Magic, The Land Of Faerie

And The Liberal Mind

The March-April Issue Of Foreign Affairs:

A Discussion

by

R.E. Prindle

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The March-April issue of Foreign Affairs arrived and once again it is dedicated to the denunciation of President Trump.   As is well known Foreign Affairs is the propaganda arm of the Council On Foreign Relations. The CFR is not merely an informational service, it is also a potent influence within the government of the United States. Many members have even served as President of the United States. In fact, the last four presidents covering twenty-four consecutive years, that is Bush, Clinton, Bush, Obama and had Hillary Clinton been placed a full twenty-eight, possible thirty-two years. Time enough to indoctrinate two and half generations.

Thus it was a bitter disappointment for them when Donald Trump made a run around end to win the White House. His mere candidacy had unleashed an unceasing barrage of hatred and since he has been under siege defending himself against innumerable CFR sappers. The March-April issue continues the assault. The five themed articles under the heading Letting Go are: Trump’s Lucky Year, Why the Chaos Can’t Last, The World After Trump, How The System Can Endure, The Rise Of Illiberal Hegemony: Trump’s Surprising Grand Strategy, The Post-American World Economy: Globalization In The Trump Era and Giving Up The High Ground: America’s Retreat On Human Rights.

As is evident the Liberal ‘system’ that the CFR presidents were putting in place and which would have been completed by the election of Hillary Clinton has been disrupted by the election of Donald Trump who is, in fact, dismantling the whole Liberal CFR system. Hence, an article on how the system can endure, one imagines, behind the scene: the so-called Dark Government.

This raises the question of what beyond specific goals as outlined in Foreign Affairs is the Liberal mind set. In the larger scope of human history to what psychological reality, Weltanschauung motivates the Liberal mind.

Many theories have been advanced about the motivating forces that direct human activity. The Hegelian/Marxist view is of course based on economics. But underlying theories such as Marxism is the fundamental dichotomy of the spiritual vs. the material. The fantasy of life vs. the reality. The Liberal utopian based ‘spirituality’ vs. the Conservative naturalistic based view of reality. The soft-headed vs. the hard-headed.

In many ways the Liberal mind is magical in nature. The Liberal desires and magically creates a reality that assumes that the desire is fact.

Thus Adam S. Posen who wrote the article The Post-American World Economy: Globalization in the Trump Era projects on the one hand the desire of the Liberal post-WWII system while on the other unconsciously contrasts the reality. The very title The Post-American World Economy contradicts the assumption that the Post-WWII US world order is still in operation. So, possibly, Trump is merely destroying the Liberal mental fantasy. Negating the magic. Post-American posits an end to the US domination and, indeed, under Obama the CFR destroyed the dominant role of the US with the result that a number of more or less equals are now jockeying for position.

Mr. Posen begins his article with the illusory view of this so-called seventy year post-war Liberal world order.

In the aftermath of World War II the United States set about building a global, rules base economic order. At the heart of the order it put the Liberal values of free trade backed up by U.S. power and bolstered by its growing legitimacy among other countries, prevented most economic disputes from escalating into mutually destructive trade wars, let alone military conflict. That allowed even the smallest and poorest countries to develop their social and economic potential without having to worry about predation by strange neighbors. By taking much of the fear out of the global economy, the U.S. led order allowed market decisions to be driven by business not bullying.

Adam S. Posen, The Post-American World

Economy: Globalization in the Trump

Era, pp 28-38

Having been present at the creation and having lived through the whole period in varying degrees of cognizance, I can tell you that the above view of the seventy years is contradicted fully by my own experience and understanding.

The problems of our times have become more difficult. The fantasy of the American Century has passed. It is no longer about ‘things’ but one of attitudes of which most that are held are not realistic. There is at the base of the matter still the conflict between the ‘spiritual’ and the materialist views; that is, the longing for the magical supernatural Land of Faerie vs. Science , or the reality of matter, or put another way religion vs. science. Let us review the evolution of human consciousness.

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One must assume that early man was as unconscious as are wild animals today. In other words, early man had no rational explanation for external reality. And this extends back into hundreds of thousands, millions, of years of pre-Homo Sapiens existence. Presumably the more recent nomenclature homo sapiens, wise or knowledgeable man, indicates the beginning of consciousness of the world outside the mind. As it took until the twentieth century before psychologists began to significantly understand the working of the human mind it can be easily seen that the learning process was long and slow. Man was barely conscious of either his own mind or the world outside his mind, working with very little true knowledge he came up with some pretty bizarre explanations of how things functioned.

