by Mark Hewitt
If he were ever granted his freedom again, he once told me, he would return to Southern California. He admitted to me that he wouldn’t know who to visit or where to go, specifically, but he loved the area for its beauty and its weather. He loved the Hollywood sunsets, the warm winters, and the soothing swims in the Pacific Ocean.
Epilogue
In time, I was transferred to my current prison home, Pleasant Valley State Correctional Center, exactly 180 miles from San Francisco and 180 miles from Los Angeles. Though I am only a few miles away from my former home, I might as well be on the other side of the solar system. I could not be further from Charlie if I were on another planet.
I was glad to be away from Corcoran when I left. To be moved, for me, was a dream come true. I was not happy with the prison officials at Corcoran. I didn’t trust them after repeated disruptions, including changes to schedules, skipped trips to the yard, and a general feeling that no one was responsible for anything. A prisoner has very little control over his life. When schedules are changed haphazardly and promised activities are cancelled, it is really hard on an inmate’s psyche. There were times that I was ready to scream because of the repeated failures and false promises of the system.
I had requested the transfer to that horrible facility in the first place, and that only made my time there more difficult: I had no one to blame but myself. I requested a transfer to yet another institution in the knowledge that no prison could be as bad as Corcoran. I was given permission to transfer away from there within weeks of my initial request. I was elated.
Yet, the joy of being transferred away was tempered by the loss of my friendship with Charlie. I had gotten to know him so well. I felt so close to him that to leave him was like having a limb removed. I had been changed by the man in such a way that I could never go back to my former self. I only wish that I could still be near him to learn and grow more. It would be nice to dream that Charlie could be transferred here someday, but I know how unlikely that is.
The first days here in Pleasant Valley were the most difficult as I adjusted to new surroundings, new guards, and no late-night conversations with “the old man.” I came to know new people here, but it was not the same. I burned inside as I lay in bed reminiscing about our good times. As an inmate, observing many prison transfers, both my own and others’, I have grown accustomed to saying, “Good bye,” but this time it was different. It really hurt to leave Charlie. I was seared with a pain that I cannot even begin to describe. I had held off on my transfer request for many months because I enjoyed talking to Charlie so much.
I have had to do much reconsidering, these past few months. With Charlie no longer around, with no more of his stories and no more of his charming smiles, the silver in his tongue has started to tarnish. I have begun to see him in a new light. Perhaps, I needed him at the time to teach me and counsel me. Now it is time for me to move on, to rely on myself and my own abilities. I have started to notice that some of the things he taught me were not helpful or true.
He told me on repeated occasions that he was born on the same day that the United States Marine Corps was founded. That made a great story, adding to his mythic stature. If he were born at the same time as the Marine Corps, he must be strong, self reliant, and as bold as a marine. Perhaps that whole corps is strong only because of its association with Charles Manson. However, I later found out that the Marine Corps was founded near the birth of our country, in 1775. His tale was a lie so large that it defied challenge for years.
I began to wonder whether he got other facts wrong too. Did fellow inmates have a similar experience of believing Charlie at his word because he was so charming and compelling? His strength, borne out of a thousand conflicts and abusive events in his life, could intimidate anyone, could even compel someone to sidestep common reason. Maybe the facts of his stories, or some of the stories themselves, were only convenient excuses to assert control or build his reputation. Stories are a dime and dozen behind bars. One who can tell convincing stories to an inmate must be a veritable Shakespearean actor.
Many of the stories Charlie told me did prove true. I believe that he made every effort to be honest with me. He repeatedly told me to be truthful to him; it’s nice to see that for the most part, he was honest as well. Other stories remain unconfirmed, however. I want to believe them, just as I want to believe the man. I will give him the benefit of the doubt until it can be proven otherwise. I guess I still owe him that level of respect. He has done so much good to me, and for me, that I cannot now join the chorus of voices that call for his obliteration. Sure, he has his bad side—who doesn’t? However, it’s his good side for which I plan to remember him. Perhaps, he has gained a control over me that I cannot easily shed. If that is the case, I don’t care. He’s such a great person who has given so much of himself that I cannot now, nor ever will be able to, hate him. I remain a Charles Manson lover, though my adoration is tinged with the reality that he may have been involved in some exceedingly heinous crimes.
Historians may not remember his good side. Future generations may only see a violent, death-obsessed cult leader. However, for good or ill, he has become an icon in our society. While he may have contributed negative elements to the 1960s, he has also become a spokesperson for a 1960s type of love and for respectful treatment of Mother Earth. He is also a role model for personal self-confidence. For better or worse, we need to acknowledge him and his notoriety. We ignore him or call him names to our own detriment. What does it say about our society that we celebrate Charles Manson? What commentary does Charlie provide to our society about how we can make it better and avoid raising additional “Charlie’s” in our midst?
I hope you have enjoyed reading this book as much as I have enjoyed putting down in words what has happened to me, what I saw and heard, and how I was transformed in the process of my dealings with Charles Manson. I hope you are proud to read about a real convict and how I handled my business the way it’s supposed to be handled: with loyalty, honor, respect, and love. It’s my hope that his book will have a positive affect on you, even as it sheds light on a dark chapter of our past and clarifies some misconceptions and provides new information about an American celebrity.
I remain pleased with my association with Charlie. I am happy to consider myself a “family” member, even though I was not present in his heyday. I never knew the old man on the outside, but I have followed him nonetheless. I didn’t participate in any of his murders, or agree to do anything wrong simply because he told me to, but I still claim him as my own. Whether he concurs or not, I wear with pride the title, “the last member of the Manson Family.”
