some facts that have emerged about the Hinman, Tate and La Bianca killings.

Carl Stubbs in his sixties was a retired spiritualist and author-a very religious man, he loved nature and people and lived quietly at Olancha just south of Lone Pine in Inyo County near the turnoff for Death Valley.

His neighbors knew they were always welcome to visit him at home. "In fact," said one, "he never closed his door. He befriended everyone and would offer hospitality to all comers."

The woman who runs the local filling station was accustomed to bringing Carl his mail every day and she looked forward to her daily visits and short chats with him.

One morning arriving as usual she was surprised to find his front door closed.

"I was surprised too," she said, "because there was a blue station wagon with Michigan plates." She knocked on the door and the old man opened it just a little.

"He said he couldn't invite me in because he had relatives visiting from Chicago," she recalled, "But that seemed funny to me because that wasn't Carl's way and I knew he didn't have any relatives."

She also remembers that she looked into the room and saw two girls and two men, "hippie types," standing there. "And the girls kept looking over, sort of behind the door, as if there was somebody else standing there."

Carl's friend left and went back to her gas station. Business was brisk that morning but at the back of her mind was a nagging worry, something had not seemed right up there and she thought Carl was trying to tell her something. About an hour later she and her husband went back up to the cottage and found the old man lying badly beaten in a pool of blood, half way out of the house onto the porch.

They took him to Lone Pine hospital where he managed to speak to police before he died. But the details have never been released by the Sheriff's Department and nothing has appeared about the murder in the papers.

Lancaster Sheriffs said little about the alleged crime on which they are holding Patricia Krenwinkel to her father, but they released her to his custody and she drove back with him to Inglewood.

"Well," he turned angrily to his daughter. "What the hell is all this about?"

But the girl was silent and remained so for most of the journey home.

"Her reaction was completely unemotional," recalls Krenwinkel. "I don't think we spoke 20 words by the time we hit the San Diego freeway."

Back in Inglewood, Patricia seemed to pick up the threads of her old life again, staying at home or visiting old friends. Then she asked to be allowed to go home to visit her mother.

"I bought her a plane ticket to Alabama," Krenwinkel said, "and she left.

Two days later his ex-wfie called to say the police had arrested their daughter

So I have tried for years unsuccessfully. Who is Carl Stubbs and what does he have to do with TLB?
Anyone know anything?

Bruce Davis' Magical Gut

I LOVE the Manson2Jesus site -it is funnier than the freaking Colbert Report.


*******************************
Manson and one of the girls met me at Los Angeles International.

"Get out -- This is trouble!" My gut warned me when I first saw them. I ignored the warning and returned to the old movie ranch, the point of my previous departure.

*****************************************

A few weeks later, I drove three others to the home of Gary Hinman. He was a former Family acquaintance they intended to rob. They would not believe Gary's plea that he had no money and the robbery turned into a murder. When I heard of Gary's death, my gut warned, "Get Out!" Again, I ignored it. I was not present at the time of the murder; however, having driven the car and later being in the house, I was implicated. Later, I was present at the murder of Donald Shea. This time, to ensure my involvement, Manson insisted I make a cut on Donald's dead body. I was afraid to refuse and made a shallow three inch cut on his shoulder. Soon after, I was indicted for conspiracy to commit murder and became a fugitive.

****************************************************

Sucks to be Bruce. You have a magical gut and you just don't listen. Good thing you didn't actually do anything wrong Bruce. Just so misunderstood.

Bruce, does your gut tell you to leave that pesky soap on the bathroom floor?

Listen to your gut kids!

Ruth Ann Moorehouse Mania

Now some fool on Turner's board is going to try to convince everyone that they are Ruth Ann's offspring raised genetically in a hut or something. It's always got to be Ouisch because she was the youngest, the cutest, the wildest in the sac. Nelson had his imposter who was actually another board moderator Clark Ronson. There is that Raven clod. I remember Vincent Gallo, he of the ginormous penis in BROWN BUNNY once claimed Ruth Ann called him personally to be Charlie in an upcoming film.

Except.

NONE of them are Ruth Ann. Hell there was even some kid who got publicity claiming to be Ruth and Watkin's son.

I feel all biblical and doubting Thomas-like, but unless I can put my hand in the X in her forward she isn't Ruth Ann Moorehouse.

YES- the Col remains on Turner's board. Turner is in Bluefield West Virginia. I am preparing a case for his server so he can explain why they should allow him to promote a convicted mass killer. The guy is such an ass it really is funny to watch him dance like a windup monkey.

In other news- Rabbitt, a convicted pedophile, is now a member of the KTS group while the Col still is not permitted. I wonder how the douche known as OOgler will take his ramblings?

Carry on.

Required Reading for the Official TLB Murders Blog

We are getting inundated with new readers recently and are gonna start a big push for new readers soon. You'll tell two friends and so on and so on. So it is best to finally get this out of the way.

If you are going to understand most of the things we talk about here, you should have read the following books at least twice.

Now, the following books are actually full of a lot of shit. But they are the CORE reading for anyone interested in TLB. If you don't understand everything in these books, you cannot follow a lot of the questions that will come up.

The first two of these books are available online if you look sometimes for $2.00. That is what thet are worth. Any used bookstore should have them. Or www.ebay.com . Or www.bookfinder.com.

HELTER SKELTER by Vincent Bugliosi is a very good nonfiction novel about the case, Sold millions of copies. It is a novel in the same way that IN COLD BLOOD is a novel. The book is SOLELY Bug's point of view. Any facts that don't fit, he ignores or even twists and bends. People who worked with him are run over. It is all to the glory of the BUG. But it is a compulsive read and will make you familiar with a lot of the facts of the case too.

THE FAMILY by Ed Sanders is a messy collection of "facts" hastily assembled. There is the 1972 version, the 1989 update and the 2002 tome. The first two are fine, and really cheap. The 2002 one costs more but that is the one I use. Many factual things here but narrative style is akin to a three year old. Very hard to follow. Also, morons like Larry Melton were used as a source, so a lot of bullshit here, like Family splatter films and stuff.

