Restless Souls

by Alisa Statman

  “But you still don’t—never mind,” Guaderrama waved the thought away. “I’m going to move on to your counselor’s report that was prepared for this hearing. Your counselor, Mr. Salcedo, indicates that your behavior has essentially remained the same since your last hearing in 1989 . . . He does indicate, however, that based on the seriousness of your commitment offense and the nature of your crimes that you continue to be a high risk and a threat to society if released at this time.”

  I leaned toward Steve and whispered, “Does that mean we can go home now?” He smiled, but I was serious. What in the world were we all doing here if her counselor deemed her a threat?

  We’d been in the hearing for three hours. I escaped for a few minutes to reflect on Sharon’s life rather than her death.

  I closed my eyes and I was a child again, waiting with Mom for Sharon to step off the plane from New York. She’d been in Italy for three months filming 12+1 Chairs.

  In my collective memory, Sharon’s appearance had never changed during my childhood: blondish-brown hair, thin, and beautiful. When she appeared on the gangplank, I ran to hug her, but something had changed this time—she was as fat as a horse! I gaped at her belly. “What happened to you?”

  Her eyes shined. “It’s just the baby, silly. Here, give me your hand, you can feel her moving around.” My hand rested flat on her stomach. Nothing. Then, with a quiver, her belly came to life. I jerked my hand back. “Did you feel it?” she asked. I nodded while hesitantly reaching back to feel it again. Her arms reached out to pull me close for a hug. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to hurt her,” she laughed. “When we get home, you can lay your head there and hear her heartbeat.”

  By the time we got to her house, Sharon was exhausted. “Mom, I’ve got so much for the baby that I want to show you, but I’ve got to lay down for a bit.”

  “Go ahead,” Mom told her, “I’ll start unpacking for you.”

  Sharon started down the hall. “Patti, do you want to come with me?”

  I looked to Mom for approval, and then followed closely behind, snuggling right up to her on the bed. I lay at her side with my hands on her belly waiting for the baby to move. “Here,” she said, putting a pillow right next to her stomach, “lay on this with your ear right next to the baby. Close your eyes and be real quiet.”

  It took a moment, then, as though far away, there was an echo after Sharon’s heartbeat and then another. Captivated by the sound of this new life and awed that my sister had created it, I could have stayed like that forever, frozen in time, never in need of a better moment. I looked up to find a single tear sliding down her cheek. “Why are you crying?”

  She smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s a happy tear. I was thinking about the day you were born. From that moment on, I couldn’t wait to have my own baby.”

  Although it was a scorching day, I moved in closer to the comfort of her bosom and the rhythm of her breaths that had so often lulled me to sleep during my childhood.

  When I opened my eyes in the boardroom, I could still feel Sharon’s warmth and missed her more in that instant than I had in all the combined memories over the years.

  “Very last question,” board member Neilson said. “Miss Atkins, who are the victims of the crimes that you participated in?”

  Atkins sighed heavily. “Every person that’s suffered, particularly and beginning with the family members of the victims. They are the first victims and the most innocent victims.”

  Neilson frowned. “What about the ones that you killed? Sharon Tate’s baby for instance? Aren’t they the first victims?”

  Atkins eyes moved quickly across the panel members. “Yes, of course. . . .” Her voice trailed off, and for first time in three hours, she was speechless.

  “Miss Bentley, do you have any more questions?” Guaderrama asked.

  “Yes, just a few. Were you on any trips to scout the crime scenes?”

  “No. I was not.”

  “So, all of the sudden, you were told one night you were going to do these murders?”

  “Well, I didn’t know that we were going out to murder anyone—”

  “What were you told you were going to do?”

  “I wasn’t. I was told to get a set of dark clothes and a knife and to go with Tex Watson and do whatever Tex Watson said to do. And that’s what I did. And I had a sick feeling.”

  “And this happened to you on both nights, this sick feeling?”

