by Nuel Emmons
Bobby was bringing in a few dollars with his dope dealing but it was small-time stuff. One of the best connections and suppliers was Bobby’s old friend, Gary Hinman. Gary was an intellect, a professional student and a pretty fair musician. We had known him for some time and he was a good friend. If any of the group was in his area and needed a place to crash, a ride, or a small favor, he always came through. More importantly, Gary manufactured mescaline. He had a small lab in his house, and, given enough time, he would provide us with almost any amount needed.
For several weeks, Bobby had been moving Gary’s stuff off on a group of bikers, without any problems. But one morning three of the bikers came riding into the ranch and wanted to see Bobby. The bikers said the latest batch of stuff he had sold them was bad, laced with poison. Some of their own group had gotten deathly ill and some of the people they sold to were also sick. They wanted their money back. Bobby told them to give him the unused mescaline and he would return it to his connection and then give their money back. “It was bad shit and we dumped it. Just give us $2,000 back,” said the leader. “Man, I can’t buy that, my connection won’t go for it,” replied Bobby. The leader said, “Tell us where your connection is, we’ll get our bread.” I spoke up, “You guys know better than that. We’ll see our man, if he thinks the shit could have been bad, he’ll make it good for you. Give us time to talk to him.” The three guys fired up their bikes and pulled out of the yard, saying they wanted to hear from us the next day. Bobby and I discussed the validity of their complaint. None of our group had gotten sick, but we weren’t sure if we had used the same batch. The only thing to do was to go talk to Gary about it.
I got Gary on the phone and told him what was going on. Gary said he didn’t see how the stuff could have been bad, he hadn’t had any complaints from anyone else. Bring the stuff back and he would take a look at it. When I told him there wasn’t anything to bring back, he said, “Hell, Charlie, I can’t buy that, it’s not good business.” He was right, I wouldn’t have gone for it myself, but Bobby and I were in a cross and neither of us had two thousand we wanted to hand over to the bikers. “Tell you what, Gary, give us enough stuff to turn two thousand, we’ll pay the guys their bread and then catch up with you later.” “Can’t do that,” he said, “I’m getting things together so that I can go overseas for a few weeks, besides, you guys still owe me some on the last stuff you got.”
His refusal and reference to the money we owed made my blood surge to the top of my head. I was instantly mad and told him, “You cocksucker, you can’t leave me hanging like this, your shit was bad and I got people on my case because of it. Now make it right!” I slammed the phone down and muttered something like, “I oughta kill the motherfucker.” I told Bobby we would go see him later. “He’s got enough money to take us off the hook, but the queer bastard’s going to let us hang for his bad shit.” Susan had heard the conversation and watched me slam the phone back on the hook. My anger was leaving me and I was a little amused at myself for getting so instantly hot. I winked at Susan and jokingly told her, “Go kill him for me, Sadie.” The “go kill him” was said in jest. I never meant it, nor did I ever expect those words to be used against me in a court room. Hinman did die, but not by Sadie’s hand and not until days later. And certainly not at my orders.
Later that day, Bobby and I had a talk about Hinman. I told Bobby, “It’s in your hands, handle it any way you see fit, but get those bikers off our backs.”
That evening, Bobby, Susan and Mary said they were going to Gary’s for a while. A few hours later, the phone rang and it was Bobby wanting to talk to me. “Christ, Charlie, this asshole won’t get up off of nothin’. I had to punch him out and all kinds of shit has happened.” “Okay, man, just sit on it for a while, I’ll get there as soon as I can,” I said. I didn’t know what I was going to do once I got there. But the thought hit me, “Gary’s a freak behind some kind of Japanese Buddhism, so I’ll take my sword along and intimidate his ass with a display of oriental swordsmanship.” The sword had been given to me by a biker from the gang before all this hassle had started. I grabbed the sword and asked Bruce to drive to Gary’s. When we got there, I had Bruce wait in the car. I went up the stairs and opened the door. The place was a mess and it was plain to see there had been some struggling going on. Gary had refused to come up with any money, he and Bobby had argued, Bobby hit him and threatened him with the gun. On Bobby’s orders, Mary and Susan searched the house for money and valuables, anything that might cover the $2,000 that we now totally believed was Gary’s responsibility. It was a waste of time. If there was any money around, it was hidden too well for the girls to find it.