He invested all animate and inanimate objects with life and sensation. Thus he created the supernatural and the natural. The world was filled with invisible beings both good and bad. Gods and Devils, Faeries, Elves, Gnomes, Elementals. The air was packed with demons and angels and what have you. This was true down to and including the beginning of history and well beyond, even into the nineteenth century. Gods came and went, old gods died, gods who failed in their duties were discarded or transformed. Each people had their own gods. In the clash of peoples and therefore gods, peoples went under and with them their gods.

In this mental context I would like to examine the period in European history from 1100 to 1300, a very critical and rich period in Europe and the Middle East that would eventually affect the world when the European diaspora took place from c. 1400 to the beginning of the twentieth century.

By1300 the Catholic, that is the Universal, Church was the dominant supernaturally based force in Europe and the ME- Middle East. In order to confirm its position it had to eliminate all other supernatural belief systems. This was no easy task as other supernatural beliefs systems had the same credibility as the Christian and the Catholic Church was never completely successful. This was a wonderful period and I hope I can successfully display it with some justice.

There were many competing supernatural belief systems competing at this time, many remnants of old decayed and dying gods as well as their successors trying to establish themselves against the dominant Catholic Church.

The old Greco-Roman systems still survived in out the way places and pockets and even in the popular mind. The old Egyptian systems had been mutating since the Assyrian invasions of the seventh century BC. No longer with a national State to support the religion it had infiltrated Christianity to a degree and went on mutating over the centuries but was still a potent force as an element of the Catholic faith.

Of course the backbone of Catholicism came from the Jewish religious system through Christianity. The Catholic Church took over Jewish religious sites wholesale. Thus the erstwhile Jewish capital of Jerusalem became the holiest site of Christianity in Europe. With the founding of the Mohammedan religion of Arabia the so-called Holy City fell into non-Jewish-Christian hands.

As Europe reorganized and became somewhat unified under the Carolingian kings of France, the idea of the Holy City in Moslem hands became intolerable in Church eyes and so just prior to 1100 the Church instigated the idea of liberating Jerusalem giving the period under consideration the name of the Crusades.

This was done for supernatural reasons. On the European side one was under God and on the Moslem side one was under their deity who went by the name of Allah. Thus one had the War of the Gods.

The ME had always been a hotbed of competing supernatural religious ideas. Innumerable Gods and Goddesses. Some intriguing mental projections in the bargain. Generally speaking few if any had completely disappeared. If the actual religion has been suppressed the guiding ideas lived on.

The human mind has continued to evolve, that is consciousness, so that the internal unconscious mind has been enlightened toward a correct appreciation of the external world. That is, as Freud expressed it, the personality or mind is integrated when consciousness has illuminated the unconscious. The period under consideration was an important period in the evolution of consciousness. It should be remembered that any of these imaginary beings had equal validity in the consciousness of people of the times. God or Faerie, same thing.

The Aryan Land of Faerie has as much a claim to reality as did the God of the Jews, Isis of the Egyptians, Cybele, the God of the Christians, however as Jews and Christians were dominant the other imaginary deities were not disproved but ridiculed and suppressed. Thus, in this tremendous period of the Christian crusades to recapture the religious capital of Jerusalem there were many unintended consequences. The Crusades opened the gates to admit ideas from the other suppressed belief systems. Thus, the Cathar religion of Manichean sympathies had migrated West from Iran through the Balkans to gain a firm foothold in Southern France, also known as the Occitan.

This was a large trans-Alpine area including the Aquitaine. This area fostered the romances of King Arthur and the Round Table which was a Faerie kingdom. A land of magic and enchantment both anathema to Judeo-Christianity. The wonderful romances, far outshining the dull Jewish bible, were developed during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.

Thus the Catholic Church was confronted by a number of competing belief systems. The Cathar problem was solved in the midst of the Middle Eastern crusades by a crusade against the Cathars. A genocidal war against the unfortunate Cathars was conducted by the French at the instigation of the Church. This involved an actual man hunt to destroy the Cathars root and branch. Apparently the Church remembered the Amalekites.

That solution was really easy for the Church but the Arthurian romances that involved England, France, Germany and associated peoples could not be dealt with so easily. Indeed, when the main assault came against the Church it would come from the three countries mentioned. They required boring from within, co-opting the ideology. Catholic writers thus chose to change the direction of the romances from a warrior cult to one of a quest for spiritual perfection. This was achieved through the introduction of the character of Galahad, the son of the nearly perfect but flawed knight, Lancelot of the Lake.

At the same time a French series of works called the Chansons de Geste- Songs of Adventure- were written to discredit the Land of Faerie. A key text along this line was an amazing story titled Huon of Bordeaux. Bordeaux was a key Cathar city, sort of the Faerie capital, bordering the the key Cathar stronghold of Mont Segur. Galahad ascended to heaven from that stronghold along with the Holy Grail to lay the Arthurian threat to rest.

