“Well, we like to use the creek, but it’s dry in the summer. So, we end up using a hose in the stables. I’ll take you.” Sandy put on a tee shirt printed with a radio station logo and some filmy orange harem pants made from parachute nylon.
They left her Army surplus tent and walked about a hundred yards to the stable. There were no customers at the ranch yet, but most of the horses had been turned out into the corral. Sandy and Alex walked toward one end of the empty barn, where a girl was already using the hose shower. Alex began to turn his back out of courtesy but Sandy kept on going. She looked over her shoulder at Alex. “C’mon – haven’t you ever been in a girl’s locker room before?” she teased. “Hey, Judy!” The other girl waved back, and Sandy stripped off her two garments.
As Alex walked closer he could see that Judy was another very young girl – sixteen, he guessed. Judy and Sandy embraced, and Judy stooped down behind the wooden stall divider and came back up holding a naked infant. The two women fussed over the giggling baby for a moment.
‘This is Beacon,” Judy said as she held the baby out toward Alex. “Who are you?”
“I’m Alex. Judy, right?”
“Yep.” She bundled up in an old blanket and wrapped the baby in the folds. “Gotta go! Good luck – that water is freezing this morning!” Humming to her child, she walked off toward the radiant open doorway at the opposite end of the barn.
“Sandy - how old is that girl?” Alex asked. His eyes followed the young girl out the barn.
“I don’t really know. She just came here about a month ago. Her father kicked her out when she wouldn’t get an abortion – Mr. Reverend couldn’t handle it.”
“Where’s the baby’s father?”
“Um, Viet Nam, I think, if he’s still alive.” She picked up the hose, and turned on the tap. “Her mom sends her money when she can.”
“Tough life,” Alex said.
A dark look, unusual for Sandy, came over her face. “Well, at least she was able to keep her baby.”
She took the hose and inverted the nozzle over her head. The cold water splashed over her as a shaft of sunlight from a crack in the old roof, like a spotlight, played over her lithe body.
“Jesus!” Sandy screamed. “Man! What a rush!” She looked at Alex. “Well, you gonna shower in your jeans, or what?”
Alex dodged the first blast of the hose as he tried to take off his pants, but she got him the second time as he was dancing on one foot, pulling at the last pant leg. He twisted and fell into the mud. “Shit!”
“Man!” said Sandy, laughing and pointing at his mud covered body. “You need a bath, man!’
• • •
Back at her tent they hung Alex’s jeans to dry in the sun, and Sandy loaned him the harem pants. She pulled on a full length sheath with shoulder straps. Alex thought he looked like a swish pirate, but no one gave him a second glance as they walked through the ranch.
They walked together toward the café and passed the clearing where Steve and Spence were working on a new dune buggy. Two vehicles were completed, and this third one was close.
“Wow!” Alex exclaimed. “Are those dune buggies?’
Spence stood up and slowly checked him out. “Who’s askin’?” he said as he wiped his hands on a shop rag.
“Hey, man. Alex Swain. I came here last night with Marv Feld,” said Alex.
“Alex what? Marv who?”
“It’s OK, Spence,” Steve said, trying to calm him. “Charlie’s cool with Alex.”
“Hey. What’s happening?” Alex said, extending his hand.
Spence didn’t shake his hand. Instead, he leaned over, grabbed a welding torch and fired it up. A blast of yellow flame shot out toward Alex, and as Spence adjusted the control it became a pointed blue spear. Then he held a flat piece of dark glass over one eye, bent down, and started a weld on the frame of the old VW. Sparks of molten metal flew out, some landing on his bare chest. He never flinched.
Steve pointed and laughed. “He got that way in ‘Nam. We were together over there, in the delta. It was so fucking hot, shit like that feels like a cold rain!” Steve looked at Alex. “You’ve never been in one of these?”
“No – never even been to a desert,” said Alex.
“Hell, we gotta ride, then!”
“How long does it take to get to the desert from here?” Alex asked.