  “On the night of the LaBiancas I did not want to go. And I don’t offer it as a justification, but it is part of the facts that I was very, very frightened that if I did not do what I was told to do, I would be hurt.”

  “That you would be hurt? Was that more important—”

  “Well my son’s life was threatened—”

  “That’s all I have, Mr. Guaderrama,” Bentley told him.

  “At this time, we’ll ask Mr. Kay to give a summary on parole suitability,” Guaderrama said.

  Steve sat forward in his chair. “It’s frustrating sitting here listening to Susan Atkins. She said today that she holds the truth dearly. That she could never face remorse until she faced the truth. She has lied to you so many times today about her participation in the crimes that I lost count.

  “During her life, Susan Atkins has been involved in four significant events that the board needs to concentrate on, because her involvement in these events has indelibly categorized her as one of the most dangerous female criminals in American history.

  “The first was her arrest in the state of Oregon in 1966 when she was eighteen years old—before meeting Manson. How she described this incident to you is completely flower-coated as she embellished herself as a hostage of the two men she was arrested with. She was an accomplice to these two wanted men for grand theft and the Dyer Act.

  “When the Oregon state trooper who arrested her testified during the penalty phase of the trial, he said that she was carrying a loaded gun and upon her arrest she told the trooper, ‘I should have killed you.’ Now, in 1966, I think you would have been hard pressed to find teenagers carrying a loaded gun, let alone one that would threaten an officer of the law.

  “The next serious event she was involved in was the murder of Gary Hinman. Now, Miss Atkins and her crime partners tortured him to death over two days. At the penalty phase of the Tate-LaBianca trial, Atkins admitted that she stabbed Mr. Hinman. And at the Hinman trial, she admitted that while he was dying, she held a pillow over his face to suffocate him.

  “On August eighth, she left with her crime partners for Sharon Tate’s house. Now, she told you today, ‘I didn’t know what was happening, I had a sickening feeling.’ But one of the ranch hands, Juan Flynn, testified at her trial that he saw the group leaving and asked where they were going, and Atkins leaned out of the car window and said, ‘We’re gonna kill some motherfucking pigs.’ She knew what she was going to do—she left the ranch armed with a knife—make no mistake about it.

  “After the murders, she spent the next week at Spahn’s Ranch sharpening knives, and telling people how sexual it felt to stab someone—”

  Atkins’s attorney interrupted. “I’m going to object to this entire rendition because it’s coming from the third trial of Leslie Van Houten—”

  Atkins rose inches from her chair. “Yep, that’s right, this was not at my trial.”

  “Yes it was,” Steve said.

  Simultaneously, Atkins’s attorney said, “It was not.”

  “Hold on,” Guaderrama held up a hand. “It’s not in the file, Mr. Kay.”

  “It is in her file. The facts don’t change—Miss Atkins’s story might change—but the facts remain. These victims were literally mutilated and Miss Atkins participated.”

  “Let’s move on, Mr. Kay,” Guaderrama said.

  “The fourth event was of course the LaBianca murders—and oh, is she ready to go out again. Now, she didn’t go into the LaBiancas’, but she was convicted as a coconspirator of those murders.

  “In conclu
sion, Miss Atkins has been convicted of eight murders. Consider how many lives that is.” Steve scanned the room, counting heads. “We could eliminate—outside of Atkins—everyone in this room, all of us gone—poof. With that in mind, I ask you to find her unsuitable for parole and deny her for the maximum five years.”

  Guaderrama turned to Atkins. “Is there anything you’d like to say that hasn’t been covered by your attorney concerning your suitability for parole?”

  “Yes,” Atkins replied with welling tears. “Most people that don’t know me put twenty-three years of history aside and take three nights—three horrible, horrible, horrible nights—and superimpose that on me, and then view me only through those nights. I’m asking you to remove that superimposed image and look at just me.”