MY LIFE WITH CHARLES MANSON by Paul Watkins. A compelling read by a ghost writer of the day to to day on the ranch from Little Paul's perspective. Hard to find book. Paul has a untrustworthy point of view. He worshipped Charlie, betrayed the Family, then tried to take it over again. But the books FEEL real.

It is hereafter assumed that all readers have read these books. Twice. Because without reading them how can you come with the Col and question things?

Nam Ryenge Ho Part FIVE

So let's finish this study shall we?

7- Mission goes horribly awry. Gary tied up and beaten. Charlie called. 8- THIS IS THE POINT WE NEED TO SPEND TIME ON, CLASS- Charlie shows up and makes shit worse, lopping his sword at Gary's face.

Okay now, if Charlie sent you, then indeed you need to call him when the money isn't flowing. But of course, Charlie didn't send you to KILL the guy. Just to get his money. Maybe he expected a contribution, lol. Maybe he expected you to rough him up. Who knows.

But it doesn't go as expected. What does? And you have to call the older, supposedly wiser, Charlie. Charlie grabs some heavy artillery, and the near psychopathic Bruce Davis, and heads over to Topanga. (This easily took an hour or more, kids. Would have loved to hear the discussion in the meantime)

Girls are probably wandering vacantly, okay. But Bobby is obviously hoping the big man is gonna sort this shit out for him.

By ALL accounts, Charlie marches in and NOT BY ACCIDENT takes a sword and lops off the side of Hinman's face. Almost the whole ear.

Okay kids, WTF? Pretend to be Bobby. You were sent to get money for one of two reasons. Doesn't matter. What the hell is Errol Flynn doing coming out here making shit worse? And worse still, he now tells you to handle it? And leaves?

We are obviously missing a piece here by anyone's logic.

- You don't call Charlie unless you expect him to help.
- Then he doesn't help he worsens everything and tells you to handle it.

BTW, Charlie does not tell Bobby as I understand it to kill Gary at all at this point. Depending on who you believe, he does after a later phone call.

So- WHY DID BOBBY BOTHER CALLING CHARLIE?


[The Col is back from the frozen North. For good. As a disabarred attorney I might be needed later this year elsewhere. But no more freezing. Thanks to everyone for the support. And those of you in the comments- if I have to regulate or track you down then I will. I will not have regular smart people like Heaven or Agnostic Monk run down by people who are too pussied to deal with logic and reason. You don't like Salem, then skip her posts like I do. If you want to attack join Turner. I hear he has ten readers and two brains between them. Behave and we can all learn from one another, y'hear.]

STONE COLD SILENCE- BROKEN!!!!

Rudi Altobelli IS still alive. Heaven asked me to find out several weeks ago.

This led to my first chat with Rudi in three years.

This led to me encouraging him to set the record straight before dying.

This led to me making calls to my ABC news pals. A producer lady friend over there did the first Snyder interview with Charlie and the Manson Women special..

This led to Rudi doing his first interview EVER.

Will there be a bombshell? Set your TIVO for FRIDAY NIGHT May 5, 2006 ABC 20/20.

This is gonna be amazing, me hopes.


( I should be back from the frozen North next week- at last.)

(Zero etc. was just one troll. He was sent by a jealous Turner. We tracked him and exposed him to his annoyed wife. He's gone. Play well people!)

Submission is a Gift, Give it to Your Brother

Does ANYONE really believe that Dennis Wilson tried to pay Charlie Manson for two songs that the Beach Boys recorded with some motorcycles? I mean the Beach Boys were huge, with managers and what have you. They'd want everything in writing, no?

Does ANYONE believe that Dennis didn't know more than he admitted, all the way to the grave? I mean the guy WAS FRIENDS with Charlie and Melcher was his contact.

Does ANYONE believe that the Bug really didn't think he knew more? I mean, Dennis once called Charlie the Wizard and they lived at his house with all the girls.

Sure, Dennis broke it off with Charlie.

But I always wondered what more he knew.

Mark Turner's Minions- Reprise

Again, I put shit like this on the Blog because the Blog is a RECORD of what goes on. A RECORD of the search for truth.

The goal is that one day the Blog Highlights will comprise a book that finally exposes the TLB Truths.

One person who does not respect the truth is Mark Turner. He just BANNED me from his message board in the midst of a very intelligent discussion about Mary Brunner's immunity. INDEED a very valuable legal document that I linked to for him he deleted.

He doesn't like anybody smarter than him. Which includes most people. And Mongoloids.

Here's a series of unsolicited emails I received from one of his minions today. Notice the lack of education and crude cro-magnon forehead.

I think I'll organize a letter campaign to Mark's new server. Let them know about all the copyrighted articles and photos on there. Plus all you have to do to most cowardly servers is cough "Charles Manson" and they run...

Anyway, here's Keith from Florida. (link to public site Zabasearch removed at his request, in the hopes that he and the rest of the minions knock this shit off.)

Col Scott,

I like your blog but wish you would not support
the killers so much.  You
seem to like to attack Debra Tate and Labianca's
nephew and then you support
Bobby.   I just don't get it.  I also don't like
you doing a war of words
with Mark Turner or anyone for that matter.  Why
is it that you dissect and
microscope every word that someone says AND
always have to get the last
friggin word in?!?!?   Life is more important
than being addicted to the
internet and blogs and the Manson case.  You
are the Worlds Foremost
Authority on the case.  Happy now?!?!  Now get
out in the sun more often and
stop living a virtual life.  Hope you wake up
one day and truly realize that
you are a wacko with no life.