“You don’t need the desert, man,” Steve said. “We like to go ridin’ up on the fire roads.” He pointed to the skein of brown, unpaved paths that crisscrossed the mountains around them. “They dozed ‘em out for the fire trucks. They’re great for the dune buggies! How long are you here?”
“I got to get going soon, man. Like, now. Bummer!”
“I heard you’re a writer? Like, for Rolling Stone?” Steve asked. He seemed truly interested, not just making small talk.
“Yeah. I’ve done some things for Rolling Stone, but I’m freelance. So, I work for anyone who’ll pay me.”
Steve grinned. “Must be cool, man, wandering around the world, checking it out, writing about it. Freelance. Huh!”
“Well, usually I only get to go where they send me. But, yeah - it’s very cool.” Alex looked around the ranch and took in the scene – the western town set, the tents, beat-up cars, trailers. The article was beginning to flesh out in Alex’s mind. “Seems like you guys got quite a freelance thing going on here yourself, man!”
“Ha!” Steve laughed. “I guess you could call it that! But, like, nothing’s free, brother, ya dig?” Steve leaned in and lowered his voice. “I don’t care what Charlie says!”
Spence cut the torch and looked up. “Hey! Asshole! Are we building this thing or talking shit all day?”
“Sorry, man!” Steve looked back at Alex. “I’ll rap with you later, Alex.”
Sandy and Alex turned and walked on toward the café. Steve called out, “Hey! Don’t use my real name, man!”
“Charlie told them they had to hurry up and get the buggies ready,” Sandy told Alex. “Shit is coming down faster, now – we may have to leave any day.”
“Do you ever get off the ranch, Sandy?” Alex asked. “Have you seen any of this with your own eyes?”
“Well, I don’t like to leave the ranch very much. I feel safe here, and it’s so horrible out there. And we’ve got a TV – actually its George’s, in his trailer. Squeaky fills us in.”
Alex decided to drop it. They walked up the plank stairs to the café porch, and Sandy greeted the dogs by name. “I may not know each person here, but I know each dog!” Inside, Kat was collecting the last plates from a table. There were still no riding customers yet.
“Anything left, Kat?” Sandy asked.
“A little oatmeal and raisins – probably enough. I can stretch it, if you don’t mind it a little soupy!”
“That would be great! I’m Alex,” he said.
Kat took his hand, but didn’t seem too friendly. “Kat. Charlie says you’re here to write a story about us.”
“Well, not yet, anyway. But I think it might turn out that way. Pretty far out, what you’re doing here. Are you the cook?”
Kat laughed and seemed to thaw a little. “Most of the time, I guess. I hate to think what these people would eat if I didn’t cook! Hey!” she said, looking at Sandy. “Are you ready for the dumpster run today?”
“Oh, shit! That’s today? Yeah – I’m up for it!”
“Uh, dumpster run?” Alex asked, perplexed. Now what?
Kat smiled. “It’s one of the ways the Spirit watches out for us! We go out to these big supermarkets in the Valley. They throw out tons of perfectly good food if it’s, like, a day old. We can grab all kinds of great stuff from the dumpsters in the back of the stores for nothing, ‘til they run us off.”
“Garbage?” said Alex, wrinkling his nose.
“It’s not garbage, Alex!” Sandy said, correcting him. “They just don’t think they can sell it, so out it goes!”
Alex was still confused. “But if it�
��s still good, why don’t they give it to some charities?”
Kat snorted. “Because they’re fuckin’ piggies, man! They don’t want to give away free food! All they care about is the money.”
Sandy grabbed Alex’s hand. “So – wanna go with us? It’s a lot of fun - really!”
Alex eyed the phone on the wall. “I still gotta check in with my editor. Probably can’t – sorry.” As he walked up to the phone, they heard a car honking out on the road to the ranch.
Kat went to the doorway, and shielded her eyes from the sun. “It’s Marv again,” she said. She came back inside and ran up to Sandy in mock excitement.
“It’s Marvie!” they shrieked. “Marvie’s here!” Crying with laughter, they fell into each other’s arms in a fake swoon.
