Helter Skelter: The True Story of the Manson Murders

by Vincent Bugliosi

  Aaron and I conferred with District Attorney Younger. Sadie couldn’t have it both ways. Either she had told the complete truth before the grand jury and, according to our agreement, we would not seek a first degree murder conviction against her, or, according to her recent declaration, she recanted her testimony, in which case the agreement was breached.

  My personal opinion was that Susan Atkins had testified “substantially truthfully” before the grand jury, with these exceptions: her omission of the three other murder attempts the second night; her hedging on whether she had stabbed Voytek Frykowski (which she had admitted to me when I interviewed her); and my instinctive, but strong, feeling (corroborated by her confessions to Virginia Graham and Ronnie Howard) that she had lied when she testified that she had not stabbed Sharon Tate. Under Atkins’ agreement with our office, “substantially” wasn’t good enough—she had to tell the complete truth.

  With her declaration, however, the issue was closed. On the basis of her repudiation, Aaron and I asked Younger’s permission to seek the death penalty against Susan Atkins as well as the other defendants. He granted it.

  Sadie’s about-face was not unexpected. Another change, however, caught almost everyone off guard. In court to petition for a new trial, Bobby Beausoleil produced an affidavit, signed by Mary Brunner, stating that her testimony in his trial “was not true,” and that she had lied when she said Beausoleil stabbed Hinman to death.

  Although obviously stunned, prosecutor Burt Katz argued that the other evidence in the trial was sufficient to convict Beausoleil.

  Investigating further, Burt learned that a few days before she was due to testify, Mary Brunner had been visited by Squeaky and Brenda at her parents’ home in Wisconsin. She was again visited by Squeaky, this time accompanied by Sandy, two days before she signed the affidavit. Burt charged that the girls, representing Manson, had coerced Mary Brunner into repudiating her testimony.

  Called to the stand, Mary Brunner first denied this, then, after conferring with counsel, did another about-face, and repudiated her repudiation. Her testimony in the trial was true, she said. Still later she again reversed herself.

  Eventually, Beausoleil’s motion for a new trial was denied, and he was sent to San Quentin’s Death Row to wait out his appeal. The District Attorney’s Office was left with a perplexing legal dilemma, however. After her testimony in the Beausoleil trial, the Court had granted Mary Brunner complete immunity for her part in the Hinman murder.

  Except for the possibility that she might be tried for perjury, it looked as if Mary Brunner had managed to beat the rap.

  Indicted on the Hinman murder, Manson appeared before Judge Dell to request that he be allowed to represent himself. When Dell denied the motion, Manson requested that Irving Kanarek and Daye Shinn be made his attorneys. Judge Dell ruled there would be “a clear conflict of interest” if Shinn represented both Manson and Susan Atkins. This left Kanarek.

  Commenting, “I think we are well aware of Mr. Kanarek and his record,” Manson told Judge Dell, “I do not wish to hire this man as my attorney, but you leave me no alternative. I understand what I am doing. Believe me, I understand what I am doing. This is the worst man in town I could pick, and you are pushing him on me.” If Dell would permit him to represent himself, Manson said, then he would forget about having Kanarek.

  “I am not going to be blackmailed,” Dell told Manson.

  MANSON “Then I will take it up to the bigger father.”

  Judge Dell said that Manson could, of course, appeal his decision. However, since Manson was already appealing the revocation of his pro per status in the Tate-LaBianca proceedings, Dell was willing to postpone a final decision until that writ was either accepted or rejected.

  Aaron and I discussed the possible Kanarek substitution with District Attorney Younger. In view of his record, with Kanarek on the case the prospect that the trial might last two or more years was very real. Younger asked us if there was any legal basis for removing an attorney from a case. We told him we knew of none; however, I’d research the law. Younger asked me to prepare an argument for the Court, and suggested that it stress Kanarek’s incompetency. From what I had learned of Kanarek, I did not feel that he was incompetent. His obstructionism, I felt, was the major issue.

