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

by Lawson McDowell

  “I went to the parish priest and confessed what we’d done in that black storm. He granted absolution, and encouraged me to call the police.”

  “Did you?” Maggie asked.

  I waited a few weeks, but the guilt eventually forced me to make the call. You were seven years old when the cops came to the newsstand and hauled me to headquarters. I told them we had killed a man, told them everything, but without Spider’s name, or a body, or any evidence, the cops passed it off as a case they couldn’t prosecute against a man who had been a juvenile when the homicide occurred.”

  Maggie gave Jake a skeptical look. She waited for him to continue.

  “My guess is they didn’t want to waste time and money punishing me. They wanted to manage current cases and didn’t want any bad publicity about Boys Town. I never heard from them again. That was over fifty years ago.”

  “I went on raising you, eaten up with guilt and missing Charlie. You eventually left home and over the decades my worries faded. And then I saw the newspaper article.”

  The strain was showing in his face.

  “Honey, will you lower my bed. I want to lie back a bit. I’m exhausted.”

  “Do you want to sleep?” she asked. “I could use a break myself.”

  “No. Please don’t go. It’s just hard sitting so far upright. Stay with me. I’m alright.”

  “Frankly, Dad, I’m struggling with your involvement in a murder,” she said openly.

  Jake closed his eyes and listened.

  “How does it feel to know you have a responsibility for ending a human life? How did you live with yourself knowing what you did?”

  Jake sighed.

  “When people face a dire threat, as we did, I believe they draw from primal instincts.”

  “I don’t understand,” Maggie said.

  “When facing disaster, some people will flee, some will dig their heels in the ground, some may draw guidance from the Bible. When Spider appeared, we all had different reactions. Hiram wanted to run. I wanted to talk to Father Gallagher. Charlie wanted to stand and fight, which we did. I was consumed with guilt for years.”

  “So, how do you live with it now?” Maggie asked. “There was skepticism in her voice.”

  “I came to realize that what we did was self-defense. I don’t think there’s any doubt Hiram would have died if Spider had taken him. I’m also sure Spider would have killed anyone who tried to intervene. We were nothing to him.”

  “You think that gives you the right to take a man’s life?”

  “We did what we had to do,” Jake said firmly.

  Maggie involuntarily shook her head.

  “Killing is wrong, Dad. The Bible forbids it.”

  “I thought so too, and Catholic guilt reminded me every day. But there’s more to right and wrong than the Ten Commandments.”

  “How so?”

  “Self-defense is a primal instinct. It’s critical to survival. When the Spider situation came down to ‘flight or fight’, we had different thoughts, but there was nothing morally wrong with Charlie’s choice.”

  “I already disagree with you,” Maggie said, “but go on.”

  “The Bible says we are obligated to preserve life. Can you agree with that?”

  “Of course,” said Maggie.

  “I found a passage in the Book of Nehemiah. I memorized Chapter 4, verse 14. Nehemiah says, ‘...fight for your brothers, your sons, your daughters, your wives, and your houses.”

  “I have no idea who this Nehemiah character is, so I don’t give him much weight. If you want to impress me, Bible Man, quote Jesus.”

  Jake smiled for the first time this visit.

  “This may surprise you. Jesus told his disciples, and I quote, ‘he who has no sword, let him sell his garments and buy one.’”

  Maggie’s face had a skeptical expression. “You’re telling me that Jesus told his disciples to buy weapons?”

  “You don’t have to believe me. Read it for yourself. The verse has helped me so much that I know chapter and verse. It’s Luke 22: 35-39. Jesus expected his disciples to carry weapons, obviously not for assault but for self-defense against guys like Spider.”

  Maggie’s face changed from doubt to surprise.

  “Maybe Jesus was speaking metaphorically. He used a lot of symbolism.”

  “You tell me if it was symbolism. At the Mount of Olives when Jesus was arrested, his most important disciple, Peter, pulled his sword to defend Jesus. He sliced off the ear of the high priest’s servant. Do you think a symbolic sword could cut off a guy’s ear?”

  “What’s your point Dad?” There was resignation in her voice.