Down In the Valley
Traditional
September 3, 1969
1:30 pm
Marv waddled up the café steps, huffing, loaded down with a photo shoot umbrella, briefcase, tripod, and a small, heavy paper bag. He was sweltering, and still hung over from the night before. Behind him Henry the photographer unloaded gear from the trunk of Marv’s car. With Henry was a young Asian woman dressed in a flowing India print skirt and a used military jacket, her long jet black hair held back by a silk paisley scarf tied around her head.
Marv put the equipment down on the porch and went inside with his briefcase and paper bag. As soon as his eyes adjusted, he saw Alex and Sandy standing by the pay phone.
“Hey, Alex! Have a good time last night?” Marv leered. Then he saw the harem pants and unbridled shirt Alex was wearing and laughed. “Jesus! Didn’t take you long to go native, did it?”
“Well,” said Alex, also laughing, “shit happens. Have you talked to Phil?”
“No.”
“Well, I gotta call him.” Alex turned to the phone and pushed a dime into the slot.
“Where’s Charlie?” Marv asked, irritated, looking around.
“Still asleep, I guess,” Kat said.
“Well, go get him! It’s magic time!” Marv said, throwing his hands up in the air. “We got Henry and the make-up girl – we’re ready to go!”
“Does Charlie know about this?” asked Sandy, a skeptical look on her face.
“Yeah,” Marv said. “We talked about it last weekend.”
“Well, I’ll try and get him up, but I can’t promise anything,” Sandy said, and left through the back door of the café. Marv heard voices out in the plaza and walked out to the porch. Five or six girls were besieging Henry the photographer. “What the … ?” Marv asked himself out loud.
Kat provided the answer. “Oh, we all know Henry, alright!” she said. “Practically every girl here has posed for his little nudie magazine shots at one time or another. It’s great when you need a little pocket money.”
“Naked pictures?” Marv asked, more shocked than he expected.
“Oh, Marv, it’s nothing! It’s really stupid most of the time. Two girls wrestling in the creek, a girl sunning on a rock. I can’t believe there are guys that get off on stuff like that. Priests, probably!” she laughed. “But it’s an easy ten bucks!”
“We call them stroke books,” said Marv, giggling.
“Jesus, Marv – you are such a perv!”
Sandy came around the corner, followed by a dour and groggy Charles Manson.
“What the fuck?” he growled at the crowd.
“It’s picture time, Charlie. Time to be beautiful!” Marv said, his hands on his hips. “You don’t remember talking about shooting today, do you?”
“Marv,” Charlie whined, “you’re always talking so much bullshit I just gotta let it blow right on by! And you are really hung up on this ‘what day is it?’ thing! It’s starting to really bum me out, man!”
Marv laughed. “You can be bummed later. Henry and Linda are here to do your photo shoot. Let’s go! You girls too – we need shots of everyone together.”
Inside the cafe, Alex spoke with Phil Crane on the phone.
“Yeah – he was right. This place is a zoo! Or – I don’t even know what to call it!” said Alex, searching for the right words. “I definitely think there is a story here. I’ll write up some pages for you to OK it, but I think it’s a no-brainer!”
• • •
The photo caravan hiked up the dry creek bed to a pretty spot where the stream turned around a group of large boulders. Charlie carried his guitar, and everyone else in the procession carried some piece of equipment, safari style. Henry picked a semi-shaded spot and began to set up his small lights and reflectors. Linda found a large, flat boulder, opened her makeup case, and pulled beauty tools from her large tote bag.
She approached Charlie with a powder puff and a big comb. “Woman, there ain’t no way you’re even getting close to me with that shit!” Charlie barked.
“Mr. Manson, I’m just trying to cut some of the glare from your skin. You know, because of the sun,” Linda said.
“Mr. Manson?” Charlie asked, incredulous. The surrounding Family members howled with laughter. “Lady - now I know you’re trying to turn me into a fag!”
“Charlie, man!” said Henry. “Trust me – she’s a pro! You’ll look more like your real self on the film!”
With prompting by Sandy and Kat, Charlie finally relented. “No fucking lipstick, man! And - what do you girls call that stuff on your cheeks?”
“Rouge, Charlie!” said Sandy, laughing hysterically.