Huon of Bordeaux introduces the king of the Faerie Land, Oberon. Oberon and God are in a contest to see which would most successfully aid Huon in his quest to exonerate himself from a punishment imposed by the ninth century king of France, Charlemagne. Bear in mind this was a contest between two imaginarily real gods, God and Oberon, king of the Faeries.

Huon, had violated chivalric protocol by successfully defending himself against Charlemagne’s evil son, killing him in the process. Charlemagne then banishes Huon, allowing him back only if he succeeds in a number of seemingly impossible feats in the Holy Land against a Moslem king. Huon doesn’t have a prayer, however passing through a forbidden forest in the Holy Land he is confronted by Oberon, king of the Faeries. This is equivalent to running into the Catholic God. Oberon, after extracting a number of vows, gives Huon a horn which if blown in dire straits Oberon will appear with a hundred thousand troops to rescue him. Huon is cautioned to never use it unless his situation is beyond redemption otherwise.

Huon is the light-headed sort so he blows the horn to test it. Oberon appears with his 100K troops but is miffed because Huon didn’t follow instructions. In any event Huon through Oberon’s aid performs the impossible tasks Charlemagne set him and returns to Bordeaux before returning to Paris and the king’s court as instructed. Another boo-boo in a long string of boo-boos. Huon could have been the prototype of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan.

While absent from his home his brother Gerard had usurped his role and now refuses to give it up. Further adventures intervene but Charlemagne in the end comes to Bordeaux to receive evidences of Huon’s successes. Huon is unable to produce them as his brother has stolen them from him. At this time Oberon appears and magically exonerates Huon. As God had done nothing to help Huon one would think Oberon to be judged the greater than God but Huon irrationally chooses the ineffective God over Oberon even after Huon abdicates his kingship, and renounces Faerieland appointing Huon his successor. Right. Even though now King of Faerie Land Huon chooses to live happily ever after in his domain of Bordeaux while God is declared he victor in the contest with Oberon.

Meanwhile the Church was capturing the Arthurian Faerie Land so that as the fourteenth century began the Cathars, Faeries and the real life Knights Templar who had been associated with the Cathars had been disposed of. The Jews were suppressed and the Church and God were seemingly in control. However in the fifteenth century Constantinople, today’s Istanbul, was to fall to the Moslems releasing even more heretical ideas against the Catholic ideology that would result in the Enlightenment during which the European mind matured to the point where the scientific assumed prominence and scientific investigation began to reveal the true state of Nature. This development destroyed the basis of supernatural thinking placing all forms of the fantastic into defensive positions or beyond into fiction.

The Jews abandoned the idea of God, the Catholics refused to accept reality and Europeans who cherished the Faerie forced to blend the Faerie with science. That is to say, turn Faerie lands into fiction. Thus the Romantic Age took form in

Science continued to remove the Veil of Isis revealing nature to the human mind. The next big test was Darwin’s formulation of Evolution. The concept had been discussed for a hundred years previously but Darwin wrote the words that condensed evolutionary theory into fact. Romantics who had been holding on were now forced to adapt further. This adaptation produced the Second or Neo-Romantic who struggled in the face of scientific realities.

An interesting development occurred. Mankind refused to give up the supernatural. It would appear that the terrors of the real world required an imaginary refuge in which things could be controlled. Thus a transition from an imagined heaven or Faerie land began a conversion to an other world (parallel universe) that while equally unrealizable was equally comforting. The Pre-Raphaelites reached back into the past to idealize the world before the artist Raphael. From that beginning it blossomed into late nineteenth and early twentieth century novels. Among many others were the reactionary works of William Morris and the futuristic novels of the near great George Du Maurier. Du Maurier brought forward the Faerie projected into the future in a sort of science fiction.

In the US, L. Frank Baum created a modern fairy tale in his Land of Oz stories. This also meshed with the English Ruritanian novels of Anthony Hope and the US interpreter George Barr McCutcheon.

All these threads including Rider Haggard’s romantic African fantasies were brought together in the novels of the American Edgar Rice Burroughs. While not thought of as a Neo-Romantic, Burroughs was probably the greatest of the lot.

As a result of a brain injury as a young man Burroughs was capable of disappearing into his brain world to create amazing fictional realities.

His scientific background and romantic projections are nearly perfect blends. In his Tarzan series he employs Africa as a geographic reality but then transforms it into a romantic fairyland that could never exist. In his own way Burroughs character Tarzan is a reinvention of Oberon. This confused a lot of readers who insisted that the real Africa differed from Burroughs’ imaginary Africa. No contest.

For instance, Burroughs wanted to have tigers in Africa so he wrote them in to his Faerie Land. The magazine version of Tarzan of the Apes had tigers and made the story truly fabulous. However readers, being literal when their imaginations failed to embrace the flights of Burroughs’ fancy forced the writer to change the tigers to lions thereby wrecking the Faerie land Africa, this alternate reality that Burroughs wished to create. Burroughs himself was heavily influenced by the fairy tales of L. Frank Baum, with whom he became great friends, so that if you’ve read Baum and keep Oz in mind while reading Burroughs the stories take on an added dimension.