Keith
Fort Lauderdale, Florida

Col Scott,

I hope you saw my post at Mark's board before
he deleted it.  And I hope you
were not referring to me when you said two
idiots mocked you.   Did you ever
think that maybe you are the King of all
Idiots?  Need a classic example?
You posted at Mark's new board asking what
you did wrong and asking him to
explain so that you could learn.
I believe your words posted at Mark's
board were "how am I suppose to learn
if you don't tell me".  Now before you
dissect my words and launch into your
usual war of words and usual habit of
having to correct everything and proving
your right and everyone else is
wrong.....is there no wonder why Mark can't
stand you.  Considering you
mouthed off about Mark helping Dennis Rice
with a website....and further
more.....made is sound like Mark owes
everyone an explanation of why he was
assisting Dennis.  And you claimed Mark
is playing both sides of the
case....and that you believe Dennis owes
the World an explanation of why he
allowed his kids to have access to the
sex, drugs, orgies, etc. at Spahn.
Then you turn around and wonder aloud
why Mark bans you.  Your NOT stupid
Ron.  OR ARE YOU?!?!?   Why can't you
just put two and two together and say
to yourself "gee...Dennis was a young
and stupid drugged up loser when he
had his kids at Spahn" and now 36 years
later......maybe just maybe he
changed a bit.  Nooooooooo.  That
just can't happen.  Not in Ron's World.

Keith

Repeat after me
STUPIDITY CAN BE CURED

1- Mark thinks my name is DON not
Ron you dope.
2- Yes I was referring to you you
dope.
3- Mark has his terms of service.
If you violate them he should do anything
he wants.  I didn't and he still deleted me.
I was thus showing everyone
that he is a censor.
4- The word is "You're" as in "You and
Are" like "You're a dope"  You misuse
it three times.
5-  There is NO evidence that Dennis
has changed, and Child abuse is NEVER
okay.  Only a dope would think so.

Like you.

Thanks Keith Trainor - but why list
yourself as Ft Lauderdale- it's really
Pompano Beach on 21st street right, dope?
Fort Lauderdale, Florida

No I do not live on 21st and I do not
live in Pompano.   The city of Coral
Springs is incorrectly listed as Pompano
with the Postal Service and Coral
Springs has been petitioning the Postal
Service to make the correction.  But
of course you knew that.   Because you
absolutely know everything there is
and absolutely have to have the last
word in don't you?!?!?  I also want you
to know that I am NOT the same keith
that posts in your blog.  BUT.....I do
agree with that keith who so elegantly
put in your place.  I sent the first
e-mail to you as a way of showing support
for Mark.  I agree with the keith
at your blog.  In my opinion, you should
apologize to Mark.  He has been
nothing but a gentleman.  You don't see
that, can't see that, and never will
see that.  Below you called me a "dope"
not once but FIVE times !!!   Did I
ever use any derogatory word with you ever?
NO...I did NOT.  And that is
the point the other Keith is trying
to convey to you.

ColScott,

You attack Mark and Dennis yet you
defend a murderer (Bobby B.) ???

You say Dennis has not changed...yet
you allow yourself to believe that a
murderer like Bobby B. has changed.

If Dennis was your classic pedophile
who hunts for children to sexually
abuse them then I would agree...he
more than likely has not changed.   But
Dennis joined a fucked up group for
the sex, drugs and the don't want to get
a real job mentality that was commmon
with the so called Manson Family.   I
believe he very well could have
changed.  Maybe not...but maybe so.   You
defend Bobby B. and support his release.
Often stating that continually
keeping Bobby B. incarcerated is
breaking the law.  I am sure you are right
about this.

Bobby breaks the law.   The Government
breaks the law.    Hmmm....Both sides
break the law.

I have read in your blog where you
state that if the Government can break
the law in regards to Bobby then it
can happen to ALL of us.   

Perhaps we ALL don't need to worry
about it if we refrain from killing.
Perhaps if Bobby did that he wouldn't
be in the position he is in now.

Why do you defend Bobby?  Why do you
like him so much?   Is it because he
befriends you?  If Tex befriended you
would you support him too?   Why do
you like Bobby?  Is it because of his
looks, talent, intelligence,
remorse....AND he takes the time to
befriend ColScott?   Do you feel special
because you are close to him and thus
close to someone so connected to this
case? 

Keith
Fort Lauderdale

Oh.....short Geography lesson for you:
Pompano (not where I live and have
never lived).  I guess you being annoyed
at being called the wrong name like
Don or Ron......is like you accusing me
of living in a city I don't live in
and have never lived in.  You say I live
on 21st in Pompano.  No I don't and
never have.  You say that Pompano is not
Fort Lauderdale...you are wrong
about this.  You may have visited South
Florida but obviously you have never
spent more than 2 days down here or you
would know that Pompano, Margate,
Coral Springs, Tamarac, are all
considered suburbs of the Fort Lauderdale
AREA.  I also choose to say I am from
Fort Lauderdale because most people
don't recognize the suburb I live in
(Coral Springs).   Oh...BEFORE you go
nuts searching the internet to prove
me wrong.....Don't go by what you come
up with on the internet as to what
towns Fort Lauderdale contains.  If you
lived here you would understand what I mean.

YES......I am a pussy....pussy eater.....
and if you are a Star Wars fan
(Chewie Bacca).   I met Peter Mayhews
(sp?) a few years ago at an autograph
convention...also saw the guy who played
Boba Fett and the kid who played
the young Anakin.

Just to simmer things down a bit.
I started this war of words and really
didn't mean to get on your shitlist.
I did not alert Hotmail or Blogger.  I
posted that I did but I was just joking.
Sorry for the bad joke.  I thought
it would scare you but it must be hard
to scare a Colonel.  I just wanted to
get a rise out of you.  I DO go to your
blog.  I do like some of it and I
have learned quite a bit about the Manson
case from your Blog.  You were
correct in pointing out that my original
e-mail to you was weird since I
started out complementing you and then
from their attacked you.  I wish I
had worded that e-mail and all my e-mails
and posts differently.   I want to
call a truce.  I don't dislike you and
I hope you don't dislike me.   You
are probably pissed at me for the attack
back and forth and the posts at
Charliemanson.net but I am hoping we can
let that be water under the bridge.

Yours Truly,

Keith "Dope" Trainor


Is there any hope left for the Bush USA?