“Yeah! None of that shit!”
Charlie got situated standing on a rock, picking on his guitar. After some final meter checks and lighting adjustments, Henry asked Charlie to start playing. He circled around Charlie with his 35mm camera, swooping and snapping. He caught Charlie in various soulful poses, some looking almost like religious ecstasy. From behind Henry, the girls and guys from the Family egged Charlie on. Linda was busy making up some of the prettiest ranch girls.
Henry stopped when he finished the roll, and reloaded his camera with color film. Now, he could be more creative with the light. The color film would show the rainbow aspect of the sunbeams, reflections, and lens flares that would not be as impressive in black and white.
Next came a series of staged shots of Charlie singing and interacting with the Family’s most attractive girls. But they kept trying to hug and kiss him, laughing. Henry stopped them. “No! Girls! Just look at him, please!”
Henry was happy, though. The light was good, everyone was up. It would be his first album cover – or so Marv promised. And soon the day would move into the ‘Golden Hour,’ when the sun fell lower and the light turned a warm, glowing honey color.
• • •
Marv and Alex had stayed behind in the café. Alex was waiting for Phil to come pick him up, and Marv was busy making endless calls on the pay phone. He had pulled his book of contacts from the briefcase, and started each call by reaching into his paper bag for a handful of coins. Dimes, quarters - sometimes more than a dollar went into the phone for a call.
“Well,” Marv said when he was finished with the phone, “we’ve got one hell of a party lined up. I got 25 of the hottest radio guys who are gonna have the time of their lives, man!”
“Cool,” said Alex, not really paying much attention. “A record release party?”
“Yeah – I guess that’s what I’ll call it!” Marv giggled. “More of a private party. Very exclusive!” he laughed. “We’re getting the records pressed as soon as we get a good shot from today. Let’s go check it out!”
They left the cafe but didn’t make it any further than the porch. “Shit!” Marv said, frowning. “I have no idea where they went.”
“Probably up in the hills” said Alex. “That would make a pretty dramatic background.”
They walked casually toward the wild and overgrown area of the ranch. “Marv?” Alex asked. “Have you actually spent a lot of time up here?”
“Um – not that much, I guess. But, the times I do get up here, something wild is always happening!
”
“So – would you call this a commune, or what?”
“A commune?” Marv puzzled. “Well, I don’t know much about them. A cult, maybe. A cult of Charlie, I guess – they all love him so much.”
“A cult, huh?” Alex mused. “Yeah – I can see it that way. Seems like he’s got some kind of mental control over them.”
“That he does, my friend!” said Marv, sweating and trying to find his footing in the sand. “That he does. It’s called talent. And that’s why I think the little girls out there are going to flip when they see him and hear him. They will be lined up like puppies – no - more like putty in our hands, man!”
Alex paused on the trail and faced Marv. “Marv, are you sure you know what you’re getting into here? Are you ready for what could happen?”
“Who knows what could happen, Alex! I gotta concentrate on what I want to happen. That’s the key to success, baby!”
“But there’s some pretty tough characters running around here, Marv. Some shady business, too, I think.”
Marv grabbed Alex’s shoulder. “Look, Alex. I’m not naïve. I know this ain’t Camp Gitcheegoomie out here. I’ve been in this business a long time. But like an old guy told me once: if only saints made music, you’d have to go to heaven to hear it - dig?”
As they walked on, Marv continued his rap. “We’ve all done shit we regret, crossed a line somewhere. Hell – half of pop music is about being horny, and the other half is about regret. Learning from mistakes in life makes for some great song writing.”
Alex was taken aback. This is some deep shit, he thought. Didn’t expect this from him! Then he realized Marv was just repeating things he had heard other, more discerning people say.
“Well, I suppose,” Alex said, “I ought to tell you that Phil is taking you up on your suggestion to write a piece about this place. The scene, the record – as much as we can fit in.”
“That’s so fucking cool, man!” Marv shouted, grinning. He slapped Alex on the back. “Just let me know how I can help. When do you think it will come out?”
Tonight! The Charlie Manson Band Page 10