Jake welcomed the change and leaned forward, all ears.
“Priest is way up on the church roof fixing a leak. Suddenly he starts to slip toward the edge. It’s a long way down. Sure death if he goes over the edge. He hollers out to God in a panic. ‘Oh Lord, save me and I’ll never touch the widow Jones again!’ Just as he’s sliding close to the edge, his belt catches on a nail and he stops. Everything’s alright.”
Charlie paused for effect.
“So, what happened?” Jake asked.
“The priest hollers out to God again: ‘Never mind, Lord! Don’t send no help. This nail saved me.’”
Hiram howled with a blast that sounded like a saxophone. Jake released his pain with unrestrained, cleansing laughter from deep inside.
Hiram stood from his bed, breaking the spell.
“I’ve got to go, guys. I’ve got a truck to finish, and then I’ll be out late on cleanup work at the vocational building. Get myself a little spending money.”
“What about dinner?” Jake asked.
“Not tonight. I’m so full of chips and cookies, I may not eat for a week.”
Hiram donned his jacket and opened the door. He gave Jake and Charlie a long look. “See you later. Brothers.”
With Hiram gone, Charlie and Jake talked a few more minutes before it grew time to go to dinner.
“Help me out, Jake,” Charlie said. “What’s this Arab coliseum we’re supposed to go to tomorrow? Al-Ak-Barbaric or whatever it’s called.”
“The name is Ak-Sar-Ben,” Jake corrected him.
“Yeah, that’s it. Tell me about it.”
“Know what it means?” Jake asked.
“How could I? I ain’t no fuckin’ Arab.”
“Ak-Sar-Ben is Nebraska spelled backwards.” Jake pulled a Boys Town newspaper from under the bed, opened it to the last page and handed it to Charlie. “The Knights of Ak-Sar-Ben are a bunch of rich guys who wanted to turn Nebraska around. Get it? They turned the name Nebraska around.” Jake smiled broadly.
Charlie shook his head with mock disgust, but he grinned in spite of himself. He examined the newspaper.
“What’s this rag? A Boys Town newspaper?”
“Yeah, we have a great newspaper. Huge printing press. Lots of guys work there. They send papers all over the country.” Jake was proud.
Charlie looked at the advertisement that covered half a page.
“Ice Capades? What the hell is that, and why do they have a picture of Dopey, for Chrissakes.”
“Dopey is a Walt Disney character from Snow White,” Jake explained.
“Got that part. Saw the movie in jail. What is Ice Capades?”
“Oh. Ice Capades is a show where the actors and acrobats are on ice skates and in beautiful costumes. They had a movie about Ice Capades once.”
“Didn’t see that one. So, here’s the big question. Will there be any city girls there?”
“Sure. Ice Capades sells out everywhere it goes. There’ll be lots of people there. Girls too.”
“I guess that settles it,” Charlie said happily. “I’m going to the Ice Capades tomorrow!”
Chapter 15
Jake’s Anticipation - Douglas County Health Center, 2012
Jake Bowden’s favorite nurse gave him a look-over as she whisked into the room with an armload of toiletries and towels.
“Good morning, Mr. Bowden, It’s time for your sponge bath.”
She caught his vacant stare at the wall across the room.
“You look good today, Mr. Bowden. I see someone elevated your bed higher than usual. Are you feeling better?”
“I feel much better, thank you, Louise.”
She moved deftly to the opposite side of the bed to check various pouches and tubes.
“Your blinds are open this morning. I like the sunshine in your room.”
“I asked the night nurse to open them. It’s helped me see things more clearly, I think.”
She removed a blanket from the bed and folded it.
“And you sound good too. What has you so chipper today?”
“I’ve been thinking about my daughter. By the time I finished breakfast, I decided I was going to call her.”
“I’m happy for you, Mr. Bowden. She’s a lucky girl if you ask me.”
He smiled.
“Soon as you get me cleaned up and shaved, I’m calling her, so do a good job. Maybe she’ll come by for a visit when she gets off work.”