  “My point is that what happened to Spider was self-defense, plain and simple. It was kill or be killed. At the very worst, killing Spider was justifiable homicide. After I shoved the emotion aside and came to grips with what really happened, life got a lot easier for me. Killing a guy still wasn’t something I wanted to tell you about, but I finally realized I’m not a bad person.”

  He broke off the conversation and was silent.

  “I never thought you were a bad person.”

  “That’s because you never knew about the murder until now. It took me years to live cope with it. I can’t expect you to work through it in five minutes.”

  “But murder is murder,” she replied. “You are an accomplice. Maybe if Charles Manson wasn’t involved I’d feel better.”

  “That’s the next thing we need to talk about. Maybe you can soften on Charlie. You’re still judging him in terms of media hype. Charlie could be very passionate at times. He could talk the toughest kind of street talk, but what he did at Boys Town came from a sense of protection and family preservation.”

  “Maybe society has reached the wrong decision about Manson, just like they did Jesus. Maybe Charlie’s like the dozens of innocent people who are freed from prison every year. Maybe the things we’ve read and heard aren’t all true.”

  Maggie wondered at this line of talk. In the back of her mind she knew he was holding back. She could sense something shadowy just under the surface, something worse than murder?

  Why did he tell me about the murder? I would have been fine never knowing about it. Telling me serves no purpose. Is there more?

  “You’re not telling me everything are you? You’re hiding something else. What is it, Dad?”

  Jakes mind was a washing machine with a load out of balance. He didn’t know where to start.

  After a long silence, he replied softly, his voice strained and weak.

  “Come tomorrow. There’s more.”

  Chapter 48

  Charlie Leaves - Boys Town, April 1949

  A ghastly aberration lay among the cottonwood trees at Boys Town. Wisps of steam rose from Spider’s wet, cooling body, like poisonous vapors sweating from demons in Hell’s sauna.

  The storm charged to the northeast ready to spread destruction, as if inspired by witnessing murder. Angry clouds swelled to the heavens while wind-driven torrents and violent lightning were unleashed on the land.

  And now it engendered new malevolence. In its path lay unsuspecting farms and villages that would feel the wrath of a mighty tornado.

  In the storm’s wake, the rains slowed at Boys Town. The chapel that had been obscured by the storm appeared again on the hilltop.

  Charlie stood over Spider, chest heaving. His face was slack, yet his eyes remained wild. He released his grip on the stole and let it fall across Spider and into the mud.

  He felt his brothers’ stares and looked up, rain and sweat streaming down his face, strands of wet hair hanging.

  Jake and Hiram waited.

  Jake looked away. Better not to look upon death.

  Christ. What just happened? Am I dreaming?

  “Shit, Charlie,” Jake whispered over the alarms screaming in his head.

  Charlie ignored him. He grabbed one of Spider’s arms and rolled him onto his back. He let the limp arm fall to the ground where it landed with a s
ickening thud. Raindrops dripped from Charlie’s hair and onto the gangsters’ dead cheek.

  They looked on Spider sprawled on the ground, limbs in unnatural positions, mouth open, eyes unmoving. Charlie broke the silence.

  “He looks like he’s still surprised at being dead,” Charlie said.

  Charlie bent over the body and rummaged through Spider’s pockets. He removed and kept a cash roll, a switch blade knife, and a pack of cigarettes. Next, he pulled the pistol from Spider’s belt and placed it under his own.

  Now Charlie knelt beside the warm body, preparing for final retribution. He pulled the dead man’s lips apart and examined the gold tooth.

  “Oh, Jesus, man. What are you doing?” Hiram asked.

  Charlie answered, restraining the venom in his heart.

  “We can knock out these gold teeth and sell them. We’re not exactly living on Easy Street, you know.”

  Jake gagged at the thought of mutilating a dead man.

  “But he’s dead, Charlie,” Jake said. “It don’t seem right to knock out his teeth.”

  Hiram pleaded, “Those gold teeth won’t make much difference. His bankroll will be plenty to get us a good start.”

