Before He Became a Monster: A Story Charles Manson's Time at Father Flannigan's Boystown

by Lawson McDowell

  He considered saying something, but chose instead to support without challenging her.

  “Good idea,” he said. “I’ll take care of things at home. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll keep my cell phone with me.”

  He refrained from saying what he wanted to say: “Be nice to him, Maggie. Give the guy a break. He’s old and probably dying, and you haven’t treated him very well for the last ten years.”

  “I shouldn’t be long. Dad and I stopped enjoying each other’s company a long time ago. We have our own separate lives – lives that neither of us want to share.”

  Jim managed a kind smile and kissed her cheek. Walking her to the back door, he held his arm tight around her.

  “Be careful,” he said. “And let me know what’s going on.”

  As Maggie emerged onto the truck dock, the stifling Omaha summer air almost took her breath away. Her head renewed its pounding as her mind raced with questions about her father’s health … and about what had caused them to drift apart.

  The time between visits with Jake had lengthened over the years until they saw each other only every year at Thanksgiving. A mailed box of candy sufficed for Christmas.

  Now, although she lived only twelve miles away, father and daughter shared little in common other than a poverty-stricken past.

  She thought about how Jake had survived working full time at a downtown newsstand and taking fill-in jobs when he could.

  The more she thought about him, the more she admitted that Jake hadn’t been a bad father, maybe not good, but definitely not bad. He provided as best he could, cared as he knew to care. No, he wasn’t a bad father, though a stern disciplinarian. He had pushed religion until it became overpowering. By the time graduation came, Maggie could hardly wait to leave home.

  Freedom from the boundaries of a stiff upbringing was wonderful. She had reveled in her independence and, after meeting Jim Bryant, never looked back. The responsibilities that came with business ownership and affluence drove her even further from her North Omaha trailer house roots.

  And now Jake was sick, seriously so from the sound of his voice. She grimaced wondering why all the mystery and drama, then realized she probably never would have gone to see him without it. Jake’s weak voice had somehow unalterably drawn her back to her father.

  Twenty-five minutes later she pulled into a parking spot at Douglas County Health Center and went inside.

  The new entrance to Boys Town was completed in 1948 with the addition of a fifty foot tall pylon. (Photo taken 2012)

  Rt. Reverend Monsignor Father Edward J. Flanagan (1886-1948). Father Flanagan died on May 15, 1948, from a heart attack in Berlin, Germany while on a mission for President Truman. Truman traveled to Omaha to place flowers on his casket. In 2012, the Omaha Archdiocese began a canonization process to declare the beloved priest’s sainthood. (Public domain photo)

  The 1938 film Boys Town drew national attention to Father Flanagan’s home. The following year, Spencer Tracy won the 1939 Academy Awards Oscar for Best Actor for his portrayal of Flanagan. Tracy donated his Oscar to Boys Town where it is displayed in the Hall of History. Boys Town also won the Oscar for Best Original Story. (Photo taken 2012)

  Mickey Rooney helped immortalize Father Flanagan in the Hollywood film Boys Town. Rooney remained a life-long supporter of Boys Town. (Photo taken 2012)

  Young Charles Manson in 1949 at the time of his assignment to Boys Town. (Photo - courtesy of the Indianapolis Star)

  A 1949 newspaper photograph shows Judge Joseph O. Hoffman shaking hands with Charles Manson after ruling to send him to Boys Town. (Photo - courtesy of the Indianapolis Star)

  In discussions with the author, Manson recalled the use of gargoyles on Boys Town buildings. “It’s a part of controlling people with fear,” he observed. (Photo taken 2012)

  Boys Town’s old gymnasium is protected by fierce creatures that ward off evil spirits. (Photo taken 2012)

  The dining hall of the 1940’s now serves as Boys Town’s museum. (Photo taken 2012)