Under the circumstances, Gary seemed relieved to see me, but the relief turned to despair when he saw I was there in support of Bobby. “Come on, Gary,” I said, “money ain’t worth all this hassle. Tell us where your stash is and we’ll get out and leave you alone.” Gary was livid. He wasn’t showing any fear, only contempt, which at the moment was entirely directed at me. “It’s all your doing, you phoney little bastard. Get out of my house and take these maniacs with you.” He took a step toward me, quivering with rage, and shouted, “Get out!” I jumped back and made a sweep with my sword, cutting his jaw and ear. His hands automatically went up to cover the wound and blood dripped through his fingers. “Oh my God,” he whispered, “please get out, can’t you understand, I don’t have any money. Just go, leave me alone.” I turned to Bobby and said, “Talk to him, maybe he’ll remember where his money is. Then bring him out to the ranch until he gets well.” Then, to Susan and Mary, “Take care of his face. See you back at the ranch,” I said, and I went out the door.
Back in the car, Bruce wanted to know what had happened. “Nothing much,” I told him, “just had to put some sense in Gary’s head.” On the way home, unlike the Crowe shooting, I had bad vibes about what I had done to Gary. After we got to the ranch, I grabbed my sleeping bag and went off in the hills. Sleep wouldn’t come and my mind raced over all that had happened in recent weeks. Nothing was the same anymore. “Hurry, Charlie,” my thoughts said, “get out of the city, there’s too many things, against you. The people, the cops, the blacks want your ass, and now you’re destroying your friends—leave!” Finally I went to sleep. When I woke up, the sun was out and I walked the hills around the ranch before going back to the buildings. From one of the hills I viewed the whole setting. The make-believe western town where all the make-believe cowboys had played at being the real thing. I had played games in it, and pretended, but I had also had dreams and expectations that were real. Those dreams were fading.
Old George, besides wanting us out, was getting ready to sell the ranch. That shouldn’t have mattered to me, for we were pretty close to being able to make our move to the desert. But I felt a kinship with the old movie ranch, and besides, I resented the hell out of being told or forced to do something. Fuck, it was just more pressure. I overcame my self-pity, replacing it with bitterness and contempt for anyone who disagreed with me.
When I got back down to the buildings, I went to the kitchen and asked Brenda if Bobby, Susan and Mary were back. She didn’t think so. As it turned out, Bobby and the girls didn’t come back until the second day. They drove into the ranch yard in Gary’s VW bus, and I half expected to see Gary with them. When he wasn’t, I knew, without being told, that he would not be visiting anyone—ever.
The girls went straight to the saloon and Bobby came over to me and said, “Gary’s dead.” According to his account, Gary had started to scream to attract some help, and to quiet the screams, Bobby stabbed him. Bobby handed me the titles to Gary’s vehicles, saying, “This is the only thing of value we could come up with.” I wasn’t shocked at Gary’s death, but I sensed a slight increase in my heartbeat as my mind flashed on, “That’s two now.” I’m sure people would expect me to be affected differently, but emotions aren’t controlled by what other people think. My only words to Bobby were, “Where’s the other car?” He replied, “I
t’s still at the house.” So we went to Gary’s house and brought the other car to the ranch.
The bikers had phoned while Bobby and the girls were at Gary’s, and my message to them was that we were working on it, but they might have to give us more time. I told them the connection wasn’t coming through, and someone might have to go north where we were sure we would come up with enough money to straighten things out. Some of what I said were lies, but I was buying time. Truth is, there might have been enough money around the ranch, but if I could come up with some more drugs for them, I wouldn’t have to put out the dollars. With the mark-up for the replacement drugs, I could square things up and still be out less than half the money they felt was owed to them. I knew there wasn’t much truth to their story of it being bad shit, anyway. But with the situation at the ranch being what it was, I wanted a group of bikers on my side if the blacks did come down on us.
