by Mark Hewitt
Reluctantly, Charlie followed the instructions. He was ridiculed for his attire and was the brunt of much teasing. Once school had been let out, as his uncle had instructed him, he sought out the bully and punched him in the face. The bully was felled by the smallest kid in his grade. The fighting didn’t end, however. Charlie straddled the larger boy and began hitting him again and again. Another student ran to summon the teacher who promptly arrived to pull Charlie off of the bully. The teacher sent them to their respective homes with a stern warning. Charlie, who had been utterly humiliated by being forced to wear the dress, was now empowered to take matters into his own hands when necessary.
The bully didn’t mess with him after that. “I fought lots of other kids that year,” he confessed. “I became a holy terror.” Never again did he fail to stand up to a bully.
Charlie recounted for me another influential childhood event. His mom had been working in a bar while they were living above it in a single room, furnished with only a simple bed and dresser. About the age of nine, Charlie’s already chaotic life was further disturbed by a fight in the bar. A man was making passes at Charlie’s mom, demanding sex or some drunken fondling. To repel the man, his mother picked up a liquor bottle and broke it over his head. Fearing the repercussions, especially from other gang members, since this man was a “Beanie Brother” with ties to the West Virginia prison system, Charlie’s mom decided to flee the area. The man was bad news and she knew it.
Charlie’s mother rushed upstairs, woke Charlie, and ordered him to help her gather their meager possessions. Within an hour, they were on the road. They resurfaced in Indiana a few weeks later. No one from their old town knew where they had gone; they had to find new friends, a new job for his mom, and new living arrangements. This type of uprooting was not uncommon to them. It became a way of life, and what Charlie would come to know as normal.
Charlie’s time in Indiana was an introduction to a life of crime, as he moved with the edges of society and was more than willing to assist where he could. His role models and associates were thoroughly steeped in a disregard for the law, ever seeking out new ways to violate community statutes. They involved themselves in any kind of scheme they could find if it made them some money. Charlie learned how to steal cars, pick pockets, burglarize homes and businesses, fence stolen property, and deal drugs.
In one story he told me, Charlie met some underworld figures to whom he intended to sell some guns he had acquired. His collection of pistols was secreted in a potato sack he was clutching. As he and his contacts went out to a houseboat to conduct the transaction, Charlie noticed that there were no firing pins in the guns. He was so afraid that the buyers would not let him escape with his life for deceiving them, even though he never intended to, that he stumbled out a window, fell into the water, and swam for freedom.
He tried his hand at pimping in Indiana, though he was not very successful at it at this point in his life. He also held money and drugs for others. Somewhere along the way, he picked up the guitar and become somewhat proficient at it. I was spellbound as I listened to his many tales of his childhood and his entry into lawlessness.
In time, I let down my guard completely and began to accept everything he said. He had no reason to lie to me or to exaggerate his exploits, I rationalized. I sat on no parole board and was not part of the system. Besides, Charlie trusted me just as I trusted him. The more he shared, the more I felt free to share my own story with him. Soon, I told him all the embarrassing details of my childhood, my disappointments and failures, as well as my dreams and aspirations. We were growing closer and closer by the hour and by the story.
Charlie’s life never got any easier, he told me. His mom was arrested for armed robbery and sentenced to prison while he was still young. His life became a succession of institutions, none treating him well. He never seemed to belong anywhere. He longed for the freedom he had experienced with his mother, even though that freedom came part and parcel with frequent abandonment. The group homes, foster homes, and other institutions he was paraded through, each had their own set of dehumanizing rules. He attempted to escape from every place that ever housed him.
Charlie had a great deal of anger built up toward his mother. It was apparent to me that she wasn’t a capable parent. She didn’t provide for Charlie: not materially and certainly not emotionally. She gave him away or left him with others, again and again. The scars of abandonment were apparent. To be fair, Charlie’s mom was only a child herself when she gave birth to him. She had no interest in raising him, and no one gave her much support either.
Despite the resentment, Charlie really loved his mother, I could tell. It was evident in his words and in the expression he put into his words. He wanted more from her. He needed more, but he never got it.
Once out of prison, Charlie’s mom reclaimed her son and set about the business of raising him. Shortly thereafter, however, she resumed her pattern of repeatedly dropping him off at relatives or neighbors. She abandoned him to a foster home and later to a group home. Even when he escaped from the foster home, and traveled back to her, she wasn’t glad to see him, as he had envisioned. She took him straight back. By the time he achieved adulthood, Charlie’s rage was broad and profound. No one should be surprised by his wrath born out of the chaotic childhood he was forced to endure.
While held at a boy’s camp in Washington DC, Charlie had his first homosexual encounter, he told me. It happened in a shower. He said that he was quite naïve at the time. This older boy forced himself on young Charlie. He hated the experience. It made him feel dirty and worthless. It was one more instance of another person earning his trust, only to betray him. It was another reminder to him to not let others get close to him emotionally, and to not trust other people. In a few years, Charlie would be the aggressor when he, while incarnated, attacked another inmate, put a knife to his throat, and anally raped him.