  I had no trouble obtaining evidence of this. From judges, deputy DAs, even jurors, I heard examples of his dilatory, obstructionist tactics. One deputy DA, on learning that he had to oppose Kanarek a second time, quit the office; life was too short for that, he said.

  Anticipating that Manson would ask to substitute Kanarek on Tate-LaBianca as well as Hinman, I began preparing my argument. At the same time I had another idea which just might make that argument unnecessary.

  Maybe, with the right bait, I could persuade Manson to dump Kanarek himself.

  On May 25, I was going through LAPD’s tubs on the LaBianca case when I noticed, standing against the wall, a wooden door. On it was a multicolored mural; the lines from a nursery rhyme, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7—All Good Children Go to Heaven” and, in large letters, the words “HELTER SKELTER IS COMING DOWN FAST.”

  Stunned, I asked Gutierrez, “Where in the hell did you get that?”

  “Spahn Ranch.”

  “When?”

  He checked the yellow property envelope affixed to the door.

  “November 25, 1969.”

  “You mean for five months, while I’ve been desperately trying to link the killers with Helter Skelter, you’ve had this door, with those very words on it, the same bloody words that were found at the LaBianca residence?”

  Gutierrez admitted they had. The door, it turned out, had been found on a cabinet in Juan Flynn’s trailer. It had been considered so unimportant that to date no one had even bothered to book it into evidence.

  Gutierrez did so the next day.

  Again, as I had on numerous other occasions, I told the detectives that I wanted to interview Juan Flynn.

  I had no idea how much Flynn actually knew. Along with Brooks Poston and Paul Watkins, the Panamanian cowboy had been interviewed by the authors of a quickie paperback that appeared even before the trial, but he obviously held back a great deal, since many of the incidents I’d learned about from Brooks and Paul were not included.

  JUNE 1–14, 1970

  Two weeks before the start of the Tate-LaBianca trial, Manson requested, and obtained, the substitution of Irving Kanarek for Ronald Hughes.

  I asked for a conference in chambers. Once there, I pointed out that the legal issues in this case were tremendously complex. Even with attorneys known to handle matters expeditiously, the trial could last four or more months. “But,” I added, “it is my frank opinion that if Mr. Kanarek is permitted to represent Mr. Manson, the case could last several years.” I noted, “It is common knowledge among the legal profession that Mr. Kanarek is a professional obstructionist. I believe the man is conscientious. I believe he is sincere.” However, I continued, “there is no way for the Court to stop Mr. Kanarek. Even holding him in contempt will not stop this man, because he will gladly spend the night in jail.”

  Rather than have the trial become “a burlesque on justice,” I had an alternative suggestion, I told the Court. It was one I had considered for a long time and, though I had discussed it with Aaron, I knew it would come as a surprise to everyone else.

  “As a possible solution, the prosecution has no objection to permitting Mr. Manson to represent himself, as he has desired throughout, and let him have an attorney of his choice to assist him…”

  Manson looked at me with a startled expression. This was probably the last thing he had expected to hear from the prosecution.

  Although I was hoping that, given this opportunity, Manson would dump Kanarek, I was sincere in making the suggestion. From the start Manson had maintained that only he could speak for himself. He’d strongly implied that, failing in this, he’d make trouble. And there was no question in my mind that this was his reason for choosing Kanarek.<
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  Too, even though lacking formal education, Manson was bright. Having dominated them in the past, he could cross-examine such prosecution witnesses as Linda Kasabian, Brooks Poston, and other ex–Family members with probably more effectiveness than many “straight” attorneys. And, to assist him in legal matters, he would have not only his own lawyer but three other experienced attorneys alongside him at the counsel table. Also, looking far ahead, I was concerned that the denial of Manson’s request to defend himself might be an issue on appeal.

  Aaron then quoted Manson’s own statement, made in Judge Dell’s court, that Kanarek was the worst man he could pick.