“We’ll get you all spiffed up.”
Twenty minutes later Jake still looked pitiful despite the fresh hospital gown and clean-shaven face. But the tragedy was gone from his eyes, for they now gleamed with expectation.
Since making his decision to confess everything to Maggie, it was as if he was suddenly liberated from a dark room and granted a clear view of his world.
He considered carefully what he would tell her. Pieces of life scenes played in his mind. And when the bad scenes surged from his memory, they were like attacking wolves, glistening fangs bared, ready to tear life apart again. Even then he felt freed and exhilarated.
That simple two-column article on page three of the Midlands Section had rekindled old emotions from the days when Charlie had influenced him so.
Jake looked out the window and saw things not noticed in years—tall, puffy clouds forming into shapes: an elephant, a puppy standing on its hind legs, a smiling clown. He studied a beautiful butterfly that landed on his window screen, and it was new to him.
He noticed the sun had changed position in the sky. A realization struck him that he had not seen a sunset in years. He looked forward to evening and watching the sun disappear behind the Omaha neighborhoods.
But first, there was Maggie. He would call her now.
Would she be able to accept the truth?
She would have to.
Chapter 16
The Dining Hall - Boys Town, April 1949
Dinner at Boys Town was always an orchestrated event executed with the controlled efficiency that only nuns can offer. Long tables and bench seats gave the hall the capacity to feed three hundred boys at the same time, provided they were properly wedged in. In those early days, the serving line was made from tables placed end to end so that student cooks faced their peers to serve steaming food onto heavy ceramic plates.
The boys ate at assigned tables according to age groups, but because so many athletes and choir members were out of town, the nuns relaxed the rules to allow diners to eat at any table they chose.
On Charlie’s first night in Boys Town, the lines were short and moving well when he and Jake arrived for dinner. The dining hall buzzed with the noise of conversation.
“Come on, Charlie. I’ll show you how it’s done here. Tonight we can have as much food as we want. You just have to make sure you eat it all.”
“At least it’s not covered with flies like in the Indy jail.”
Jake grabbed a plate and entered the serving line. Charlie followed close behind, his eyes studying the people and layout.
Almost immediately, Charlie spotted an attractive nun, sitting midway down the right side of the room. She was in a cluster of eight nuns who were busy talking and enjoying their food.
Hubba hubba. Jake was right. For a nun, she’s a hot mama.
He saw Link at the far end of the room, bent over a full plate, shoveling in forkful after forkful, talking to cronies, oblivious to the bits of food spraying across his table as he spoke.
For a boy who lived according to the laws of urban jungles, the threats that Link posed were intolerable. Charlie had but one decision: he would have to take on Link.
But first he would talk.
Father Gallagher sat at a table near the serving line eating with a group of first graders and their dorm leader. The younger boys beamed with pride that the priest had chosen to dine with them.
Gallagher had purposely chosen his seat at the head of a table to command a view of the entire room. He watched as Charlie and Jake came in the door and
tracked their progress across the room. He took a moment to help a first grader cut up his Friday fish, but observed as Charlie waited patiently for the food line to move ahead.
There is something lurking inside this young man—something behind those eyes that can’t be seen, yet it reveals itself in glimpses.
He had a worrisome thought about how Charles would get along at the Ice Capades show.
Is this boy as unpredictable as the cop suggested?
Gallagher felt himself frowning. Every muscle was tight.
Relax. Eat your meal. Enjoy these first graders.
Inevitably, eye contact passed between Charlie and Gallagher. It was something the priest had subconsciously hoped for.
Charlie’s face lighted up as if he had just spotted a long-lost friend, and for a moment his smile and wink made the priest feel on top of the world.
The priest returned his attention to his young companions.
What do I care that he acknowledged me? He’s a student like all others.
With his plate heaped with macaroni and fish sticks, Charlie followed Jake to a table.
Passing the priest, Charlie slowed and engaged him.