When I lied about going north, it started me thinking. It would be nice to get out from under all the tension and be on the road for a few days, and who knows what might turn up? So I threw some gear in my truck and told the kids, “I’m taking a trip north to see what I can come up with. Be gone a few days.” What I didn’t say was that I wasn’t feeling too cool about the Hinman thing, and once the body was discovered, there might be some evidence that would lead the police to the ranch.
I left the ranch alone, so it was over a week before I discovered Bobby’s fate. When Gary’s body was discovered, the police automatically put out an “all-points bulletin” on his vehicles. But two days after I left, Bobbv took Gary’s Fiat and also headed north. On the first day, Bobby drove as far as San Luis Obispo, where the Fiat quit on him. Too tired, or maybe too stoned, he went to sleep in the car. A highway patrolman arrested him and he ended up back in L.A. as the prime suspect for the murder of Gary Hinman.
On the road I had a slight feeling of guilt. The Hinman thing didn’t enter my mind too much, but I was cutting out when so many things at the ranch needed my attention. Foremost was the project for the desert. For over a month now, everything had been nearly ready. All it would take was a couple of days of effort and we could be on our way. But somehow, I always managed to find a reason not to terminate our life at Spahn, even though that life certainly wasn’t what it had been in the beginning. Between the police and the anticipated invasion by the blacks, we were living in a state of fear. Fights were more common than lovemaking, and kids were drifting away. It was a situation that would have to be remedied once I got back. But for now, I was on the highway heading away from all those problems.
For the next five days, I would hardly think about the ranch, the desert or anything except what I was doing at the moment. I really didn’t have a destination in mind—I was just going north. It was like all my early traveling in ’67 and ’68: going nowhere, looking for the unexpected.
Just out of Santa Barbara, I spent the night with some old friends. When I left the next day, it was with a supply and variety of drugs that would take the bikers off our backs and make a lot of the kids at the ranch happy. Following Highway One, my next stop was Big Sur. After I was first released from prison, I would often go there to escape from what was going on at the Haight. So, looking for that feeling of escape, I drove there now. I spent the night in my truck, and the next day, I visited the Esalen Institute to enjoy the mineral baths. It was totally relaxing and I felt refreshed when I left.
After leaving the Institute, I parked my truck by the ocean, smoked a joint, played some music and fell asleep. About two in the morning, I woke up and went looking for a coffee shop. While looking, I pulled into a service station for some gas and to take a leak. On my way out of the john, a young, pretty girl was going into the ladies’ john and I lingered until she came out. When she did, I asked what a pretty girl like her was doing out so late at night—by now it was well after three. She pointed to a car with a guy sitting in it and said she was with him. “Is he your boyfriend and are you having fun?” I asked her. “Not really, he’s a rube,” she said. “Well then, why don’t you leave him and come with me, I promise you fun.” I made the pass without thinking, in fact, I wondered if I should keep my mouth shut before her friend got out of his car and wanted to fight. Her answer surprised me. She said, “I will, if you take me back to San Diego eventually.” “Agreed,” I answered, “let’s get your things.” The guy she was with couldn’t believe the girl was leaving him for a stranger. But he didn’t give either of us a hassle. We got in my truck and were on our way to nowhere—just party time. Me and Stephanie Schram.
We spent the night on the beach. I laid some acid on her—her first. Nothing crazy happened, but the acid put her in another world. At my suggestion, she peeled off her clothes and ran and played along the beach like a young sea nymph. Through the acid she saw herself as a princess, a stripper, a witch and a whore, and we went through sex acts to accomodate each of her fantasies. When we woke up the next morning, she was in love with me and swore never to leave. She also wanted another hit of acid. I told her, “No, that’s just for special occasions, and in the future we’ll have plenty of those.”
We headed back south to the ranch. Stephanie liked what she saw and wanted to live there. We stuck around for a few hours and then went to San Diego to get Stephanie’s possessions. While at the ranch, I was told that Bobby had left and taken Gary’s Fiat—at this time no one knew he was already in jail. But shortly after I left, Bobby phoned the ranch and informed Linda that he had been picked up as a suspect for the murder of Gary Hinman.