Nam Ryenge Ho Part FOUR

So where were we before the fools from Turner's board wasted everyone's time.... oh yes...

6- Bobby tells Charlie because the Bikers threaten the ranch. Charlie sends Bobby, Sadie and Mary to get the money. 6b- alt version which I doubt- Gary owes Ranch money, has inherited some, Charlie sends kids to get the money by theft.

The 6b version is out there in some of the literature. Bobby himself denies it. It doesn't make sense that they were sent to STEAL money- the group was not about theft it was about perceived power. Let's dismiss this now.

6a has some problems.

1- WHY tell Charlie when all he is gonna do is kick your ass?
2- Did the Bikers threaten the Ranch? And with what, a whupping? I mean the bikers were screwing the girls. Why threaten? Did Bobby really think they were going to kill him?
3- Repeating from before- Mary lived there and Gary knows her- fine, send her. Bobby sold the bad drugs, send him. But WHY Sadie and not Bruce or Little Paul?
4- For that matter, why didn't Charlie and Bobby just go themselves? Charlie ends up there anyway.

The further we poke, the more questions we have.

Condos in Heaven

This woman rented Sharon and Roman 10050 and was seen in several documentaries about the case. She also scared small children with her surgeried face.

Celeb Real Estate Agent Elaine Young Dies

By LINDA DEUTSCH
The Associated Press
Friday, April 21, 2006; 2:49 AM

LOS ANGELES -- Elaine Young, the real estate agent who bought and sold so many properties to and from the stars that she became a celebrity herself, has died. She was 71.

Young died Thursday at Cedars Sinai Medical Center after a months-long battle with cancer, according to her daughter, Jennifer Young, and her brother, Tony Garber.

Glamorous and ebullient, Young lived a life that rivaled those of her star clients, who included Elvis Presley, Elizabeth Taylor, Warren Beatty, Burt Reynolds, Frank Sinatra, Barbra Streisand and Stevie Wonder, among others.

She married six times, once to film star Gig Young, who was the father of her daughter. She appeared on television, was profiled in major publications and drove a Rolls-Royce convertible with the license plate "Elaine 7."

It was in the Rolls that she shuttled her clients to some of the most pricey properties in Southern California.

"She was a gallant soul. I knew her from way back because Gig Young was a good friend of mine," author Dominick Dunne told The Associated Press. "I always think of her sitting in the Polo Lounge of the Beverly Hills Hotel, holding court, saying hello to people, being funny."

One of her sales was a $25 million estate belonging to the Sultan of Brunei. Her more recent listings included the multimillion-dollar estate of rock legend Smokey Robinson.

Fame and Hollywood's glitzy lifestyle had its dark side, however.

In the 1970s, Young did what many Hollywood stars were doing: She sought to improve her appearance through cosmetic surgery. It was the beginning of a horror story that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

As she told it many times in interviews warning others about the pitfalls of such operations, she was maimed by a doctor who injected loose silicone into her face to accentuate her cheekbones. After a time, the silicone began to migrate, causing eye problems and disfigurement.

She underwent 46 surgeries to try to remove the material and correct the problem. The doctor, meanwhile, committed suicide and Young never received any compensation for the medical disaster.

In the end, the disease that claimed her life began with a cancerous tumor in the part of her face that had endured so many surgeries.

Young's soft voice and gentle manner belied her flossy image, and famous clients were drawn to her. She was one of them, born and raised in the realm of Hollywood fantasy.

Her father, David S. Garber, was a manager at Universal Studios and she grew up with the movie business. She graduated from North Hollywood High School and attended the University of California at Los Angeles.

When she began selling wildly expensive Southern California palaces, she acknowledged that even bringing herself to tell clients the price was daunting.

She listed her first million-dollar home in the 1970s and recalled showing it to a potential buyer who pointed out that it had only one bathroom.

"I got up all my courage and I said, `Well, what do you expect for a million dollars?'" Young recalled.

That story and many others became the basis for her book, "A Million Dollars Down," an often humorous memoir of her adventures with the rich and famous.

The secret of her success, she said, was in keeping tabs on the domestic lives of celebrities. If she heard that a famous couple was divorcing or marrying, she knew that a home sale or purchase was likely, and she would contact them.

A slogan on her Web site read: "If you want to live in heaven, acquire a home or condo from Elaine Young."

Everyone's Ruthie !!!!

Not all of the idiots
in the comments
section come
from Mark Turner's world. 
There is another Yahoo
 group
that has been run by
this Raven chick for
 a year.
There they celebrate the
pedophile WHITE RABBITT
who was never part of the 
Manson group at any point.

They wonder if I am
there,
but like I say,
The Col
in his quest for truth is 
EVERYWHERE.

Anyway, there is this chick
there
willowbefree@yahoo.com.
She says she is Ruth 
Moorehouse. She is not.  

Ruth is the most often impersonated
person in the case on the web.
There was a false Ruth on the
very first board
and Nellie also had his own
Ruth faker.

None of them are Ruth.

Because I am.

(okay I'm not really)

Here's the lame posting
from charlesmansonandthefamily.




Hope this email finds everyone well.
I wanted to publicly thank
everyone for being so kind during this
time in my life.  I
appreciate  good people, good friends and
good times!  I  enjoy this
forum.  I  feel that I can truly express
myself here without
judgment.  Some people may feel otherwise
towards me but, that's
okay.  That's why God gave us all a mind,
I suppose.  I am well,
tired but well.  If there is anything that
I can do for anyone,
please contact me.  I wish to thank you
for NOT telling the internet
world about who  I am.  That means a lot
to me. Trust is an issue
that has taken me a very long time to
conquer! Believe it or not, I
have been  betrayed several times by
people whom I thought were  my
closest friends.  When you're a former
family member, if you disagree
with the ones who still worship Manson,
they black ball you.  That is
wrong because I have my own mind now.
I do not, in any way hate or
wish malice upon Manson. I wish him
set free if anything but, I don't
consider myself a Manson follower!
And, he was good to me, a father
figure, unlike my own dad.  Again,
we are talking about years and
years ago, there are things that I
cannot even recall.  I can barely
remember George Spahn.  He was a
sweet old man but, GOD he was
ancient to me at the time.  I could
not tell my conversations with
him, what they consisted of, yet,
I remember chatting with him on
occassion.