Burroughs didn’t stop with Tarzan and Africa but out of the same mind during the same period created another fairly land on Mars and another at the Earth’s core honoring the fabulous hollow Earth notion. Thus three complete Faerie lands.

Of course, there was already a fairly large body of Mars and space travel stories in existence but they took a fairly clumsy approach and turned it into a whole something else, sensational, perhaps, for the moment but without enduring appeal.

At the same time, early teens of the twentieth century, a man named Hugo Gernbach was taking science fiction to a whole new level beyond Burroughs that would result in the fantastic blossoming of sci-fi in the nineteen-fifties.

This was truly a romantic recreation of Faerie Land. Worlds beyond comprehension; the transformation of the Little Folk into space aliens of every description with their human counterparts. The true nature of sci-fi has been little appreciated.

The neo-Romantics of the second period also created the horror and fantasy genres that would dominate literature along with sci-fi. The two greatest and most enduring creations were the Frankenstein of Mary Bysshe Shelley of the first Romantic period and the greatest of the monsters, Bram Stoker’s vampire Dracula. Vampire stories had been around since Shelley’s friend Dr. Polidori wrote his short vampire piece. Varney the Vampire had made his appearance in mid-century England, attributed to Rymer but Stoker’s sensational novel formed the template for all future vampire stories including those of Anne Rice who was or is totally obsessed by the genre. Thus the supernatural transformed into quasi-scientific reality has survived to the present.

The Liberal mind evolved out of the Judeo-Catholic religious sphere, more specifically influenced by the Jewish aspects of the Old Testament, most especially by the notion of a people elected by god to rule mankind in his name. The notion is essentially amoral.

As the Jews are supposed to be creating God’s will on Earth, bringing his rule to all people they believe that means by any means necessary. That notion includes the elimination of whole peoples who may stand in the way of that realization. Thus the great Liberal novelist Victor Hugo would explain in his novel 1793 the advent of the new perfect Liberal world can never be achieved so long as ‘obstructionists’ live so that Liberals are justified in killing tens or hundreds of million or even a billion in what would be a vain attempt to eliminate differences of opinion.

Thus, today, we have the Liberals hoping, praying for the deaths of ‘old’ people who they fancy stand in the way of the realization of their utopia, while they imagine all people under say fifty are guided one mindedly by their utopian ideal.

On the other hand, Jews, Negroes and others believe that the whole White population of a billion people must be eliminated before their dreams can be realized. It was believed by them that their dream was approaching realization in this 2016 election.

This hope was upset by the maverick Donald Trump. Trump’s election set the Liberals off on a disappointed frenzy. Hence, Foreign Affairs issue Volume 97 no. 2 is devoted to expressing their disappointment by denouncing now President Trump.

Thus of the five articles under the collective Letting Go, three are definitely written by Jews, Eliot A. Cohen, Barry R. Posen and Adam S. Posen. The female contributor Sarah Margon is also Jewish. The only possible non-Jewish contributor is Jacob Sullivan, possibly of Irish derivation. As these articles are all assigned, that is written on hire, Sullivan may be assumed to be compliant.

It is evident therefore that the Jews are behind the extreme anti-Trump movement. While Trump seems to be obligated and subservient to the Jews for financial reasons their extreme opposition can only be based on the fact that Trump has taken a course independent of Jewish hopes and dreams.

The Jews, then, forming the core beliefs and fantasies of the Liberals give full and open access to the Liberal mind. The Liberals consider themselves to be justified sinners, the elect chosen by god to bring his heaven, his perfection to Earth as in heaven. There is no dissuading them, no ameliorating their extreme beliefs. They can only be quarantined or suppressed much as they hope to murder all opposition.

There is no room for discussion or compromises. Either they win or non-believers win. There is no other option.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Short Story

Far Gresham’s Dilemma

by

R.E. Prindle

 Pages torn from the memoirs of Far Gresham 12/25/1981

Edited by R.E. Prindle

 

My troubles had been increasing. I struggled to avoid what I knew would be the inevitable conclusion. I had seen the situation developing itself, had done my best to avert it by taking evasive actions years before, but the juncture and collision of the two forces were unavoidable. When the collision occurred I knew, I hoped that I wouldn’t, but I knew that I would buckle and collapse before the concentrated hatred of my enemies. My probable reaction had been impressed into my psyche decades before. I knew this, but I, as we all are, was powerless to resist this old imprinting. Coinciding with the objective phenomena had been the gradual disintegration of my personality. Self-analysis had cleared me of nearly all deleterious psychological reactions but now I was faced with trying to exorcise the central external factor which controlled my psyche; which compelled reactions in me which were irrational and beyond my control.