  Charlie growled. “This asshole persecuted my flock. He deserves anything we do to him. Hiram, you were a dead man. He found out no one messes with my family! He’s not through paying yet. We’re selling his teeth.”

  Charlie held the pistol by the barrel, ready to use it as a hammer to harvest gold. His face flushed with hatred for Spider.

  “Damn, Charlie. Please don’t! Please,” Jake begged.

  Hiram dropped to his knees beside Charlie and put an arm around him. In a soft voice, Hiram started talking Charlie down from the frenzy. “Take it easy, Charlie. It’s over. We won. You saved my life. Now we got to save our own necks.”

  Charlie heard Hiram. He looked up with wild eyes and saw Jake was near tears. He took a deep exasperated breath and blew it out.

  “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Godammit. You two guys are pathetic. Can’t pull a weed from the garden without crying about it. Thank God I’m here to protect you.”

  Charlie stood and shook his head in feigned disgust. Then, he smiled reassuringly.

  “Ole Spider ain’t walkin’ out of here any time soon, so let’s get him to the Cadillac. We’ve got to get him out of here and buried.”

  Hiram and Charlie grabbed an arm each and pulled Spider into the underbrush toward the car. Jake stumbled behind them still in a daze.

  “Jake, listen up,” Charlie said. “I need you to find his keys. They’re probably in the ignition. Make sure there’s room in the trunk for him. We might need to cut off his legs or something.”

  The vision of cutting off Spider’s legs hit Jake like a Mack truck. He bent over and vomited.

  Charlie heard the retching and turned to look. Moonlight was reappearing between the fleeting clouds and Charlie could see that Jake was doubled over, pale as a ghost. Charlie dropped Spider’s arm to attend Jake.

  “Christ, Jake, I was joking,” Charlie said, not quite laughing, but obviously not distraught over the death. “He ain’t stiff yet. We can curl him up if we need to. We ain’t gonna cut him up.”

  Jake spit out the bitter taste and wiped his mouth with a jacket sleeve.

  “You need to change your outlook, man,” Charlie said. “We already decided stepping on this Spider was the only way to save Hiram. Don’t wimp out on the family now.”

  Charlie took Jake’s chin in his hand and locked in eye contact, and while no words passed between them, both knew what had to be done had been done.

  “Come on, now,” Charlie said. “We had no choice in this. Let’s get going. We’ve got things to do before daylight.”

  Jake followed his brothers and the body.

  At the car, Jake found Spider’s keys exactly where Charlie predicted and opened the trunk. There was room for Spider. The three boys soon had the body dumped in the trunk next to a set of golf clubs stolen with the car.

  They wiped their hands on the wet grass.

  Things seemed immediately better with the body out of sight.

  Hiram checked the Cadillac to ensure he could drive it.

  Charlie leaned against the car and closed his eyes in thought. He ran his fingers through his damp hair. He reviewed his plan and concluded they were still on schedule.

  Jake watched him.

  “How do you feel, Charlie?” Jake asked. “You’re not getting’ sick like I did, are you?”

  Charlie’s eyes popped open. He grinned at Jake and tapped his chin several times as if thinking. He answered mischievously, to keep Jake from slipping into a blue funk.

  “How do I feel? Well, let’s see, Jake, I just killed a man with my bare hands. He had a pistol and outweighed me by at least forty pounds. Right now, my ass is puckered so tight I may never shit again, and my heart is still about to jump out of my chest. On top of that, we’re about steal a car and leave the best place in world for orphans. How do I feel? How about ‘concerned?’ Would that be exaggerating?”

  Jake wasn’t sure if Charlie was joking, but he smiled weakly.

  Charlie returned a bigger smile. “Ho boy. Wait until Father Gallagher hears this one in confession.”

  Jake relaxed a bit, but it was still too soon to feel lighthearted. He felt like he might never laugh again.

  “You were ready to die for Hiram, weren’t you?” Jake asked.

  “Sure. Hiram is family. If I had died, well there ain’t nothing bad about death. Any guy would have stepped up to help Hiram.”

  Hiram returned. Charlie gathered his flock.