  Kanarek objected so strongly to the proceedings that Judge Older remarked, “Now the things that Mr. Stovitz and Mr. Bugliosi said about you, Mr. Kanarek, while they might appear to be unfair, there certainly is, as a matter of common knowledge among the judges in this court, a good deal of truth in what they say. I am not impugning your personal motives, but you do have a reputation for taking an inordinately long time to do what someone else can do in a much shorter period…”

  However, Older said, the only reason he was considering the matter was that he wanted to be absolutely sure Manson wanted Kanarek as his attorney. His remarks before Judge Dell had injected some doubt on that point.

  In one respect, Manson replied, Kanarek would be the best attorney in town; “in a lot of respects, he would be the worst attorney that I could take.” But, Manson continued, “I don’t think there is any attorney that can represent me as well as I can myself. I am smart enough to realize that I am not an attorney, and I will sit behind these men and I won’t make a scene. I am not here to make trouble…

  “There is a lot involved here that does not meet the eye. A person is born, he goes to school, he learns what he is told in a book, and he lives his life by what he knows. The only thing he knows is what someone has told him. He is educated; he does what an educated person does.

  “But go out of this realm, you go into a generation gap, a free-love society, you get into insane drugs or smoking marijuana.” And in this other world the reality differs, Manson noted. Here experience alone is the teacher; here you discover “there is no way that you can know the taste of water unless you drink it or unless it has rained on you or unless you jump in the river.”

  THE COURT “All I want to do, Mr. Manson, is find out if you are happy with Mr. Kanarek or if you have second thoughts.”

  MANSON “I thought I explained that. I would not be happy with anyone but myself. No man can represent me.”

  I asked the Court’s permission to question Manson. Though Kanarek objected, Charlie was agreeable. I asked him if he had consulted the other defense attorneys as to whether he should be represented by Kanarek. I had heard that two of them, Fitzgerald and Reiner, were very unhappy about Kanarek’s entry into the case.

  MANSON “I don’t ask other men’s opinions. I have my own.”

  BUGLIOSI “Do you feel Mr. Kanarek can give you a fair trial?”

  MANSON “I do. I feel you can give me a fair trial. You showed me your fairness already.”

  BUGLIOSI “I will give you a fair trial, Charlie, but I am out to convict you.”

  MANSON “What’s a fair trial?”

  BUGLIOSI “That’s when the truth comes out.”

  Declaring, “It would be a miscarriage of justice to permit you to represent yourself in a case having the complications this case has,” Older again asked Manson, “Are you affirming Mr. Kanarek as your attorney?”

  “I am forced into a situation,” Manson replied. “My second alternative is to cause you as much trouble as possible.”

  A little over a week later we’d get our first sample of what he had in mind.

  On being taken to Patton State Hospital in January, sixteen-year-old Dianne Lake had been labeled “schizophrenic” by a staff psychologist. Though I knew the defense would probably try to use this to discredit her testimony, I wasn’t too worried, since psychologists are not doctors and are not qualified to make medical diagnoses. The staff psychiatrists, who were doctors, said her problems were emotional, not mental: behavioral disorders of adolescence plus possible drug dependence. They also felt she had made excellent progress and were now sure she would be able to testify at the trial.

  With Sergeant Patchett, I visited Patton in early June. The little ragamuffin I’d first seen in the jail in Independence now looked like any teenager. She was getting straight A’s in school, Dianne told me proudly; not until getting away from the Family, she said, had she realized how good life was. Now, looking back, she felt she had been in a “pit of death.”

  In interviewing Dianne, I learned a number of things which hadn’t come out in her earlier interviews. While they were in the desert together, at Willow Springs, Patricia Krenwinkel had told her that she had dragged Abigail Folger from the bedroom into the living room of the Tate residence. And Leslie Van Houten, after admitting to her that she had stabbed someone, had commented that at first she had been reluctant to do so, but then she’d discovered the more you stabbed, the more fun it was.

  Dianne also said that on numerous occasions, in June, July, and August of 1969, Manson had told the Family, “We have to be willing to kill pigs in order to help the black man start Helter Skelter.”

  And several times—she believed it was in July, about a month before the Tate-LaBianca murders—Manson had also told them, “I’m going to have to start the revolution.”