I was now approaching forty-two. Over the years as I had peeled back the layers of the onion seeking that core which would liberate me from my thralldom and allow me to face the world with a clear mind and cohesive purpose. I had resolved many aspects of my personality but this one remained beyond my grasp. All my efforts to convince myself to deal with this central problem had been rebuffed by my subconscious mind. I thought I had come close on several occasions, but fear always held me back. I had convinced myself that the event was of minor importance. I believed that, while this occurrence held me in thrall, that, while it had humiliated the child I had been, this terrible happening would turn out to be insignificant. I was both right and wrong.

I was too late to alter the outcome of my objective situation but I did find salvation for my subjective situation. The latter was of the greater importance to me. The period was one of very troubled sleep. I had had several successive weeks of disturbing dreams. They did not frighten me. I knew that negotiations were being undertaken by my conscious and subconscious selves. The violence of the dreams only indicated the significance of the matter under consideration. The dreams occurred every night and seemed to last through the whole night. Obviously a climax was imminent.

The revelatory dream, that dream that liberated me from the enthrallment to the traumatic circumstances was preceded by a brief little dream that set the stage for the major revelation. The dream was a quiet little dream, merely a vignette. It was a peaceful little dream set in a scene that was potentially terrifying. Strangely, it was not.

I became conscious of looking into a darkened warehouse filled with rows and rows and stacks and stacks of boxes. In the aisles there was a man searching frantically and desperately through the boxes in the gloom of the shadowy warehouse. There was no light. I didn’t know how he expected to find anything. But he continued to search in a manner approaching frenzy.

Aroused by the noise, a guardian appeared to investigate. I recognized him immediately; it was Death. Death had not the fearsome, ugly appearance as he is usually depicted. He was a kindly looking avuncular old man with an understanding expression on his face and a shock of gray hair. He had come out to investigate the noise. He found a Burglar in the House of Death. I recognized the Burglar too. It was me. I wondered what I was looking for.

The information was immediately forthcoming, for Death, without approaching the Burglar asked him what he was doing.

The Burglar was very distraught, his expression revealed a deep distracted anguish. He replied: ‘I’m looking for my dead self. My first personality was murdered and taken from me. I need him to make myself whole again.’

Death looked at the Burglar with some amazement: ‘Are you dead?’ he asked.

‘No.’ replied the Burglar, ‘It’s my original self who was murdered.   I’m looking for his ghost.’

‘If you’re not dead then you can’t be here. Death told the Burglar in a kindly manner. ‘You must leave now or stay forever.’

But the Burglar was too distraught to comprehend his danger and blurted out: ‘But you don’t understand, I can’t leave until I find my original self.’

Death seemed to be amused rather than angered by this impertinent reply. He emitted a low warm chuckle: ‘I don’t understand? Ha. Ha. I don’t understand! If you have misplaced it or allowed it to atrophy then you have come looking in the very wrong place. You should search your own pockets first.’ His voice lowered to a tone of stern rebuke: ‘Leave now and bother me no more until I come for you.’

Darkness closed in from the edges until the middle disappeared. When I awoke I enjoyed a certain calmness amidst my general disturbance. I relaxed in a state of excitement. I knew what to do but I didn’t know how to go about it. I actively tried to compel my conscious to vex my subconscious to make it give up the secret. It was very reluctant to do so. One night in this long period of stormy dreams my subconscious presented me with a new metaphor to see if I could interpret it correctly.

When the dream took form I found myself in the playground of a grade school with another boy who was looking to me for guidance. The ground rose in three slight equal gradients to the school building which was perhaps a hundred yards in the distance. It was daytime but there was no light. No grass grows on a playground and there were only a few tufts around the occasional tree in this one. In the distance just outside the building stood a figure pointing something in my and this other boy’s direction. Taking time to get a clear look at this figure, who was a mere shadow, I discerned that he was pointing a rifle at me. This other boy said: ‘What is that red spot on your chest?’

I looked down and saw the red dot from a laser rifle centered on my heart. I immediately leaped to the side to get the dot off my heart knowing that with the laser beam on me the rifleman couldn’t miss. He stood stationary, but, now aware of the laser beam I rolled around on the ground, adopted stooping and standing postures, but no matter what I did the laser beam remained on my heart. Although I was clearly in his sights the rifleman didn’t pull the trigger. All this time the other boy kept advising me to be calm, that the rifleman wasn’t shooting. Good calm advice but the laser beam wasn’t aimed at his heart.