Guillermo “Boxcar” Mendez
Pleasant Valley State Prison, California, 2013
Glossary:
Ace Duce: two prisoners who watch each others’ backs and offer protection on the streets or in jail, in peace and in war. Each will fight to the death, or kill, for the other.
Board-up: to cover the cell windows from the inside to prevent the “one time” or guard from seeing inside the cell. It gives the guard cause to open the door to the cell, unscheduled, at any time of day or night.
Bullet: one year in the system. For example, “I have two bullets to do and one bullet on parole.”
Car: any type of weight used on the end of a string, rope or fishing line, such as a rock or piece of wood. To receive an item from an inmate in another cell, a “car” is slid or thrown to the other cell, affixed with a note or item, then pulled back by its “fish line” or string.
Care Package: a bag of items for someone who is serving time. Generally, it consists of hygiene items such as soap, razor, deodorant, toothpaste, comb, and toothbrush. It sometimes contains candy, food, cigarettes, envelopes, stamps, writing paper, and pens.
Convict: a seasoned veteran within the prison system who has done time instead of letting the time do him. He does not need a guide to instruct him on how to do time because, for him, it is a way of life. Generally, he is a career c
riminal on the life plan, doing one year at a time.
Deck: a pack of cigarettes. Ten decks is a stack, or carton, of cigarettes.
Dig: “Do you understand what I am saying?” or, “are you following me?” This term was used by hippies in the late 1960s. Charles Manson continues to use this term: like most inmates, his cultural growth arrested once he entered the system.
Fish line: string, rope or fishing line used with a weight, called a “car,” to transport items from one cell to another.
House: a cell. It’s someone’s home. Like a castle, it is to be defended at all costs. A house is out of bounds to everyone except those who have been given explicit permission to enter. Violation of another inmate’s “house” merits death.
Inmate: one of a new generation of prisoners locked up in the county jail or prison. Generally he has to be told what to do in these environments by the convicts who know how to do their time. It is often used at a catch-all phrase for anyone incarcerated.
J-Cat: someone who is taking medication for a psychological disorder, such as a person who is on a mood-altering drug for mental illness, or someone who merely acts crazy.
Kite: a message, note, or letter passed from one inmate to another when direct communication isn’t possible. A “kite” is passed with a fish line or hand to hand through any number of inmates.
OG: original gangster, a veteran who has been around the system a long time, at least twenty years, someone who can handle himself and those around him well. He knows how to think correctly when split second timing is required. Double OG is forty years in the system; triple OG is sixty years.
One time: a cop or guard walking or patrolling an area. Usually, he doesn’t walk a beat and appears, unexpectedly, only once, and hence the name. It’s also used as a warning to the inmates in the immediate area to be aware.
PC: protective custody, a status that an inmate is given by the prison when he needs extra protection from other inmates. It entails additional locks on the cell door, and a strict schedule to minimize contact with other prisoners. To Charlie, it was a badge of dishonor implying that he wasn’t able to protect himself.
Pruno: prison-made wine made from fruit mash and sugar that has been fermented over a period of time, usually with artificial heat. It’s contraband, but readily available behind bars. It’s also called, “pulky.”
Road Dog: someone you spend time with and protect. He is similar to an Ace Duce, but only in prison or jail.
Shot: a drink of coffee, Kool-Aid, or Pruno.
Shutdown: the word signifying that it is time to relax from a long day, time to go to sleep, stay off the tier, and show respect to your follow prisoners. Around ten o’clock in the evening, the first inmate desiring to sleep will yell, “shutdown,” to quite down the tier.
Soul: the core of a human being, the spiritual part of man wanted by both God and the Devil. It’s to be cherished and guarded. Charles Manson used “soul” as a term of endearment when addressing close confidants.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am thankful to “Boxcar,” aka Willie Mendez, for allowing me to tell his story, a personal intimate tale of mistakes and failure, but also of redemption and hope.
I am thankful for the undying love and personal sacrifice of my wife, Linda, and my son, Forrest. Without them, this work would never have been undertaken, let alone completed.
In gratitude, I acknowledge the important part that my publisher has played in the production of this book and the copy you are holding.
Above all, to God be the glory for His love, grace, and incomparable forgiveness.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Mark Hewitt is a true crime author and the editor of “Radians and Inches,” the scholarly, peer-reviewed journal dedicated to the search for the Zodiac serial killer. Corresponding with Charles Manson for the past ten years on a variety of personal and professional topics, Mark has become a Manson expert. Holding two Masters Degrees, he is an award-winning public speaker and world traveler. He now resides in Northern California where he researches and writes, while completing his PhD.
Willie Mendez became institutionalized as a young man after repeated violations of the law, including attempted murder and armed robbery. He is serving a 68-year prison sentence in the California penal system. His frequent outbursts landed him next to Charles Manson, the iconic 1960s serial killer. Mendez was introduced to Mark Hewitt by Manson who thought the two had similar ideas and a shared optimism for life. From his initial feelings of contempt toward the aging killer, Willie, nicknamed, “Boxcar,” traveled to a place of openness and acceptance of the old man’s ideas, until finally freeing himself from the control and manipulation in which he had become entangled.
Mendez is pursuing his love of art, and hopes to write a book on the many high-profile inmates and famous prison guards he has met.