At some boy’s camp, Charlie got into a fight during a recreation session in the yard. The other boy fell hard on the ground, hit his head, and died. The coroner ruled that they boy had died of a brain aneurism so no charges were filed. Charlie claimed that he fought in self defense, the other boy being larger and tougher. In Charlie’s mind, he was the victim; the deceased opponent got what he had coming.
Charlie related to me how he stole a doctor’s car to escape this camp. Several miles from the institution, he crashed the vehicle, and fled on foot. He attempted to escape from there many times. Sometimes he would be successful in his escape attempts, eluding authorities for weeks at a time. More often, he admitted, the attempts were useless. Not only did he not escape, he incurred the scorn and retribution of the institution for his behavior.
Charlie became adept at stealing cars before he was 13 years of age. He learned what models were valuable to his connections and what ones could be quickly fenced through theft rings. Sports cars, while being very expensive, were less popular because they were more difficult to conceal and resell. Mid-sized cars and mid-range priced vehicles were the most lucrative to steal. They could be moved without too many questions, and they brought a return high enough to make the effort profitable.
Charlie learned to move the cars across the state to new towns where the cars wouldn’t be recognized. In time, when he became more trusted, Charlie was instructed in the intricacies of moving cars across state lines. He was open to learning anything that would be helpful, and he was a good student of the street. He was a quick study of what he needed to know to protect himself, figuring that the most important information that he could ever learn was anything that would aid him in his survival.
While stealing cars and running them across state lines, someone suggested taking cars down to Mexico where there was great demand and where fewer questions were asked. He tried it and found it extremely profitable. On one occasion, he had a row of hot cars parked on a street in Arizona, near the border to Mexico. He would drive a car across the border, park it and trudge back to pick up the next. On a good d
ay, he could steal and move four automobiles out of the country.
Manson attempted to become a matador, at some point. While in Mexico, he met a man who was born and raised in Spain and who ran a bull-fighter training camp. The fighter saw that Charlie was young and very quick. His slight stature may also have been a plus. In broken English, the fighter invited Charlie to attend the camp and learn how to become a bull fighter. Charlie expressed interest and promised that he would come.
When Charlie showed up at the man’s ranch, he saw a group of children lined up outside of the training facility.
“Buenos Dios,” the bull fighter called out to the children.
“Buenos Dios,” the children replied in unison.
Once inside with the children, Charlie found no bulls, just a few shabbily-clothed Mexicans and a dilapidated sawhorse decorated to look like a bull. Charlie complained. He had no intension of joining a group of neighborhood kids to fight against a pretend bull. The matador explained to him that before someone can be a matador and fight a real bull, he must learn all there is to learn about posture, moves, dress, and performance: it might take a person many years before he was ready for a real bull. This situation displeased Charlie so much that he wandered away from the training camp never to return.
While he sojourned in Mexico, he was warned to not consume any water. He was told stories about Montezuma’s revenge, the diarrhea that visitors incurred from microscopic microbes within the country’s water. This greatly troubled Manson and was one experience that led him to a deep concern for the environment. How could such a beautiful country have such a polluted water supply? Or, more accurately, how could people so abuse the land as to allow the water to become so filthy? He continued to lose respect for people. Even animals are cleaner than this, Charlie realized.
Charlie also visited Los Angeles around that time. He gathered a few women and sent them out to the streets. He learned the finer points of being a pimp from other, more experienced, criminals, he explained to me. He enjoyed earning money off the labor of someone else. He expressed no remorse or regret to me for taking advantage of the women or of sending them to participate in a vile and repugnant activity. “Usually, they were okay with it,” was all Manson could say for the women’s experience.
Charlie told me that during a trip to a pawnshop in Los Angeles, he realized a lifelong dream of owning a quality guitar. He had been collecting some good sums of cash from the women he prostituted, and from setting up illegal gambling venues, so money was no longer an issue. He was able to own cars and always had cash with him. On a walk one afternoon, he passed a pawn shop that had a guitar package on display in the window. He entered the store and spoke with an older employee who received him with great skepticism.
“May I help you?” the man queried.
“I’m interested in the guitar in your window. What’s it cost?”
“That one is $100 and it includes picks and a case.” It was an 8-string Gibson in pristine condition.
Charlie pulled a wad of bills from his pocket. He regularly carried twenties, fifties, and hundreds at this time of his life. His one dollar bills and change were always awarded to street people in need.
He peeled off a one hundred dollar bill and handed it to the employee who, in turn, gathered the guitar and case. After taking the instrument from the man, Charlie peeled off another $100 bill and handed it to him.
“You already paid for the guitar, man,” countered the elderly pawnshop employee, who could scarcely believe that this shabbily dressed youngster could afford the first one hundred dollars.
“That is for you.” Charlie explained. “Go and buy your wife or girlfriend a fine dinner. I know that things are bad. Everywhere, you hear bad news, wars, and killings. I hope this will give you a good day.”
“Well, thank you,” the man said in shock. “It’s good people like you who give me hope for this world.” Charlie found a quiet place on the sidewalk, opened the case, and began to strum the Gibson.
