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

by Lawson McDowell

  Boys Town’s reigning authority moved slowly around the room, searching for signs of trouble. With his hands behind his back and lips pursed with suspicion, his eyes narrowed for a confrontation. He had the look of an Inquisition priest. And what did the priest discover?

  Jake, who had stepped aside for the priest, was holding a newspaper. Hiram was studying an atlas. Charlie was sitting on the bed strumming his guitar. And next to Charlie, Diablo lay curled against his leg. Charlie raised an amused eyebrow.

  What Gallagher found was not the errant behavior he expected. The only exception to normalcy was Diablo’s presence.

  How did Diablo get in so quickly? And where’s the squirrel?

  “How are you boys tonight?” Gallagher asked, eyeing the benign articles in the trash can and on the dresser top.

  They answered in turn.

  “We’re fine, Father,” said Jake.

  “We’re winding down for lights out,” Hiram said.

  “Everything’s peachy, Padre,” said Charlie. “I’m thinking of new ways the church can save starving kids.”

  Diablo stood up on the bed and hissed viciously, causing the priest to step back.

  “Charlie, we don’t allow pets in the rooms,” Gallagher said.

  “This cat’s a trespasser, Father. I was just about to grab him by his scrawny tail and toss his rule-breakin’ butt out. But then you knocked,” Charlie answered.

  “I see,” Gallagher said, fully aware he was being given a cock-and-bull story. And then he spoke directly to Hiram. “Come see me tomorrow at ten o’clock. We’ll talk about the dining hall incident. And I’ve heard from your uncle. You’re in for a surprise.”

  “I’ll be there, Father,” Hiram answered.

  Gallagher thought he detected contriteness in Hiram’s voice. Though he noticed Hiram’s swollen backpack, the implications never struck home.

  And to Charlie, who still had Diablo at his side, Gallagher said: “You need to come by too. We have a few loose ends to tie up before we assign your schedule.”

  “Sounds like a fun time, Father.”

  Gallagher was out of steam. There was nothing unusual with the room or the boys. He retreated toward the door.

  Maybe I overreacted. How bad can it be for an orphan to befriend a stray cat? Leave while you’re ahead.

  “Well, boys, it was good to see you. Have a good evening and don’t forget your prayers.”

  Gallagher left, not fully satisfied.

  As he walked up the rectory steps, he considered the things he had seen. His curiosity soon evaporated as he noticed the simple painting on the entry wall and turned his thoughts to its creator, Sister Klara.

  Chapter 44

  Maggie Goes Home – Omaha, August, 2012

  A cracked toilet teaming with plastic flowers graced the front corner of trailer slot fifteen at the Happy Acres Ranch. This was the entrance marker to Gaston Boudreaux’s estate.

  The notion to fill his freeze-cracked toilet with red flowers had cost him over thirty-five dollars at Walmart. The end result, however, justified the investment for his lady-friends frequently commented on the beauty of his yard art.

  Maggie parked her SUV in front of Jake’s trailer and looked at her childhood neighborhood. There was little difference: no new mobile homes, no repairs to the old ones. She could see a tree stump behind Jake’s trailer where an oak once stood. She thought of tree swings, climbing on branches, and lying in its summer shade.

  Boudreaux’s toilet made her smile. The new Jacuzzi and deck connected to the decaying trailer baffled her.

  Boudreaux’s place had all the architectural charm of a pig pen with a new gate. Her father’s trailer had no charm at all.

  In the past fifteen years, Jake had taken to calling it a mobile home, but that was fiction. The best it could be called was a dilapidated 1950’s trailer house. It was a dwelling that had rested in the same spot decade after decade, never maintained except for emergency patches, normally handled with duct tape or wire.

  Jake’s eight foot wide home sat among twenty-five other derelict tin boxes. Each had its own array of hopeless shortcomings: windows covered with plywood, tar slopped over leaky sidewall seams, mildewed rooflines, peeling paint. Beneath her father’s trailer, she saw a life-long collection of pipes, boards, and odd-sized pieces of tin.