Finally, convinced that no shots would be fired, I ran from the schoolyard and headed for some city streets lined with middle class houses. I rushed toward them and was actually among the houses when a sentry who was stationed in a guard house which I had already passed commanded me to come back to him. I was beyond his reach and ought to have kept going but the sense of guilt which had pervaded my life prevented my continuing. I returned to the sentry box. I stood before the sentry awaiting his decision. I had broken into a nervous sweat, as had been my habit, and stood twitching guiltily. He did and said nothing. Ignored me.

Astonished at his lack of interest in me I began to wonder what this dream might mean and how it was related to my central childhood fixation. While I was standing there in my consternation my subconscious, deriding my inability to grasp the meaning of the metaphor, decided to show me the central fixation of my life, the one situation that controlled my responses to everyday life and all personal relationships. But this was no easy task. For I resisted. For this intense shame, humiliation and debasement had encased the memory behind a stout concrete block wall, or so it was represented in my dream. Perhaps the method of penetrating this wall had been suggested to me by an old movie I had seen years before, the name of the movie was The Children Of The Damned.

In this movie several intelligences from outer space had been sent to Earth to assume control of Earthmen. They were in the form of babies, the movie was produced in the wake of the Nazi Era so the babies, soon to be children, were blond and blue eyed. Obviously a thinly disguised simile for the ‘Blond Beast’. They were very aggressive. As eight-year olds their intelligence surpassed all but the most learned Earthmen. Earthmen soon grasped their danger and set out to destroy the super intelligent aliens. But the children’s penetrating intelligence, which was able to read minds, detected every plot against them. Finally a noble Earth martyr carried a brief case loaded with dynamite, a few years later he would have been able to fill his pocket with plastique, into the classroom. In order to foil the intelligence of the alien children he concentrated his thoughts on a brick wall. The children, standing in a semi-circle around him, directing their intelligence to shattering his wall, which was graphically portrayed in the movie. As the wall was destroyed bricks flying everywhere the martyr’s thoughts of the briefcase shown clear, of course, the children were too late. The bomb exploded blowing eight space kids and one noble martyr back into outer space.

So, as I stood in terrific anticipation, my subconscious directed an energy against the wall which separated me from my dead self; the assassinated child of my youth, the murdered child of another time; the hope of another universe. The concrete wall was disintegrating before my eyes. Fragments flew in every which way. As the hole in the wall was enlarged the object of the search by the Burglar in the House of Death revealed itself. Its full horror was exposed to my view.

My mind’s eye received the image. It was a scene, a snapshot. I can see this still photograph of my degradation today, now, just as it was presented to me on that night, in that dream. I was unable for several weeks thereafter to comprehend the scene. I could see the picture but try as I might I could not actually remember the sequence of events. Still my mind began to slowly reconstruct the situation.

This period of my life, from four to eight, had always been jumbled In my memory. I had never been able to arrange events of that period into chronological order. I was now able to unfold those years and reconstruct my life of that period.

The picture I was shown was simply this. A group of twelve children, we would all have been six or seven in the second grade, were standing in a semi-circle around a child in frozen motion on one foot in mortal terror and a cold sweat. Elsewhere on the playground, this was during recess, stood twelve other children in disarray. This was the incident that shaped my reactions to life, that directed my responses against my will.

There was still no memory. The scene was not brought to life, converted from a single snapshot into a cinematic motion picture. Nor has it since. The memory was and is too painful. Yet I have been able to reconstruct that terrible moment and the steps that led up to it.

Partially I did this from memory; partially from research. I never contacted any of my former classmates. I went back to the Valley and collecting the name of my classmates from the school archives and examining the archives of the Valley Star around those years I have been able to reconstruct the following account. As in all wars there was an ante-bellum period. It begins actually, before I was born.

My mother had never wanted me. In her family the eldest female cousin was given the rights of primogeniture. As I was the first born child of my mother and her three sisters, she had desperately hoped for a daughter so that she could leap to being chief among her sisters. Her disappointment when I was born was severe. She never forgave me for not being a girl, nor was she prepared to assert my rights against my female cousin born four years later. It is just as well that she abandoned me for I can never forgive her for having abandoned my rightful role as eldest cousin in my extended family. My cousin, Danielle, when she was born had displaced me. This early abandonment in favor of my cousin has also left its mark on my character. My mother was no mother to me.

She, while in high school inadvertently set in motion the animosity directed at me in the second grade. Such is the unpredictability and uncertainty of life. She, while in the twelfth grade, accepted a date with a boy by the name of David Hirsh. David Hirsh was the son of Solomon Hirsh who owned Hershey’s Department Store. I do not know what my mother’s parents did but I do know that they were not well to do, nor were they ever of the social station the Hirshes enjoyed. Well to do boys only date girls from a lower social stratum for one purpose. Perhaps my mother was too naïve to know this, or perhaps she flattered herself that this rich kid might actually fall in love with her. He, on his part, being a rich kid, expected to score. Go all the way as they expressed it in those days.