That purchase may have signaled his transition into adulthood. It fed his dream of becoming a popular musician, and gave him the resolve to master his new instrument.
CHAPTER 6
Charlie Loves Mother Nature
“Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.”
Albert Einstein
By inspecting his artwork, you can tell that animals are very important to Charlie. In fact, they are his reason to live. If you heard him speak about wild mammals and bugs, you might conclude that he was crazy. You might think that he has been down too long. But this is merely the way his mind works. He cares about animals, plants and the entire natural realm. He loves nature: anything that is not human is important to him.
He couldn’t have cared less for human beings, however. He considered people to be no more than meatballs, or hunks of flesh that often did more harm than good. The human race, to him, was a bother, a nuisance, and a waste of space. He often criticized people for being brain dead or for belonging to a group of mindless followers. He pointed out that people did things that were so horrible that no animal would even consider them. Animals never caused a holocaust, never went to war over an insult, and never killed anything it didn’t intend to eat. His distain for people was palpable.
By contrast, his veneration of nature was essentially religious. His philosophy was similar to that of the Native Americans who were reverent of animals and carefully grounded in respect for Mother Earth. If we all had such concern, it became clear to me, we wouldn’t see so much pollution, we wouldn’t have to contend with the number of cases of cancer we now see, and the people of the world would be much happier. Just think what our world would be like if it were greener, more oxygenated, and possessed cleaner water!
It is not that we are unaware of what we are doing to the planet. The excuse of ignorance may have been an acceptable defense of our actions 80 or 100 years ago. Today, we know beyond a shadow of a doubt all that we are doing to our streams, lakes and oceans. We are well aware of the impact we are having on our world, yet we continue to pollute and ravage the earth with few restraints.
Charlie taught me this and much more about our natural world. He was vocal about his concerns. “There’s only one world, I know,” he explained. “If we took the time to look, listen, and learn, we’d find out so much from our mistakes. You don’t have to go to college or earn an AA degree to know that what we are doing to Mother Earth is inexcusable. We have the power to make a difference now before it’s not too late. The signs are there that Mother Earth is dying.
“Sure, we can pretend we don’t see it or know about it,” Charlie continued, “but we are only fooling ourselves and lying to each other. If our president has the power to shut down the New York Stock Exchange, and all federal, state, and local offices, then he has the power to make some real changes. If he can order the flag to half staff for the death of a former president or to honor service to the country, there is no reason that he cannot order massive changes to take place universally, changes that will remove the pollution and stop the killing of animals.”
He asked me around the same time what I would do if there was no more water to drink. I thought about his question and replied that I would have to rob a convenience store and takes its soda and other drinks. I also suggested digging a well out in the desert, far from others who might try to take the water. I thought that this was what he wanted to hear; I had answered him well, I was certain.
Charlie corrected me, informing me that we should collect wine, since it does not go bad after a short period of time. He was thinking big and said that we should gather barrels and barrels of wine and hide them in a tunnel deep under the mountains. The tunnels could also house tons and tons of food that would not spoil, such as powders and canned goods. He scared me when he said that if someone came around, he would have to kill him to protect the stash. “Either it’s him or me,” he declared. I asked him about the others and their fate. He replied, “There’
s no THEM.” He wanted me to know what he would do, and also to teach me what to do in that situation. Perhaps, he was training me for future events, an apocalypse that has not yet happened.
Environmentalism was important to Charlie. He regularly spoke of animals and nature, even when sequestered far from any natural setting. Charlie’s speech was punctuated with the acronym “ATWA.” This encapsulated his philosophy of life, at least on an ecological level. ATWA stands for, “Air, Trees, Water, and Animals.” Charlie was a rabid environmentalist years before it was popular to be concerned about the world around us. While some in the hippy movement espoused a concern for the environment, for fighting against pollution, animal cruelty, and the extinction of animals and plants, Charlie made it the centerpiece of his philosophy. Charlie cared more for pristine nature than he did for life itself.
Because Charlie was so often disappointed by people, abused by people, and hated by people, he always felt more comfortable in the presence of animals and plants. His days at the Spahn movie ranch and other remote locations allowed him to retreat from the world of people and find a refuge in the great outdoors. Charlie still longed for a remote, natural place to live and enjoy.
Charlie taught that we will pay for our neglect of the environment. Because people have been abusing the natural elements of our world for so long, we will in time reap the reward of all we have damaged. He foresaw a day when people would muck around in the waste and pollution that they have created. It may not be until our children’s children’s day, but we will suffer, he believed. He was not inclined to discuss water treatment plants or responsible tree farming. These did not fit into his apocalyptic vision of the future. He spoke to me often of the demise of the human race.
Charlie viewed himself as a savior of plants and animals. Only he, the advocate for an environment that can’t verbalize its many ailments, could save nature. He alone cried out on behalf of the natural world, he believed. At times, he was at the edge of despair thinking that it was too late for us to help the world, that too much time had transpired, and too much damage had already been done.