Okay, well, stay well.


I love you,
Ruth Ann M

JOE has some questions

Buried among the comments by the Turner retards, a man called JOE asks three questions worthy of spotlighting.

1.Manson had an arsenal of weapons including rifles and a machine gun. So, if he really wanted a massacre -- forget about WHO he sent to the Tate house for a minute -- WHY did he send them with the rickitiest, lamest gun in the cache?
2. The LaBianca's phone lines weren't cut, Leno was tied at the wrists, and Rosemary wasn't even tied up, so why the hell didn't they immidiately call the cops when Manson left them alone?
3. If Ronnie Howard, Virginia Graham and Danny DeCarlo could testify on the stand about what the murderers told them about their crimes, why would -- as Bug wrote in HS -- Joe Sage's testimony about Linda's confession in New Mexico
be hearsay???

MY ANSWERS

1- One of the KEY questions for real scholars of the case. UNLESS it was all supposed to be a threat and it went wrong. Otherwise, who the hell sends teenage girls anyway?
2- No idea. Unless they knew Charlie. OR knew who sent Charlie.
3- The Hearsay exception to the rules of evidence only applies to first generation testimony. So Danny lying about what Charlie told him Charlie supposedly did- Okay. Brooks testifying about what Charlie said about himself- okay. The Whores testifying what Susan said she did- fine. And whatever Linda told Joe SHE did is okay too. But remember, BUG wants Charlie. Whatever Joe SAYS Linda SAID Charlie DID- not eligible. Your answers?

Nam Ryenge Ho Part THREE

So we got the next section to deal with and an evil message board adminisrator mustn't put us off our work.

4- Bobby bought some mescaline for the Straight Satans off Gary in order to raise some money for the group's band, The Family Jam.
5- The Satans claim it is bad drugs. They do not return it but demand their money back.
First, the books call the burn MDA and other books call it MDMA. One of these is the formula for ecstasy but it doesn't seem to have been that. Bobby claims it was mescaline. That makes sense since you can synthesize it in your bathtub. Not that I ever have mind you. Ahem. So Bobby is trying to impress the bikers, maybe for status maybe for reasons we will never know. Fine. The bikers give him $2,000, significant money in 1969. He goes to Gary and buys the pills. Bobby gives to Bikers. Bikers say it is shit and want their money back But do not return the drugs. This seems to be the story. But now the questions....
1- Were the bikers serious or just messing with Bummer Bob?
2- What ELSE did they say to Bobby that would make him so desperate that he ends up killing Gary?
3- Charlie okays Mary because she lived with Gary for a while. But why Sadie? Especially when she seems so unreliable.
4- What would have happened if Bobby told the bikers to get bent?
5- Did Charlie really think Gary would refund drugs that no longer existed?

The whole thing sounds dumb, no?

Mark Turner's Minions- The Final Battle

Don, SEE HERE HE THINKS HE KNOWS WHO I AM. MORE IGNORANCE. I posted this thread BEFORE you started that other thread. This thread made it clear I was going to delete all of the argumentative type material.BY THAT YOU MEAN ALL MATERIALS THAT PROVED YOU AN IGNORANT LIAR. You have chosen to start three new threads since then.EACH THREAD WAS STARTED AFTER YOU CENSORED THE OTHER ONE EVEN THOUGH NO TERMS OF SERVICE WERE VIOLATED. When I posted that all of that non-Manson material was going to be cleaned up, I expected everybody to have the sense to not start new threads. RIGHT. AND YOUR MINIONS AREN'T POSTING THREATS THAT ARE BEING REPORTED TO THE LOCAL AUTHORITIES. UH HUH.

It's painfully obvious, Don,WEIRD HOW HE KEEPS CALLING ME THIS NAME. you have no desire to do anything but cause trouble.I THINK PEOPLE WHO KNOW HOW TO READ (NOT MARK) AND WHO READ THIS BLOG KNOW I SEEK THE TRUTH. While I'm in the process of trying to halt this useless and boring battle, you simply choose to keep pushing the matter. I KEEP STICKING TO THE TRUTH. YOU DO NOT LIKE IT. FAIR ENOUGH.

As for my post about Dennis' booklet, my statement was intended to mean that I wasn't going to re-read through every bit of it just to answer your questions. I found the relevant material about him initially going to the Family and I found the section about his children today.YOU MEAN THE SECTION WHERE HE DESCRIBES HIS CHILDREN. I HAVE ASKED WHAT DO HIS CHILDREN HAVE TO SAY. DID THEY ENJOY CLEM'S FINGERS? ARE THEY OVER IT? There are a lot of pages inbetween that I'm not going to re-read. I suspect you already have a copy, anyway.

I hope nobody is fooled by you pretending to be concerned about his children. FOOLED HOW? I AM CONCERNED ABOUT YOU PROMOTING A FALSE LOSER LIKE DENNIS RICE. I MENTION WHAT HE DID TO HIS KIDS BECAUSE ABUSING CHILDREN IS UNFORGIVEABLE. THIS IS WHY NELLIE HAD TO BE STOPPED TOO.They're adults now. THEREFORE WHAT HE ALLOWED TO HAPPEN TO THEM AS KIDS IS OKAY? SHAME ON YOU SIR. SHAME ON YOU.How he's worked things out with them is between them. DON'T YOU MEAN BETWEEN THEM AND JESUS? BUT IT IS BETWEEN THEM AND US TOO SINCE HE NOW PUBLICLY SEEKS OUR MONEY.I haven't asked him and have no intention of doing so. BECAUSE YOU CLEARLY DON'T CARE ABOUT WHO YOU BACK.I've donated a bit of webspace and bandwidth to his site. I've been putting the pages together whenever time permits. I'm not getting anything for this except insults from you. So much for trying to help spread a bit of information related to the Manson Familiy... THIS GUY IS NOT REALLY MANSON FAMILY.