Cars had not attained the universality in 1936 that they posses at the present. David Hirsh had a car of his very own which he could drive to school and park for all to see. His status at school was very high. Picking my mother up in his new automobile he employed a trick that undoubtedly antedated cars. He drove her a few miles out of town, parking the car in a grove of trees by the side of the road he quite bluntly told her to put out or get out. My mother would not be intimidated by a boy who threw off the disguise of a knight in shining armor and announced he was nothing but an arrogant rich cad in a shiny automobile. She got out. Dismayed at this rejection of what he considered a low class broad who should have been grateful for his attention, he shot off a few uncomplimentary remarks about my mother’s national antecedents. Now, from 1900 to, say, 1940 when immigrant nationalities were still in process of acculturation, national antagonisms were high. Even in the thirties, after immigration had been closed down in 1924, foreign accents were common and ethnic traits still persisted. My mother while not having an accent could still be identified as a Pole by her vocal rhythms. She still clung to certain Polish articles of dress. She still had a romantic attachment to the Polish babushka, or kerchief worn over the head and tied beneath the chin. Thus in this ethnic jostling racial and national slurs were commonly expressed. Fist fights occurred over national differences. Immigrants were stopped on the streets by natives and compelled to recite the pledge of allegiance of kiss the American flag.

Therefore the following passage in historical perspective should not be alarming. It is history. It is the way it was. Hirsh knew that my mother was of Polish ancestry. Everyone knew everyone else’s national antecedents. It was important. Now, irritated to the point of distraction by my mother’s refusal of his improper proposal, mixing nationalities freely he called a dumb Polack and a stupid Bohunk. Either he was ignorant of his geography or in is frustration he lost touch with who he was talking to. Perhaps in his sexual rut he saw double. I don’t know.

There is an old saying: People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. This old saying applies to everyone but it especially applied to David Hirsh. For, as his name indicates, he was Jewish. One of the many nationalities with representatives in the United States. In a world of immigrant antipathies there are pejorative nicknames for every group of people. My mother’s mind was well furnished against any contingency of name calling.

As David Hirsh inched slowly along just behind my mother shouting these derogatory national epithets, as well as others even more personal, my mother absorbed in her disappointment was oblivious to everything else. Then regaining some composure she began to hear what he was saying. Taking umbrage at this very unjust conduct, she returned a few sharp epithets. She used words like ‘kike’ and ‘sheeny.’ Words that have all but lost their meaning today.

Disappointed in love, his heart filling with rancor at what he later described as that ‘arrogant Polack bitch,’ Hirsh heard those words flung back at him and his heart in turn became cold. With that marvelous ability that human beings have of disregarding their own provocative words and actions, David Hirsh immediately forgot his insult of ‘Put out or get out’ and the ethnic slurs he had first hurled at my mother. Swallowing hard he decided that he had been rejected because he was Jewish and my mother was an anti-Semite. He gave the car the gas, drove off in a shower of gravel and left her to walk home.

The matter might have rested there except for the fact that Hirsh was prone to dig his own grave. He would always be an adept at self-embarrassment because of his vindictiveness. Hirsh had boasted to his friends who he was going to date, what he was going to do to her and where he was going to do it. In those ancient times before macadam and concrete had completely altered the landscape as we knew it, the roads were graveled, especially in rural and semi-rural areas. As the Valley is very wet, deep wide ditches ran along each side of the road to drain the fields. Three of Hirsh’s friends, out to watch the action and verify Hirsh’s boasts, witnessed the whole thing from within a ditch. The next week at school Hirsh was not allowed to forget or even accept responsibility for his action. ‘She’ had done it to him. She must pay.

Two years later my mother married my father. As they say, I was the result of that union. Four years later my mother divorced my father. We went to live with her parents. While we lived there I entered Kindergarten at Emerson Grade School. At five I had not yet heard of class consciousness. I was apparently the only innocent in the room. At Emerson the classes were all of about twenty-five students. My room divided into two social classes. There were twelve students in each group, that I will call after one of the two classes in H.G. Wells’ story of the Time Machine, the Eloy. There were twelve students in the group I denominate Morlocks, plus myself. I remain uncomprehending of class differences to this day.

Amongst my classmates was a boy named Michael Hirsh. Michael was the son of the same David Hirsh who had dated my mother. David Hirsh had not forgotten the consequences of his unfortunate behavior. Thus the biblical heritage expressed itself as the ‘sins’ of the Mother shall be visited on the son.

Michael Hirsh, as I now believe, on his father’s instructions, set about to humiliate me to avenge his father’s humiliation of himself.   Kindergarten was not a happy time for me. I was rejected by the Eloy and seeing the abject disposition of the Morlocks, I had no desire to take a place with them. Rejected by my mother because I was a boy, I was now rejected by my classmates.