  The Dowd Chapel at Boys town was dedicated in1941 and consecrated in 1967. Father Flanagan’s crypt, seen to the right, was dedicated in 1977 with Mass celebrated by Monsignor Giovanni Chelli, a Vatican observer at the United Nations. After the dedication, Pope Paul VI offered an Apostolic Blessing and good wishes for the crypt through the Church’s U. N. delegate, His Excellency Most Reverend John Jadot. (Photo taken 2012)

  The Confessional booths in the Dowd Chapel at Boys Town. (Photo taken 2012)

  The great lawn in front of the Dowd Chapel at Boys Town. The view is to the south up the hill from Dodge Road near the location of the story’s cottonwood grove. (Photo taken 2012)

  Interior view of the Dowd Chapel at Boys Town. The Sacristy, not visible, is to the right of the altar. (Photo taken in 2012)

  One of Father Flanagan’s cottages, completed after his death. His vision was to transform dormitory living into a family environment. Initially, undisciplined boys proved “destructive beyond imagination.” One director referred to the area as the “Gaga Strip.” (Public domain photo. Photographer unknown).

  Part of the Boys Town farm complex west of the main campus. Here students still work and learn agricultural skills. (Photo taken 2012)

  A view of the Boys Town barns. (Photo taken 2012)

  The eastern half of Boys Town about 1952 at the conclusion of the construction era. The view looks south from Dodge Street. Note the huge field house and open fields. The dormitories, chapel, dining hall, and farm building s, not shown, are located to the right, off photo. From the Savage collection. Owned by the Omaha World -Herald and housed at the Durham Museum, Omaha, Nebraska.

  The entrance to Boys Town, 1952, showing the tall pylon marker and Father Flanagan’s new cottages. In the foreground is Highway 6, Dodge Street. The large building near the entrance is the Administration and Welfare Building that also housed the print shop. From the Savage Collection. Owned by the Omaha World-Herald and housed at the Durham Museum. Omaha, Nebraska

  The Skip Palrang Field House at Boys Town. “What a building. Darned thing was bigger than a blimp hangar,” said Manson. (Photo taken 2012)

  Father Flanagan’s residence. It is shown before his move the new rectory attached to the chapel. After its expansion in 1941, the residence housed up to thirty nuns. It is now a national landmark. (Public domain photo. Photographer unknown)

  The Ak-Sar-Ben Coliseum in Omaha where the Ice Capades performed Snow White in 1949. The coliseum served Omaha from 1920 until 2002. (Photo - courtesy of The Douglas County Historical Society Collections)

  The Douglas County Health Center in Omaha, Nebraska. (Photo take in 2012)

  Chapter 23

  The Devil Car - Chicago, 1949

  Lucius “Spider” Webb walked into Chicago’s 87th Street pool hall looking drawn and anxious. Reporting to the boss on a Wednesday had an ominous feel.

  Spider was of medium height and complexion, a mulatto who felt neither black nor white but insecure in the company of either race. Because his last name was Webb, he had been known as “Spider” since he was old enough to crawl.

  He was long and lean, resembling a snake more than a spider, with threatening eyes to match his angular, gaunt features. He wore his hair pulled straight back, plastered to his skull, and tied in a short pony tail. The overall look was unusual for 1949 and gave Spider a sinister appearance.

  Three pool players at the rear table, the only three people in the hall, looked up to examine the newcomer. They recognized Spider as one of their own and returned to their game, paying no further attention to him.

  Spider made his way past the pool tables. He nodded nervously at the three. He knew they were armed, as bodyguards should be. Reaching the back of the building, he tapped lightly on an office door. Jumpier than normal, he looked around, eyes searching for danger, a lifelong habit regardless of circumstances. He saw nothing unusual but did not relax.

  On the streets, Spider was a cold, merciless
agent for his boss, Boog Franks. Skilled with knife and adequate with pistol, Spider often went out of his way to inflict pain when disciplining whores or collecting overdue debts. For late payers, pain was an extra penalty. When holding the upper hand, Spider was brutal and unrelenting to foes, yet when in the presence of superiority, he was insecure and meek. For this occasion, his street confidence was on the shelf.

  Boog Franks himself opened the door and invited Spider in by taking a step back and directing him toward a chair with a glance and nod.