The trip to San Diego was a leisurely one. I was relieved to learn that no police had been to the ranch, so I could give my full attention to my new love, a seventeen-year-old beauty who was experiencing things she had never dreamed of. I enjoyed the showing and the teaching. Being on the road with Stephanie was reminiscent of 1967 and my first travels in northern California.
Stephanie had been living with her sister and brother-in-law. After getting Stephanie’s possessions and having dinner with her relatives, we headed back to Spahn. Though we could have made it back that night, I was in no hurry. I was clinging to the pleasures of the moment and losing the tensions that had been pounding in my head for the last few months. We spent the night sleeping beside the truck. We counted stars, told stories and made love. The early morning sun woke us up. It was August 8, 1969.
Days and dates are not my thing, but the events of the following hours established this as one of the worst in the lives of many, many people. It was around noon when I drove the truck into Spahn Ranch. As I pulled to a stop, the usual “happy to see me faces” were not there. The individuals were present, but their faces showed strain and tension, not smiles and welcome. Sensing the need for some serious conversation I introduced Stephanie to those she hadn’t previously met and suggested some of them take her on a tour of the ranch.
As a group, Leslie, Mary, Squeaky, Sadie and Linda informed me of Bobby’s arrest. Linda repeated the phone conversation with Bobby, the charges and what he had told the police. At present, he was being held as a suspect and had not been charged with murder. After the phone call, the girls had held their own meeting and discussed the best method of assisting Bobby. They decided that if murders similar to the Hinman slaying continued to occur, the police would begin to believe Bobby was not their man. They hadn’t got as far as figuring out who was going to do these copy-cat killings or who would be the victims.
I told them the plan was crazy and that the police wouldn’t go for it. Sadie blurted out, “It will work, Charlie. At Gary’s house, we wrote things on the wall like ‘Political Piggy’ and drew a panther’s paw and that kind of stuff. We can do it again and they will think the niggers did it. It will be Helter Skelter.” Her words were reflections of what I had been saying to the kids in recent months, but the difference was that I did feel the blacks were tiring of their suppression. They would rise up against the whites, and there would be chaos. Maybe since the shooting of Crowe, I had purposely initiate
d fear and resentment of blacks in the kids, but I had never wanted to start a war. My concern was for defense and awareness. Leave it to Sadie to throw my words back at me. I almost shouted, “Look, it ain’t going to work! You fucking people have got me headed right back to prison. I’m not going for it! As a matter of fact, I’m getting my shit together right now, loading it in my truck and getting the fuck out of here. I am not going back to prison because a bunch of kids can’t handle their own problems.”
Squeaky was the first to speak up, “No, you can’t go, love is one! We are one!” Again, my words came right back in my face. “If one goes,” she said, “we go together!” Sadie begged, “Don’t go, Charlie, we won’t let you go back to jail. We’ll take care of Bobby. We will do what we have to do to take care of our problems. Stay, Charlie.” All the girls said the same thing. “Don’t leave us, Charlie, stay here, we need you! We can do whatever is necessary and we won’t send you back to jail.”
Deep inside, I knew that if I stuck around, anything those kids did would come right back in my lap. No way could they keep me out of prison if the shit came down on us. But as I looked at them, I remembered something special about each one. The first meeting, the first romance, the first fight, the times I loved them most, as well as the times I disciplined them. They had given me the first real love and sense of belonging I had ever known. I also realized—though I would not admit it to them—that I needed them. And as far as the heavy situation surrounding us went, I was as responsible as they were. And I knew it.
“All right,” I said, “I’II stay, but what you do is on your heads, not mine—understood?” Together they said, “We understand, Charlie.” There were smiles, hugs and kisses.
With that, we dropped the talk of Bobby and pending plans. My days away from the ranch and the events concerning Bobby had taken a toll on the normal routine. People were bum-kicked, they were down and they needed something to raise their spirits. I told Squeaky to pull out some credit cards and send someone to town for gifts and trinkets. New items always made the girls happy and I wanted to see some smiling faces. Squeaky gave the cards to Mary and Sandy and sent them after goodies.