  “We’ve got to get Spider buried and get out of town. It would be stupid to stay around here,” he said.

  “Why?” Jake asked, not as a challenge but seeking to understand.

  “First, the car,” Charlie answered calmly. “We can’t just bury it like we can Spider.”

  “We can dump the car,” Jake suggested.

  “If we dump it around Omaha, someone will trace it back to Boys Town. Count on it. It won’t take long for people to start pointing fingers straight at the three of us.”

  “That could happen,” Hiram agreed.

  “Worse yet, the Chicago gang is going to come looking for Spider and Hiram, and if all they find is Hiram, the shit will start all over again.”

  Jake had the look of a deer in headlights.

  “We’ll leave as a family,” Charlie continued. “All of us. We’ll probably head for Indianapolis. I have connections there who will take care of us and take the car off our hands. We can be there by tomorrow night.”

  Jake was totally unprepared for such a development, and it showed in his face. Charlie read Jake perfectly. It wasn’t anything Jake said, for he said nothing, and it wasn’t that Jake was opposed to leaving, for he felt Charlie was the answer to all his problems It was the innocent look on his face that led Charlie to reconsider his plan.

  Charlie could see that Jake lacked outlaw toughness. He would never make it. It made no difference that he was older and taller. Jake would have to fill a different role than on the front lines.

  Charlie considered the options for Jake, then ruled decisively.

  “Jake, I’ve rethought things and have a plan change. It’s better that I leave you here. You’ve still got a chance for a good life. Hiram’s got to leave. There’s no choice for him. And I need to go too. My future is not here. You need something different. You stay for now, Jake.”

  Jake felt the pain of desertion. “But I want to go with you, Charlie. I’d have a better life with you. I can do better than Boys Town.”

  “You’re not ready yet for my kind of life. I’ll leave you here, a lookout on the home front. I’ll be in touch as soon I get settled. When it’s time, I’ll bring you to Indy or California, or wherever I am.”

  Jake’s crushing disappointment was written on his face, but he already knew it was fruitless to argue with a force like Charlie.

  “I
promise I will be in touch with you,” Charlie said convincingly. “You are my rock. I need you to stay here and learn and wait. I will return for you.”

  “As long as you promise you won’t forget me.”

  “Have faith in Man’s Son. I will come for you.”

  Charlie turned to Hiram. “I’ll grab your backpack and my guitar. I need you to get a shovel. Meet me back here in ten minutes.” And to Jake, “Come with me. We’re going to the room.”

  Charlie double-checked his guitar case and packed his only change of clothes into the same paper bag he had arrived with. He grabbed his guitar case and Hiram’s backpack and was at the door when he stopped.

  “Hey, I’ve got something for you, Jake.”

  Charlie set the backpack and bag aside and opened the guitar case on the bed.

  “Here, I want you to have my Gene Autry guitar pick. You know how important it is to me.”

  Jake took the pick and admired its gold lettering.

  Gene Autry.

  “It’s something for you to remember me by. If you ever worry that I’ve forgotten you, pull it out and rub it. You’ll know I’ll be back.”

  “But Charlie....,” was all that Jake could say before Charlie continued.

  “Come down and see us off. We might need you if Hiram gets us stuck in the mud. And bring our candy. And a couple of girlie magazines. We can use them.”

  Jake nodded at this rain-drenched Savior, this powerful protector who had delivered Hiram from death. There was a regal essence about him that belied his small frame and impoverished appearance.

  Hiram was waiting with two shovels when they returned.

  “We’ll bury him just west of here in the cornfield at 156th Street.”

  “The sooner, the better,” Charlie said.

  They said their goodbyes, then Jake watched as Hiram revved up the engine and eased the big Caddy out of the thicket and onto the lonely highway.

  As the Caddy picked up speed, something in Jake’s subconscious leapt into clear focus. He stood unmoving on the side of the road watching the tail lights shrink on Highway 6. He let his thoughts come together.

  Before Charlie came, Jake had thought his life would be a struggle, that the best he could expect was misery and work. Now he believed life would be better for him. Charlie would take care of things.