“Hi, Father. Are you all right?” Charlie asked. “You look a little preoccupied. Anything I can do to help?”
“I’m fine, Charles,” the priest answered. “How is your first day going?”
“Absolutely great, Father. Thank you for everything.”
“Enjoy your meal, Charles. I look forward to seeing you in the morning.”
Jake and Charlie moved on.
“This is our normal table,” Jake said, but as he sat, he saw he was talking to air.
Across the aisle, Charlie approached the Jesuit nuns and stood boldly facing them.
“Good evening, sisters. I came by to introduce myself. My name is Charlie Manson. I’ve heard about the good work you do for the boys. I’m new here, but I wanted to let you know I appreciate everything you do.”
The nuns were speechless, yet the glowing smile and soothing words melted them. It was an audacious move for a fourteen year old new arrival.
The oldest of them, Sister Mary Agatha, whom he had met in the school office, returned his warmth. “I hope you’re getting settled in, Charles,” she said.
And then he turned his sunshine directly to Sister Mary Klara. He held out his hand to shake hers. “I have heard nice things about you and the class you teach. I’m pleased to meet you, Sister.”
She shook his hand. It was warm and radiated a sensation as potent as electricity. The feeling made her blush slightly.
To her surprise, Charlie held her hand longer than she expected and turned it over in his to read the lines on her palm as if searching for secrets. She tactfully removed her hand from his grasp.
In her flustered state, Sister Mary Klara responded subconsciously with a glance toward Father Gallagher. The split-second contact with him gave her the assurance she needed.
Charlie saw it all: the insignificant head tilt, the twitch of an eyelid, the repositioned feet, and the way her facial muscles relaxed almost imperceptibly with Gallagher’s unspoken assurance.
By fourteen years, Charlie had an uncanny ability to decipher the unspoken vocabulary of body language. His skills were as honed as those of the best analysts, analogous perhaps to experienced jet liner pilots who can stand before a hundred gauges and know precisely what button to press for a desired state. In a single glance to Father Gallagher, Charlie witnessed a sexual flare that others failed to suspect or comprehend.
When Sister Klara turned her body slightly and returned her eyes to Charlie, she communicated again.
She’s back in control. He gave her confidence.
She joked about the food piled on his plate.
“Either you haven’t eaten for three weeks or you love macaroni and fish sticks,” she said with a smile.
“I guess it’s a little of both,” he smiled back.
“My advice, Charles Manson, is to be careful about overdoing it. Gluttony is a sin. Your body is a temple.”
“Huh?”
“Our bodies belong to God. He entrusted us with their care. We must be careful what we put in the Lord’s temples.”
“I’ve never thought of my body as a temple. I’ll think about that, Sister. All I know is that on my first night here, I’m so hungry that I’m tempted to change my temple into one of God’s food warehouses.”
They both laughed. Charlie returned to Jake and the task of conquering the macaroni mountain.
Jake was incredulous. “What were you doing with the nuns?”
“I was saying hello,” Charlie said. He began excavating with a serving spoon.
“You had them all smiling. What did you say?”
“Nothing really. I just introduced myself.”
They sat at a long table beneath a large portrait of Father Edward Flanagan, Boys Town’s architect and spiritual leader, who now presided over three meals daily.
Charlie looked into Father Flanagan’s eyes. They were eyes that gazed back with a look somewhere between sternness and compassion.
In his day, Flanagan understood the feelings that boys felt at Boys Town. He knew how hard it was to adjust from a life of freedom to one of disciplined education. Flanagan also knew the primeval brutal ways boys often resolved their differences. He could be unyielding when necessary. He had at times traveled across the country to appeal for boys who had, in the heat of a moment, killed, or who might have assaulted.
Jake saw Charlie fixed on the portrait. “That’s Father Flanagan,” he said. “He died last May. He was in Germany on a mission for President Truman and died from a heart attack.”