  Atkins glanced at me and jump-started my heart with a wink and a smile that lasted only as long as the blink. I looked to see if anyone else noticed. They appeared oblivious to the incident. When I looked back at Atkins, she was looking toward the board members.

  “People say I have no remorse. I have remorse. Twenty-three years of incarceration, twenty-three years of therapy, twenty-three years of self-help groups. I couldn’t go through that unless I felt remorse. I was driven by remorse to try to find answers as to why I did what I did and to ensure that I never repeat those kinds of offenses again. I couldn’t do those things and still be the crazed killer that Mr. Kay presents to you today.”

  Atkins dabbed at her eyes. “I could not put on twenty-three years of acting. Mr. Kay said three years ago, in front of the television cameras, ‘We know she’s going to cry, we just don’t know when. It’s all an act.’ That’s not true. I cry because that’s how I feel and I feel every day. That’s all I want to do today is feel and love, and care about people. My life in prison is dedicated to that. I do it every day when I get up. I ask God to give me the grace—”

  “Could we keep your comments to your suitability for parole?” Guaderrama interrupted.

  “That’s what makes me suitable, my twenty-three-year history here. The crimes in and of themselves—there is no way they would ever make me suitable for parole. But this is my new social history, it’s in this institution and I think it speaks very well for itself. I have a viable marriage. The first healthy relationship I have ever had, and I cherish it, and I take care of it, and I nourish it. It’s the most precious gift I’ve ever been given.

  “Whatever Mr. Kay’s rendition of the crimes were, I was the only one in this room that was there. I am the only one that has to live with it every single day—aside from Miss Tate, who is here—”

  “Sum up your remarks,” Guaderrama censored.

  Atkins’s tears flowed heavier. “I ask you to consider giving me a second chance. I am the least deserving of this, but I have the courage and conviction of my heart that I sit before you a successful, rehabilitated person.”

  “Thank you, we’ll consider your remarks.” Then Guaderrama turned toward me. “At this time we’re going to turn the floor over to Miss Tate. Would you like to say something?”

  “Yes, I would.” I looked to my hands and saw that I had adopted Mom’s habit of shredding tissues. I swept the pieces up into my palm and prayed for her guidance. “You know, during all this, it takes me back into my childhood memories. I was just eleven when this happened and as far as I was concerned, we were on top of the world until August ninth.

  “The last time I saw my sister at her house I was so excited about being an aunt and she was resting because she was so close to her due date and I used to sit with my hands on her belly by the hour trying to feel that baby kick. And I was so proud of my sister. I mean, we had it all, what more could the good Lord give us? To me it was just the best. I had a sister that I looked up to. Our family was good and we were glad to have Sharon home. She hadn’t even been home that long, a couple of weeks maybe, and I spent every second I could with her.

  “We had good times before they killed her.

  “When I left my sister’s house one evening, the last time I saw her, life was good. And then I woke up another day and life had changed so very, very dramatically, to never be the same again.

  “I lay by my mother for months, wondering if my mom was ever going to pull through this. I’ll tell you, for years, years life was so hard, to get by day to day. Still, life is hard. This was such an evil, evil thing, and for a child to try to have to soak it in, it didn’t make sense to me then and it still doesn’t make any sense to me. I was so frightened and I have lived with fright every day of my life since. I look over my shoulder every day, wondering if I’m safe.

  “Life is very uncertain and life is very uncertain outside of this prison. Life is not easy on the outside, not for me, not for anybody. Miss Atkins refused to live in our society and shunned society. Well, that’s just not the way it works. You know, we all have to obey the laws, the laws of God and man. It worries me to think of her outside this prison. I don’t see how people will accept her on the outside. I’m not ready for murderers like this to live next door to me. This whole situation still frightens me very much.

  “What I’m saying, in essence, is that I watched a big part of my mom die when they killed Sharon. She suffered so horribly for the rest of her life. What I’m asking is that there is a consequence to be paid here for all the destroyed lives, and that’s with Miss Atkins’s life in incarceration. I believe that even though she may be rehabilitated—and it sounds to me like she may be doing very well—her work here in the prison is very needed. She can do a lot of work right here and I believe that right here is where she should stay for the rest of her life.”