  “I came, boss. Just like you ordered.”

  “Do you know why I called your sorry ass in here?” Boog asked.

  Boog was a large man who could have easily broken Spider in half.

  “I don’t know. I guess you need me for a special job.”

  “I do, Spider. I do. And if you do a good job, I’ll give you redemption.”

  “I don’t know what a redemption is, but you know I’ll do a good job. What have you got for me, boss?”

  “You remember that mechanic you eliminated about a year ago? Name was Hubert, I believe. Used to fix our cars.”

  “Sure I remember. I laid his ass on a slab for taking your money.”

  Boog exploded.

  “You’re a fucking mule head, Spider. I didn’t care if Hubert lived or died. What I cared about was my money. You didn’t get my money back. You fucked up the job.”

  Spider sat through the dressing down. He’d heard it before.

  “Why do you think you been working the whores and loans for a year? You been with me long enough you shoulda been a lieutenant. Are you stupid?”

  “I been working real hard to make it up to you, boss. I can do any job you want, and I’ll be good at it. Just give me the chance.”

  Boog eyed him, then spoke more calmly.

  “You’re loyal, Spider. And you got certain talents I need, so I’m gonna give you a chance to prove yourself.”

  Spider smiled, revealing a bright gold tooth.

  Boog Franks laid out the mission.

  “I’ve got a friend at police headquarters who looked at the mechanic’s murder file. The case ain’t closed yet, you know.”

  “They’ll never pin me for that job,” Spider said with a convincing tone.

  “The police interviewed Hubert’s boy. The little shit tried to finger me for the murder. The report says the boy may know something about the motive: Money. My money! The cops could never get him to say exactly what he knows or where the money is because the kid closed up on ‘em like a clam. The point is, I believe he knows where my money is.”

  “I can make him talk if I can get my hands on him,” Spider said.

  “You had your chance to make him talk, Spider. Now it’s my turn. I want you to bring him to me.”

  “You know where he is?” Spider asked.

  “I do now,” Boog said, leaning back in his chair with satisfaction. “The cops hid him in Nebraska,” he said.

  “Is that in Chicago?” Spider asked.

  Boog passed up the opportunity for derision, opting instead to move ahead.

  “No, Spider. Nebraska is a state of its own about a day’s drive away. Hiram Hubert is the kid’s name. He’s stashed at an orphanage called Boys Town.”

  Spider nodded.

  “We got a new car for you on Michigan Avenue, stole it from a doctor, so it’s nice. Won’t raise much suspicion, as long as you don’t. I want you to drive to Omaha and bring the boy back.”

  “I can do it, boss.” Spider said. “You’ll see.”

  “Shut up and listen, fool. Get on Halsted Drive, three blocks away, and go to Joliet. You’ve been there?”

  “Sure, boss,” Spider assured. “I’ve been in Joliet lots of times. My brother’s in the joint there.”

  “OK. At Joliet, take Highway 6 all the way to Omaha. It will take a whole day. Boys Town is about ten miles past Omaha, still on Highway 6.”

  “I got it, boss. No problem. I’ll bring the little prick right to you. I’ll probably have him singing about the money before we get here.”

  “No. Spider. All I want you to do is bring him here. I don’t want nothing more than a finger or two missing when you drag his ass in. Rough him up just enough to make him cooperate. I’ll take care of the serious stuff. Understand?” Boog drew his finger across his throat and smiled. Spider returned a nervous smile.

  “Sure, boss. I just bring him back. I got it.”

  Spider’s eyes glazed over for a moment, fantasizing about the challenges and rewards of Boog’s assignment.

  “Mr. Hiram Hubert is about to get a visit from the devil,” Spider said softly.

  They talked for another half hour laying out the details on how to nab Hiram at Boys Town.

  When Spider left Boog’s office, he was no longer the insecure flunky who had skulked in earlier. He felt confident and important. Walking past the three bodyguards, Spider flashed a fresh roll of money and a set of car keys.

  “You punks take care now,” he said in a lofty tone.