  There’s no telling what kind of wildlife lives under there. I should have brought Jim.

  What had once been someone’s dream was now a wreck. Upon Jake’s death it would be destroyed. Certainly Maggie had no need for it. In her affluent lifestyle, it would be nothing but a liability with forgettable memories.

  Maggie wasn’t sure how she felt about going into her old home.

  This is such a waste of time. He’s probably hidden away the title to the trailer and the pickup Jim and I gave him.

  She turned the key in the lock, knowing the disgust would rise in her, as it had done every day of her high school years. She had not set foot in the trailer for a decade, but she knew every inch of it. Maggie entered more resentful than doubting and found what she expected: worn carpets, furniture from the 1950’s and 60’s, nothing shiny or new.

  The old smells hit her, causing a rush of emotion, but she had never had second thoughts about leaving, and still didn’t.

  The home was the same, as if she had been transported back in time. She caught a hint of Old Spice, the same after-shave lotion he must still use to mask cigarette smoke. She detected a familiar mildew odor seeping in from under the flooring. She had never loved this place, and despite everything her father had done for her, she had run the first moment she could.

  She looked at the broken television in its wooden cabinet sitting beside the threadbare sofa. The best the television could do these days was hold magazines and an unused ceramic ash tray. A memory flashed to her from 1961 when she was twelve. She remembered the exhilaration, seeing their new black and white television delivered. It was the only television she knew until she married.

  Nothing from her past escaped her: the drum major staff with a purple tassel still displayed over the television, the 1940’s encyclopedias, already out of date when Jake bought them at a second hand store in 1963, the faded prints hanging in glassless frames.

  She carefully avoided touching anything, partly for fear of smudging her clothes, and partly from a subconscious fear she might somehow be thrown back into the poverty-stricken life she had escaped.

  He’s going to need a suit soon. Better take care of that first, then I’ll find the papers and suitcase.

  Maggie picked her way down the hall toward Jake’s room, but as she came to the first bedroom, her bedroom, she stepped inside.

  It’s so small compared to our master bedroom. It’s smaller than my laundry room.

  This was where she had lived for years. Once it had been her most special place in the world, the private chamber where she and her most precious possessions resided. Everything was still there, looking the same as when she left a lifetime ago. With new eyes, she saw it was the room of a typical teenaged girl, complete with posters of movie stars and pop musicians.

  She left her room quickly, thankful for the direction she had taken her life.

  In Jake’s bedroom, she opened the closet. There it was: a dark suit hanging just where she expected, and next to it, a white shirt dark at the collar and yellow-stained under the arms.

  The suit will do. I’ll have it cleaned tomorrow. The white shirt stays here. I’ll buy him a new one.

  She rescued the suit, found his only tie, and returned to the stacks of mail and papers on the kitchen table.

  It’s a mess, but what else could the neighbors do? Dig in, Maggie. And once you find his papers, you can find the hidden suitcase.

  She’s began sorting through the envelopes and stacked papers.

  What is this? A retirement home brochure? Well, that will never happen.

  Maggie lost herself in work, separating bills from junk mail and setting aside thre
e get well cards to deliver with the legal papers.

  Where are those legal papers?

  Behind her, the front door eased open. A man stood peering in the dim light. From the door, he scanned the living room kitchen. He saw the woman bent over the table fumbling with papers.

  Ah. Legal papers. Got ‘em. Now to straighten this mess.

  Maggie did not hear the footsteps. He was close when his deep drawling, voice gave her a start.

  “Watchu you doin’, mon cherie?”

  She screamed and spun around to face her lovable old neighbor, Gaston Boudreaux.

  “Mr. Boudreaux! How are you? You scared me.”

  “Maggie, dat’s you alright. I spied your big car outside and say to myself, ‘Now that’s either the Happy Acres looking for they rent, or little Maggie come home for a visit.’”

  She was genuinely glad to see him and gave him a hug.

  “I’m glad to see you never moved back to Louisiana. You used to threaten to leave Omaha every time I saw you.”