  A half hour later, the board announced their three-year parole denial. I looked at Atkins to find her staring at me. Her vengeful glare only gave me more strength. I held her stare and said, “God’s will be done.”

  I felt drunk with energy now that the ordeal was behind me. “You made it,” Kelly said. “I’m so proud of you!”

  “I’m proud of me, too,” I admitted. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but Mom was there. I could feel her all around me, giving me strength.”

  “Well, I hate to bring you down, but the press is going to want to talk to you now.”

  “It’s okay. I’m ready for them.”

  Outside, Doug Bruckner from Hard Copy approached me first. “Miss Tate, how did it feel attending your first parole hearing?”

  “It was hard going in there and looking at the last face that my sister saw, but I felt okay. It brought up a lot of old memories, and that was hard to deal with.”

  “How did you feel when you found out that she would have to remain in prison?” Bruckner asked.

  “Well, actually, I kind of hoped for five years. The five-year denial is something that my mom fought hard to have passed through legislation, and I would have liked to honor her memory with it, but three years is fine.”

  “Did this experience change your mind about attending the hearings for the other killers?” he asked.

  “No. It gave me courage. I’ll be at Watson’s later this year, and before his hearing I’m going to begin a new petition drive, same as my mom’s ten years ago.”

  Another reporter approached. “Patti, what was your reaction when Atkins said that she felt your pain and understood the anguish that you go through and that it proves that she’s rehabilitated?”

  “Actually, my feeling was that it didn’t really matter. She committed a terrible, terrible crime, and she has to pay for it whether she is rehabilitated or not. Is she remorseful and feels my pain? I don’t know and I’m not going to judge, so that part really went right over me.”

  “Did you look at her much of the time?” the same woman asked.

  “Yes I did, and I listened to everything she said. But what she says is so abstract. I’ll never understand why they did what they did—even Atkins says that. There’s no rhyme or reason. It’s just the way it is.”

  “Do you believe there’s a chance that any of the Manson Family memb
ers will ever be released?” A voice in the crowd asked.

  “You have to remember that the parole board once gave Sirhan Sirhan a parole date, and that’s about the time that my mom stepped up to the plate to stop this kind of nonsense. So, yes, there’s always a chance.”

  Steven Kay edged up beside me. “Steve,” the reporter asked, “do you believe that Susan Atkins is rehabilitated?”

  While he answered, I took the opportunity to slip back from the bright camera lights, but I heard his response as I made my escape. “Absolutely not. This is one of her worst performances in the last five hearings. She blatantly lied about her participation in these murders and was not willing to take responsibility. The evidence against her was clear at the trial and here she is today blaming everyone else. So I think that shows that she’s not rehabilitated in the least.”

  19

  MANSON AND A ROSE

  I naïvely thought that there was a certain dark humor in Charles Manson singing love song lyrics, but now I find the word “humor” doesn’t fit into the equation at all. Especially when I think about the families of his victims, and how it makes them feel.

  —SLASH, GUITARIST FOR GUNS N’ ROSES, 1993

  Patti

  “Mama, come check this out,” Brie called from the family room, where music blared from the MTV channel that my kids watched like Valium-overdosed patients, happy and drooling.

  On the screen, a man sang to thousands of fans during a concert. Staring wildly from the singer’s shirt was a photo of Charles Manson. I flipped off the television’s power.

  “What are you doing?” my eleven-year-old daughter asked. “That’s Axl Rose! He’s so cute.” She grabbed the remote and turned the television back on.

  “Hey,” I protested, but then I decided to watch what Brie found so attractive about the lead singer of Guns N’ Roses. When the song ended, I turned the volume down. “Hon, he’s wearing a Manson T-shirt. What message do you think he’s sending out to his fans?”