“So, that’s what he looked like, huh?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah,” Jake answered. “He’s buried in the baptistery at the chapel. Well, not actually buried I guess. His coffin is in there until they build a permanent tomb for him.”
“Sorry I missed meeting him. They showed the movie Boys Town at the Gibault School For Boys a couple of years ago. I liked Flanagan. I liked the Mickey Rooney tough guy too.”
Jake brightened. “A couple of the older guys still talk about meeting Mickey Rooney while he was here filming. Spencer Tracy too. He played Father Flanagan.”
Charlie was still staring at the paining. “He looks strict. Nothing like the nice guy Tracy played in the movie.”
Jake half-agreed. “He was actually pretty nice, at least most of the time, especially when he wasn’t fighting the town or the courts.”
“I’ll bet he has that sour look ‘cause he’s mad about having full-time dining hall duty. He’d rather be hanging out in the library or the capitol or somewhere.”
Jake didn’t say anything.
Charlie raised his glass of milk. “Here’s a double toast to Father Flanagan and Father Gallagher. I think I’m going to like it here.”
They tapped glasses lightly and returned their attention to the meal.
“This is the best food I’ve eaten since Mama used to cook for me. Trust me, Jake, avoid the jail food in Indy. They force guys from the drunk tank to help in the kitchen.”
Jake laughed.
Charlie tore through half his plate and then stood. He rewarded himself with a full arms-extended stretch and looked down at Jake.
“I’ll be back in a minute. I need to stretch my legs.”
He saw Father Gallagher watching and gave him a quick wave before starting for the rear of the room where Link was almost finished eating.
Charlie’s timing was perfect. Link was alone while his cronies raided the desserts. Link felt a presence as Charlie sat on the bench next to him. Charlie pressed in close, hip to hip.
Link, who seemed huge and threatening to most, looked down on the smiling Charlie.
“What do you want, queer?”
Still smiling, Charlie spoke softly, “That kid you were mugging on the path today is a nice guy. If you ever do anything like that again, ever, I’ll slice off your fucking
nose while you’re asleep. Understand that, big boy?”
Charlie’s face became an intense, wild stare.
“You’re not going to do anything, you little peckerwood,” Link sputtered.
Under the table, Manson pulled out a pocket knife, opened it and held it tight against Link’s shirt so that Link felt the point prick him through the fabric. It was nothing special, just a jackknife with a four inch blade, but it gave Link a jolt.
“One move and Man’s Son will cut open your belly and spill your guts right here in the dining hall,” Charlie hissed.
Link believed him and remained motionless. He managed a half-hearted come-back.
“Man’s Son? Ha. You’ve changed Manson to Man’s Son? That’s a bad joke, punk. You’re nothing but a two-bit jail whore.”
Charlie held fast. “You mock what you don’t understand. You ignore Man’s Son, but in doing so anger God. If God directs me to punish the heathen in you, it can end here.”
Link mustered a smirk of defiance, but there was concern in his eyes. His cronies could see the changes in Link’s face, but were clueless about the conversation—or the knife.
“God doesn’t really care. He just corrects his mistakes through people like me. This will be your choice, by your actions or your words. You’ve felt how sharp the knife is. Go ahead and keep it in remembrance of me.”
Charlie deftly slid away laying the knife on Link’s leg as he stood. He smiled again as he waved good-bye to Link.
Link’s reaction surfaced instantly when he slammed a fist onto the table hard enough to bounce English peas off his plate.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Link whispered from gritted teeth. “You’re dead, pal.”
“Careful now, don’t cut your finger.”
Link folded the knife and put it in his pocket, again confident that he held the advantage.
“I can see you don’t believe,” Charlie said. “I’ll have to perform a miracle on you, I guess.”
“You’re all mouth, you fuckin’ pipsqueak.”
“Man’s Son shall soon harvest the grapes of wrath.”
Link stood and stormed, enraged, from cafeteria.
Before He Became a Monster: A Story Charles Manson's Time at Father Flannigan's Boystown Page 9