As for me "summoning" you, it's time for you to be honest. It's YOU, Don,THERE IS THAT PESKY NAME AGAIN- HE REALLY DOESN'T KNOW THAT MUCH, DO YOU MARK? that chose to attack me over the vest and Dennis' website. Didn't you want a response?OKAY, FOOL, LET'S TRY AGAIN. THE ATTACK WAS THAT THE VEST WAS NOT MADE BY THE GIRLS. IT WASN'T. YOU HAVE NOT RESPONDED TO THAT. THE ATTACK WAS THAT DENNIS RICE IS NOT A REAL CHRISTIAN. YOU HAVEN'T RESPONDED TO THAT. ALL YOU'VE DONE IS ATTACK ME PERSONALLY, AS IF YOU COULD ATTACK THE COL WHEN THE COL IS JUST JUSTICE PERSONIFIED. RESPONSE, SURE. WHERE IS IT? I suspect not. It's much like when you went on and on about Beausoleil being rejected for parole due to erotic art when you knew that wasn't the case.HUH? BUT IT WAS THE CASE. CAN YOU NOT READ ANYTHING THAT WAS POSTED BEFORE YOU. You went on and on about the wonderful Beausoleil vest without bothering to say "by the way, I own it so I might not be too objective when comparing it to Rice's."I NEVER SAID IT WAS WONDERFUL. YOU OBVIOUSLY HAVE A BAD READING DISORDER. I SAID IT WAS REAL. THAT'S ALL. IT ISN'T EVEN FINISHED. BUT SURE, I BELIEVE THE GIRLS FINISHED DENNIS' AND NOT BOBBY'S. SURE THEY DID. YOU WANT FOTOS? GO CHECK THE CD COVER OF THE FAMILY JAM YOU ASS. Post some photos and let's see the thing, if it's supposedly so much better. Share something people actually care about rather than gossip about Debra Tate.WOW. JUST WOW. THE FACT THAT DEBRA TATE WAS DISINHERITED BY HER FATHER AND YET CLAIMS TO OWN HER SISTER'S IMAGE IS MAJOR NEWS, LOSER. SORRY YOU CAN ONLY REPRINT CHRISTIAN LIES.

As for registering only to preserve your screen name, you were the second person to register under that name.WAS THE FIRST ONE YOU? WHAT HAPPENED? I DON'T SEE THIS PERSON ON YOUR MEMBERSHIP LIST, LIAR. Plus, it's long been common knowledge that you weren't the first to use the name on boards. So much for treating the name as sacred material. AGAIN LIES- I ORIGINATED THE NAME. I HAVE HAD THE COLSCOTT HOTMAIL ACCOUNT AS PROOF SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THE RONSON BOARD. THERE HAS ONLY BEEN ONE TRUE COL. THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE.

As for me taking the previous board down without warning, that is false. Once the host complained about the server load, I posted what was going on. I think I even sent a mass e-mail to members warning them of the situation. Then I had to disable it to see if it made any difference to the server load. Meanwhile, you chose to blog a lie that I was probably shut down for not paying the bills. I had already made it very clear what was going on. You chose to ignore that and slander me and continue to perpetuate the lie. NOT SURE WHAT THE SLANDER IS. WHAT'S WORSE- NOT PAYING THE BILLS OR NOT BEING ABLE TO TELL THE TRUTH. BY THE WAY, FOOL, SLANDER IS SPOKEN, NOT WRITTEN.

If this board is destined to fail it's because people like Don are intent on making it miserable for everybody concerned. IT IS DESTINED TO FAIL BECAUSE YOU WANT TO HAVE ONLY YOUR SIDE. IT IS DESTINED TO FAIL BECAUSE YOU CENSOR. IT IS DESTINED TO FAIL BECAUSE YOU ARE A TOOL.

Now, enough of this ignorance. Let's move on to other topics. NAH, I DIDN'T WANT A WAR WITH YOUR SITE AS MY FIRST POST SAID. BUT IT LOOKS LIKE IT IS WAR.

HEY MARK, HAVE A NICE DAY. HOPE YOUR ISP HAS A STRONG LEGAL TEAM. I KNOW I DO.

Mark Turner's Minions- Mach 3

amazing

Yesterday's thread at Mark Turner's board
merely asking why I was deleted
has been deleted



Look, a pussy up above..

Mark Turner's Minions- Mach 2

So in reply to the VERY long posting (see below) I made at the Mark Turner board, two idiots mocked me.

I said nothing. Mock away.

Then Mark deleted the post.

I never wrote ANYTHING that could be construed as a terms of service violation.

He deleted me anyway.

YOU NEED TO KNOW THIS BEFORE YOU SHARE INFORMATION WITH MARK TURNER.

That is all.

No I am not surprised. Sad. Not surprised.

(Mark Turner is NOT the pussy on the left of the photo.)

Mark Turner's Minions

The Col is finishing up his stint in the frozen North and really doesn't need a war with Mark Turner. I read the comments from the long weekend and Dr. Dodoparti and others are all getting harassed by Salem, who Mark says is Wheat. I remember Wheat from previous boards. Wheat is incoherent and a nut. If Salem is Wheat, congrats on getting much better- you at least make sense. But guys, guess what? I am not running a message board. Join KTS if you want to. Or join Mark, until he wipes his out again. The comments are what they are- I don't believe most of them and if you want to get bent out of shape by them, well get a grip. It is just a message board it is not real life. As far as Mark is concerned, my issues ranged before from him banning me from his board. I do not ban anyone - including Salem. Because we have a right to speak, if not to be listened to. I got over that because I LIKE HIS SITE- it is an exceptionally well done site. I would be proud to have a site like that and he should be too. As far as the truth goes, I think he is a bit all over the place. You cannot eat cake and then put it back on the shelf. Here is a post from his board with my comments---

I rarely ever look at that blog but have been hearing stories. This means he looks at it only once a week to see if there is anything good on it- just like I do with his site.