  The interview lasted several hours. One thing Dianne said struck me as very sad. Squeaky, Sandy, and the other girls in the Family could never love anyone else, not even their parents, she told me. “Why not?” I asked. “Because,” she replied, “they’ve given all their love to Charlie.”

  I left Patton with the very strong feeling that Dianne Lake had now escaped that fate.

  In court on June 9, Manson suddenly turned in his chair so his back was to the judge. “The Court has shown me no respect,” Manson said, “so I am going to show the Court the same thing.” When Manson refused to face the Court, Judge Older, after several warnings, had the bailiffs remove him from the courtroom. He was taken to the lockup adjoining the court, which was equipped with a speaker system so he could hear, though not participate in, the proceedings.

  Although Older gave him several opportunities to return, on the understanding that he would agree to conduct himself properly, Manson rejected them.

  We had not given up in our attempt to have Irving Kanarek taken off the case. On June 10, I filed a motion requesting an evidentiary hearing on the Kanarek-Hughes substitution. The thrust of my motion: Manson did not have the constitutional right to have Kanarek as his lawyer.

  The right of counsel of one’s choice, I argued, was not an unlimited, unqualified, absolute right. This right was given to defendants seeking a favorable verdict for themselves. It was obvious from Manson’s statements that he wasn’t picking Kanarek for this reason, but rather to subvert, thwart, and paralyze the due and proper administration of justice. “And we submit that he cannot use the right to counsel of his choice in such an ignoble fashion.”

  Kanarek responded that he would be glad to let the Court read the transcripts of his cases, to see if he used dilatory tactics. I thought I saw Judge Older wince at this, but I wasn’t sure. Older’s somber expression rarely changed. It was very difficult to guess what he was thinking.

  In researching Kanarek’s record, I had learned something which was not part of my hour-long argument. For all his filibustering, disconnected ramblings, senseless motions, and wild, irresponsible charges, Irving Kanarek frequently scored points. He noted, for example, that our office hadn’t tried to challenge Ronald Hughes, who had never tried a case before, on the grounds that his representation might hurt Manson. And, in conclusion, Kanarek, very much to the point, asked that the prosecution’s motion be struck “on the basis there is no basis for it in law.”

  I’d frankly admitted this in my argument, but had noted that this was �
��a situation so aggravated that it literally cries out to the Court to take a pioneer stand.”

  Judge Older disagreed. My motion for an evidentiary hearing was denied.

  Although District Attorney Younger had Older’s ruling appealed to the California Supreme Court, it was let stand. Though we had tried to save the taxpayers perhaps several million dollars and everyone involved a great deal of time and unnecessary effort, Irving Kanarek would remain on the Tate-LaBianca cases just as long as Charles Manson wanted him.

  “If Your Honor does not respect Mr. Manson’s rights, you need not respect mine,” Susan Atkins said, rising and turning her back to the Court. Leslie Van Houten and Patricia Krenwinkel followed suit. When Older suggested that the defense attorneys confer with their clients, Fitzgerald admitted that would do little good, “because there is a minimum of client control in this case.” After several warnings, Older had the girls removed to one of the vacant jury rooms upstairs, and a speaker was placed there also.

  I had mixed feelings about all this. If the girls parroted Manson’s actions during the trial, it would be additional evidence of his domination. However, their removal from the courtroom might also be considered reversible error on appeal, and the last thing we wanted was to have to try the whole case over again.

  Under the current law, Allen vs. Illinois, defendants can be removed from a courtroom if they engage in disruptive conduct. Another case, however, People vs. Zamora, raised a subtler point. In that case, in which there were twenty-two defendants, the counsel tables were so situated that it was extremely difficult for the attorneys to communicate with their clients while court was in session. This led to a reversal by the Appellate Court, which ruled that the right of counsel implies the right of consultation between a defendant and his lawyer during the trial.

  I mentioned this to Older, suggesting that some type of telephonic communication be set up. Older felt it unnecessary.