  “I waited too long. Now that I won my hot tub, my life is changed. I’ve decided to live it out right here.”

  “I noticed your home additions. Very impressive, Mr. Boudreaux. How did you win it?”

  “I won a contest at the beer company. They gave me the hot tub, deck, and all. How ‘bout you? You don’t come down here too often, no?”

  “I have a different life now.”

  “Jake tole me ‘bout your big house. It made me proud. It’s good to see you, Maggie, but your Papa’s not doing too good. He tole me yesterday he’s not going to be with us much longer.”

  “I was at the hospital this morning. He sent me here to retrieve a suitcase and paperwork.”

  “A suitcase? But he don’t own no suitcase.”

  “He said it’s hidden in the wall by the water heater.”

  Boudreaux’s face lit with surprise.

  “Me, I never knew that, no. Ole Jake must be pretty tricky, I guess. You want I should help you unhide it?”

  “Sure, Mr. Boudreaux. I would appreciate it. The water heater is at the end of the hall.”

  He followed her down the hallway and waited while she opened the closet door and stepped aside.

  “This is really nice. Hot water heater indoors. Mine has its own door to the outside. Mighty tough to relight in the winter.”

  “Yes, this is really elegant,” she answered with a straight face.

  Boudreaux stood in the closet door, assessing the situation.

  “I don’t see no suitcase,” he said. “Yo Papa, he got some bug poison and a can of motor oil here.”

  “Dad said there’s a sliding panel.”

  “I don’t see… wait.”

  Boudreaux’s torso disappeared into the closet.

  Maggie rolled her eyes, not at Boudreaux, but at her father’s dramatics in hiding a meaningless suitcase.

  “I got it now, mon cherie.”

  Boudreaux pulled out the suitcase and with it a strip of pink fiberglass insulation which he stuffed back into its nest.

  Boudreaux examined the small suitcase. It was hard plastic, bright yellow with a pattern of butterflies and flowers.

  “Locked tight. It has a combination lock on top. You know the numbers?”

  “No.”

  “You want I should coax it open with Jake’s hammer?”

  “No. I’ll take it to Dad. He’ll know the combination.”

  Her mission was accomplished. Within minutes, Maggie and Boudreaux had the SUV loaded. His suit hung in the back, ready for the cleaners and its inevitable use as Jake’s burial attire.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Boudreaux. I’ll be in touch with you about Dad. You’re a good friend.”

  “Au revoir, ma cherie. Tell your Papa that I’ll see him soon.”

  He stood with Chomp, who had come to investigate. They watched as Maggie drove away.

  Seeing Maggie had depressed Boudreaux. He was normally an upbeat fellow who accepted life as a gift to be enjoyed. He knew the end was near for his friend Jake. He decided that after he fed Chomp, he would take a ride to the liquor store to pick up a woman and a pint to console his sad heart.

  Chapter 45

  North Elementary School - Omaha 1957

  “Hey, driver. What time is it?”

  The city bus driver scowled and bit down on the cigar he was chewing. Despite his grouchiness, he checked his watch and grumbled a response. He never looked at the inquirer.

  “It’s three forty-five. Taking medicine, pal?”

  Jack Bowden ignored the sarcasm as a surge of anxiety came over him.

  Christ, we’re late. Maggie will worry if I’m not there.

  In heavy traffic, the bus alternately squealed to shuddering stops and then lurched ahead with a roar. From the windows, Jake Bowden saw the uncaring drivers inching along beside the bus, each with their own sufferings and trials. He resented the masses, pushing ahead, honking, cursing, and giving no quarter.

  When the bus reached his stop, Jake was standing restlessly at the door, hand gripping a handrail. He bounded down the steps and onto the sidewalk, looking not too much different than when he’d left Boys Town seven years earlier.

  He glanced toward the school expecting to see Maggie’s pigtails and bright smile bounding toward him. She was not there.

  He hurried to find her. At the corner of the school, he still did not see her.

  She’s not in the school yard. Maybe the office.

  Jake changed course to the school’s front door feeling increasingly anxious with each step. He stopped short when Maggie’s teacher appeared from the side yard.