Col Scott got mad when I put the Dennis Rice vest on my website. No, please be truthful- Col Scott stated in detail (the post is still there) that the vest is NOT authentic- that there were only TWO authentic vests- one is gone and I own the other HALF FINISHED one.

We all know Col Scott is tight with Bobby Beausoleil and he talks about how wonderful Beausoleil's vest is. It is wonderful enough to me- people who I have shown it to do not think it is all that- and no where have I on this blog ever said it was the bee's knees or anything. Mark be truthful please!

If I were guessing, Col Scott owns that vest Why guess I stated I own it?
and that's why he got mad when another Family vest came on the market. Why else would he be so angry about it? Mark please show me my anger. Why would I be angry about a fraudulent vest? Can you not be truthful?

Do I expect it to sell? Not at the current price. But I THOUGHT everybody would be happy to see very nice, close-up photos of a Family vest. Yes, if it were actually authentic.
Heck, very few people could afford such an item but we can all entertain ourselves with the photos! Why not just be happy to see it and quit looking for ulterior motives? But you DO have an ulterior motive- to make money for a false Christian ministry.

Now, where do the accusations of Rice being a child molester come from? I don't know. I never said (can you read Mark? Or do you just make things up?) he was a molester. I said he was responsible for his children being molested. Just as bad to me,

I've never heard or seen such a thing that I can remember. If it's out there, feel free to refresh my memory. I suspect this rumor See, the truth is your friend. Dennis kids were at the Ranch and sexually abused while there. No rumors.
came from the story that Andy just posted about above. Bill Nelson's second book had a supposed interview with an unnamed Family member. She said she left the group after she saw Manson molest one of Rice's children. As Andy posted, Rice didn't come along until after the arrests were announced. Manson was already in jail by that time. So does that mean it was Clem then? Why were children there at all?

So basically, why is Col Scott so upset with Dennis Rice? Because he is a fraud who is selling a fraudulent vest and who claims he loves Christ but never loved his own children. Good reasons I think.

Many people question the Christian conversion of Tex, Susan and Bruce. The main reason I might not question it is because they've stuck with it for so long. So have Falwell and Robertson. But they are full of shit too.

If they were making the claim just to win parole, I suspect they'd have given up that scheme many years ago. But, back to Dennis. He was released from prison but returned a time or two. Then he had his religious experience and has stayed out of prison ever since. He didn't abandon it once he was paroled. He's stuck with it nearly 30 years and has made it his life's work. It should be obvious to anybody that he didn't just convert to win parole. So, why be so upset with him? I still think it's purely over the vest. No you don't. The vest is just further lies. Why not interview one of his kids, Mark? Ask for access and see what you learn. WHY NOT?

When such photos (like the vest) come my way in the future, would everybody prefer that I just keep them secret? Or would you prefer that I share them? I seriously thought most people would like to see them. What a crock of shit Mark. You didn't do it to share. GO LOOK AT YOUR SITE. You wanted to sell it to some sade lunatic with too much cash.

Same with the new nude photo of Sandy and Lyn. And same with the Sandy/Lyn knives. Would everybody prefer that I just keep such things to myself or would you like me to share pictures or aim you at the eBay auctions? The photo sold but I had no deal with the owner. I didn't make a cent from it. Who is complaining about those? They were real. Thanks for the tip I enjoyed them.

As for Wheat, she has long plauged any message board she can get on. As I previously stated, I banned her for posting false stories. Even Col Scott has made many jokes about her in the past. My only interest in Wheat is in keeping her off of this message board. I've never seen her driver's license. I've never posted it. What would I have to gain from that? The only photo I've ever seen of her is a weird one that she used to post in her "signature" on Frontera's board. She took a photo of 3 or 4 Manson girls and superimposed her face on one of their bodies. Christ I recall that photo. Wheat is crazy. She is probably better off not on your board. I know you are.

Wheat also posted that she heard I'd been sued for posting a photo of the Willett murder house. Totally untrue. Heck, you can confirm the photo is still online:

http://charliemanson.com/places/720-west-flora.htm

The owner initially complained about the photo because she thought it was a photo that she'd taken. After one e-mail, she totally changed her objections. We've exchanged a great many e-mails. She sent me a large envelope of additional photos of the house (front, back, sides and inside). She even sent me the sketch that her appraiser did. Plus, she made a very nice cash donation to the website. Sweet. Do her kids still love her? Just joshing, Mark.

As for the donations, I put that link on the site when I was laid off from work. In exchange I sent people a very nice CD of scans of over 1000 newspaper articles. For people who gave a little extra, I usually included a DVD of a Manson interview. There were never all that many donations and eventually they pretty much died off. I found a new job and took the donation link off the website. Hell I wish I had that CD- is it too late to donate?
Okay, this rambled on for far too long!


Mark- your site rules, but when you lie you are not fooling ANYONE, okay? Don't twist my words and you and I will be fine. I love the site and I enjoy you for the most part. But the truth is what it is. People can sputter, but facts are facts. Happy All That.

The Perils of the Frozen North

The Col admits his mistakes.

In the comments of the Round Up post, the Col commented that Bugliosi had perjured himself under oath about bringing the newspaper headline MANSON GUILTY NIXON DECLARES into the courtroom.
As the lovely Heaven pointed out, this is not true.
Bugliosi perjured himself about being the source of Bill Farr's story. That is why he went out of his way to say "I only know I didn't" in the Helter Skelter novel. Because he knew people knew he did.
I did not have my Stovitz interview notes with me and just went from memory. I apologize for the error.

Nam Ryenge Ho Part TWO

Talking Points for today.

1- The Family knew Gary. Mary had stayed with him at his house. They, and other youth, stayed at Gary's place.
2- Gary, if not gay, was at least bisexual and used his music teaching business as a cover to provide drugs and meet boys.
3- Bobby was bisexual and considered Gary a friend. Bobby and some of the girls would get drugs off Gary.