  The new Cadillac rolled slowly from Chicago, Spider at the wheel. It passed three street whores Spider regularly collected from. He smiled at them.

  He knew he looked good. And why not smile? His assignment was easy: Find Hiram Hubert at a place called Boys Town, beat the shit out of him, and deliver him to the feet of Boog Franks.

  “No problem,” Spider boasted to no one. The black devil from Chicago was ready to earn his redemption.

  At Joliet, Boog’s emissary turned west onto Highway 6, like a hell-coach destined to gather an innocent soul.

  The Cadillac glided past rows of tenement houses watched by little ebony-skinned boys who longed to ride in it someday, just like the big crime bosses who ruled their world.

  Almost three hundred miles later, Spider pulled off the road at Newton, Iowa into the parking lot of a small family restaurant. He stuffed a pistol under his belt and walked in.

  From the front door, Spider recognized the eye contact that told him he was not welcome. He felt their loathing. A sidelong glance that lasted a little too long, frowns, knowing glances between customers. One woman wore an expression of unadorned disgust.

  I ought to rob this fuckin’ dive and leave.

  It wasn’t so much that Spider needed money, but the need to accumulate ill-begotten wealth is a thing that becomes obsessive. Honest Chicago businessmen, often his victims, recognized that if Spider’s violence were somehow stripped away there would still be left wanton greed and evil intent.

  Too many people. Too risky for a heist. Someone might have a gun. Just eat and go. Stay with Boog’s plan.

  The large lunch crowd, maybe thirty people, would have deterred any gangster looking for a quick hit.

  Spider sat at the far end of the counter where a waitress presented a menu and a glass of water.

  “Never seen hair like that on a black guy,” she said.

  He realized she was half-flirting, but ignored it.

  “Hamburger and a soda,” he said curtly. His eyes cut right then left constantly as if looking for trouble or opportunity.

  She picked up the menu.

  “Where you from, stranger?” she pushed, trying to make conversation.

  “French fries too,” he replied. He focused on movement in the kitchen.

  For Spider, a white-owned restaurant with white clientele could easily turn into a problem.

  Twenty minutes later, he finished his hamburger. The waitress returned.

  “Want a piece of pie?”

  He gave no answer but stood and stretched unintentionally exposing the pistol under his belt.

  “How far to Omaha?”

  Her eyes widened. She blinked rapidly several times. She spoke rapidly now. “It’s about five hours west down Highway 6. You’ll go through Des Moines. Want to take care of that check right here?”

  He paid without a word and, turning to leave, flashed a wicked grin showing a prominent gold tooth.

  The waitress’ retelling of th
e event to the owner left him thankful the stranger had gone without incident.

  The Cadillac stopped for gas, or cigarettes, or whiskey in other towns along Highway 6. In Des Moines, Atlantic, and Anita, the people who saw him felt a cold nervousness. Some noticed the inconsistency of the street tough driving a new Cadillac. Those who noticed the pistol bulge grew fearful. This they all knew—the slick-haired stranger with glazed eyes radiated danger.

  Spider did not notice their apprehension, nor would he have cared. He nursed his own fears and doubts. A hundred times Spider’s mind replayed Boog’s instructions. This he knew—he had one chance to make things rights with the boss. If he failed, he would not survive the week. Screw ups were not tolerated in Boog’s gang. Spider had coldly eliminated such people himself.

  He must not fail.

  Chapter 24

  Douglas County Health Center, August 2012

  Omaha’s Douglas County Hospital was constructed in 1931 and remains in service on 42nd Street. It is an important part of the city.

  The name has changed through the years, as has its medical mission. What began as Douglas County Hospital is now the Douglas County Health Center.

  For years the hospital was renowned as one of the finest facilities in the nation, with nine mini-hospitals each with their own kitchens and facilities that could operate completely independent of the others.

  At one time, the hospital served as the region’s top trauma center. The three operating rooms stayed busy saving lives. The polio center was one of the first in the region.

  The hospital no longer offers acute medical service. The operating rooms and the emergency center are quiet.