  “Mr. Bowden, can I have a word with you, please?”

  Alarm raced through him.

  “Is Maggie alright?”

  “Maggie is fine. She’s with two classmates totally immersed in an art project for the school play.”

  Jake relaxed. At age twenty-one, it still seemed strange for people to address him as “Mr. Bowden,” especially a matronly teacher with gray hair.

  He tried to read her face.

  “What can I do for you, Mrs. Moya?” he asked.

  “Earlier today, a woman I have never seen came to the schoolyard. We had the kids on the playground. I walked to the fence to talk to her.”

  “Right off the bat, she asked about Maggie. Said she was passing through and heard that Maggie goes to school here. She wanted to know how Maggie was doing.”

  “What did the lady look like?”

  “She was very pretty, or used to be. I think she must lead a hard life. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was thin, almost emaciated.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her Maggie was a good student and doing well.”

  “You do realize who it was, don’t you, Mrs. Moya?”

  “Yes. I think it was her mother.”

  “You were supposed to call me if her mother ever came to the school. I would have liked to talk to her too.”

  “I know, Mr. Bowden, but it happened so quickly I didn’t have time.”

  “Did she talk to Maggie?”

  “No. I would never have pointed Maggie, but she spotted her and said, ‘That’s Maggie there waiting in line for the swing. Doesn’t she look so grown up now?’ But she never waved or tried to talk to her.”

  The teacher paused in thought, then added, “She came in a taxi that waited across the street for her. After she watched Maggie for several minutes, she left. I’d say the whole visit lasted less than five minutes.”

  “Maggie never knew her mother was here?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I know this caught you off guard, Mrs. Moya. Thank you for telling me about it.”

  Chapter 46

  Decision - Boys Town, April 1949

  An ominous stillness seemed to hover in the air over Boys Town.

  The moon rose, and the clock neared ten. It was time for the village to go to bed. The clouds Father Gallagher observed at sunset were closer now, not yet threat
ening the soft moonlight, but warning of trouble ahead.

  Tomorrow was Monday, another rigorous day at Boys Town that demanded well-rested minds and bodies. In the dormitories and cottages, the hall monitors made their final rounds, tapping on doors, reminding the nosiest boys that lights out was in five minutes. The rooms went dark one by one.

  Jake moved the desk lamp to the floor and turned off the ceiling light. Charlie stowed his guitar and Gene Autry pick. Diablo watched the brothers gather around the lamp.

  Hiram recalled the last time the lamp was on the floor. They had used it for the unforgettable poker game with Candy Bahr. Hiram smiled briefly at the memory and then grew serious again. He knew instinctively this would be his last night at Boys Town.

  The intensity on Charlie’s face further sobered the boys. They spoke in hushed tones.

  “I don’t have to tell you, we’re in a tough spot, guys,” Charlie began.

  They nodded.

  “About now, I should be thinking about how to get over to Candy’s house. I would be, except we’ve been dealt some bad cards. The way I see it, Hiram, you’re a goner unless we handle this right,” Charlie said bluntly.

  Hiram swallowed hard.

  “I don’t see any way out of this but to get rid of Spider,” Charlie continued.

  Jake and Hiram shook their heads.

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Jake asked, disbelieving what he heard.

  “Yes,” Charlie nodded. “Do you remember our talk on the way back from Candy Bahr’s house?”

  “The one about plucking people like weeds?”

  “Exactly. We have a weed that needs to be plucked from our garden, a spider that needs to be squashed.”

  “Shouldn’t we go talk to the priest about this?” Jake asked worriedly.

  “No, a priest would only make things worse,” Charlie said firmly. “Besides, I told Father G. I was going to save him. Now I get to do it by leaving him safe in his own bed.”

  Hiram’s face was drawn with worry. He nodded slowly and spoke.

  “Charlie’s right about keeping the priest out. Father Gallagher’s not the right guy to deal with Spider.” And then to Charlie, “I don’t know what you have in mind, but it sounds like you’re about to bring on a lot of trouble.”