Okay. If we accept (as I do) that this is all true, then we have something VERY different from TLB going on. Because Gary KNEW his killers. Worse yet, he considered Bobby and Mary friends- they had been to his house many times. Mary stayed there some nights while pregnant when she couldn't make it back to Spahn. I have zero evidence that Bobby ever slept with Gary. But they both swung that way. Remember, though no one has ever commented on it, as the story goes, Gary speaks to Charlie when he comes in the door as if Charlie is gonna stop Bobby and the girls from being mean to him. Nobody notes that if true, GARY KNEW CHARLIE. He also knew Bruce Davis, who came with Charlie. (another reason why the new HS film is such crap- almost NONE of these people were shown at Hinman). It's almost as if... dare I say it... Gary Allen Hinman was a part of the Family.

I mean, if BOBBY was in the Family, and he only came by occasionally to screw girls and make music, then GARY was too, right? I mean he only came to the ranch a few times. But he knew everybody and his house was a crah pad. If you think about it, it makes sense.

The question the BUG could not afford to look at, which we have to, is , "Why are we all acting like this one drug deal was the ONLY drug deal?"

Let's say that Gary Hinman was part of the Family. Let's say that he regularly provided them with drugs to deal (unless Bobby out of a clear blue sky guessed Gary had drugs). Let's say that the Straight Satan burn was only the last straw in shit that had gone down between him and them.

Because if you are gonna go threaten somebody you don't take two little girls, no matter how psychotic.

The muscle came in AFTERWARDS and left them to clean up after.

What else could Gary have done?
Why was Bobby sent? (Mary had lived there, Sadie was crazy)
Why did Gary resist?

Remember, throughout this, Gary promised repeatedly that he would go to the police. He obviously did not think he would be killed.

Nam Ryenge Ho Part ONE

There is a maxim in jurisprudence- "Don't blame the victim" but when you stop for a second the maxim isn't true. Legally at least. Often times it IS the fault of the victim. Look at cases of spousal abuse, scumbag husbands killed by their wives. That could get a killer a free pass. Or look at the Robert Blake case. A huge part of the defense was that "the bitch deserved it." I'm just saying it happens all the time, and the saying is inaccurate. Like "A fool and their money are soon parted." I know a lot of rich fools.

Anyways....

I still spend a lot of time looking at what happened to Gary Hinman. Yes, because I consider Bobby a friend. But also because that's where it all started to go wrong. No Hinman slaying could have, arguably, led to no TLB.

Let's outline it for discussion and maybe carry it forward on three or four posts.

1- The Family knew Gary. Mary had stayed with him at his house. They, and other youth, stayed at Gary's place.
2- Gary, if not gay, was at least bisexual and used his music teaching business as a cover to provide drugs and meet boys.
3- Bobby was bisexual and considered Gary a friend. Bobby and some of the girls would get drugs off Gary.
4- Bobby bought some mescaline for the Straight Satans off Gary in order to raise some money for the group's band, The Family Jam.
5- The Satans claim it is bad drugs. They do not return it but demand their money back.
6- Bobby tells Charlie because the Bikers threaten the ranch. Charlie send Bobby, Sadie and Mary to get the money.
6b- alt version which I doubt- Gary owes Ranch money, has inherited some, Charlie sends kids to get the money by theft.
7- Mission goes horribly awry. Gary tied up and beaten. Charlie called.
8- THIS IS THE POINT WE NEED TO SPEND TIME ON, CLASS- Charlie shows up and makes shit worse, lopping his sword at Gary's face.
9- Charlie leaves- Bobby/Sadie/Mary continue to threaten and abuse to get the money. Gary promised to go to the police.
10 - Gary mounts a last ditch effort for freedom. Bobby stabs. Girls clean up. Writing on walls.

It's a pretty good summary if I do say so myself.

So first off, was there a drug burn?
I believe so.
Were the drugs bad?
Maybe. Mescaline goes off easily.
Did Gary deserve to die?
Of course not.

But I do believe, in this sole case, that Charlie pushed or ordered Bobby to go over there.
I do believe that Charlie made things go much worse than they had to by cutting the guy's face.
I do believe that Charlie pushed for the killing when Bobby called him after the sword attack.

Seems to me Charlie WANTED Gary dead.

I wonder why?

Doggies at the big ROUND-UP

ITEM- The Col will be finishing his special mission in the frozen North in just about one month.

ITEM- The Col will hopefully take a well deserved vacation for a week after that.

ITEM- Then at long last we will resume regularly scheduled blogging.

We've got more exposes of Debra Tate.
We've got some interviews you will not believe.
We've got some very tetchy people getting very upset.

ITEM- The Col actually WON (as if) that $5,000 ebay pile of papers from the disgruntled New York writer. He had to get one of his NYPD friends to ship the entire pile out of there. Nine huge boxes await me at home. Cannot wait to see what the hell it is that I bought.

ITEM- Mark Turner has opened his board again HERE. The Col will not likely visit often since it will likely be shut down again. But if you go, say a prayer first. For Dennis Rice's children.

ITEM- KTS has asked us to pull the link to their site. I will do anything those ladies ask.

ITEM- Question Everything!

New Flash- Dateline- California- Cult Leader Released

I'm sure we all were awakened today to the NewsFlashes of Charlie Manson's release in the evening hours by Governor Terminator. Wow. I guess he did it in the evening hours when he thought the public and news media would not noticed. I didn't know Maria Shriver was a relative of Manson's- how did that go undetected all these years. Yes, I too am shocked, but not for the reason as some of you....it is simply I never thought the guy would ever walk free again.

I predict it will be like the Kenendy Assassination, or Challenger or 9/11- everyone will remember where they were when they heard Manson was out again.

Apparently he plans to relocate to Hill End, California- is that near where Sandy lives?

What will happen now that Sandy and the others got their fondest wish, to see Charlie again? Will they help him change his Depends?

Anyway, too much too soon for the Col. All I do know is, now that he is out, if there is any sparks of brain left, maybe we can learn some answers.

Good luck Mr. Manson, Good Luck.