I was a lonely boy and perhaps consequently a difficult one. Thus the year passed. I played alone in the schoolyard and remained ignorant of my situation.

Did I mention there was a war on? Yes, this was 1943 and 1944. Hitler and Tojo were out to conquer the world. Millions of men were in uniform. Industrial manpower was in short supply. Prior to the wars the Valley did not have a large Black population. Blacks were encouraged to migrate North to work in the factories as the White boys had been drafted for the war. Thus racial antagonisms were added to immigrant national antagonisms. I’m not bragging. Many times I have wished that I wasn’t that way, but I believe in equality before the law and fair play. Laugh at me if you will. It’s my way and I’m not going to change, can’t, won’t.

One day in Spring, just before summer vacation, as Kindergarten was drawing to a close three little Black kids were introduced into our midst. Here is where the direct meaning of my dream begins. A tremor went through the class. Today you can search the country over without finding a person who will admit that they were ever prejudiced against Black people. David Hirsh was no exception. Hirsh stayed as well informed as a busybody. Aware of the Black kids time of arrival he instructed his son Michael what to do when they arrived.

Michael, who had a habit of emphasizing his opinions with his projected index finger, shook it at each of us and told us that under no circumstances were we to fraternize with the Black kids. I thought this was wrong, but, already an outsider, I wasn’t going to make it worse for myself by objecting.

On the way to recess Michael Hirsh re-admonished us. Once outside, however, he added a new condition. He demanded that the Black kids sit on the edge of the sand box and not move during recess. This was going too far. I took offence. As I played alone I was not averse to the Black kids having to play alone, but I could not condone their not being allowed to play within themselves.

By coincidence I was standing between the Black kids and Hirsh who stood there shaking his finger at them. Hirsh stood before the Eloy who were gathered behind him. I have never been overly keen on fighting. I was always small for my age. Hirsh was a good two inches taller than me. I told Hirsh and the Eloy that I didn’t think it was right to make those kids sit there during recess. He told me that was the way it was going to be. I said, No, I might refuse to talk to them but I couldn’t allow this. I exhorted the Black kids to get up and fight with me against the injustice. Hirsh was dumbfounded. No one had ever challenged his authority before. I was not only challenging him I was offering to fight him. Those little Black kids left me hanging out to dry. They wouldn’t budge. Fortunately Hirsh was a coward. He had already stepped back into the protective pocket of the Eloy. I had envisioned Armageddon but now Hirsh and the Eloy had melted away.

I thought it was over. I had no idea of the seriousness of my crime. Michael Hirsh went home and bawled to his father. His father had not anticipated that his son would be challenged. He had failed to provide his son with the appropriate response. Michael Hirsh’s self-confidence was shattered. I had no idea what I had done. As my mother, by standing up for herself, had humiliated David Hirsh, so now I had likewise humiliated Michael Hirsh. David Hirsh was enraged. Failing to see the injustice of his cause, a second time, he determined on revenge.

After school the next day Hirsh padded up behind me and hissed into my ear: ‘We’re going to get you.’ I did believe he meant what he said. But the year was over and it would have to wait till next year.

At just this time my mother made her first attempt to abandon me. She arranged for me to go live with a family named Smith. The Valley straddles the River and is therefore divided into two distinct towns with two distinct characters; The East and West sides. The East Side was gradually claimed by the incoming tide of Blacks. The Whites moved out into the hamlets, or West Side. The Smiths lived on the West Side of the River. I transferred from Emerson to Thoreau. I was relieved, for I knew that had I remained at Emerson Hirsh and the Eloy would have their vengeance.

Except for the longer minutes with which childhood is endowed my relief was short lived. In May of that year the Smiths informed my mother that I could no longer stay with them. My mother, still unwilling to accept me, found room and board for me with a family named Johnson. On the East Side. In the Emerson school district. I was terrified. I returned to Emerson in the mid-First Grade. There was an electric shock amongst the Eloy as the message ‘He’s back’ flashed from mouth to mouth.

By this time I had forgotten the reason for my persecution. I was so concerned about the enmity of the Eloy that I never thought to reason why. My offense was certainly a justified one, or what I would have thought my so-called offence to have been. Actually Hirsh and the Eloy didn’t consider their action against the Blacks as unjust. Therefore, in their eyes, my offence consisted of an act of insubordination; a refusal to keep the place they had assigned me. The Eloy were unrelenting; I was harassed continually. The Morlocks either actively followed orders to interfere with me or were too timid to resist. The teacher acquiesced in the attitude of the Eloy. Perhaps David Hirsh put pressure on her after Michael informed him I was back. Authority is always week kneed. It will always accept the position of the stronger. Justice is not a factor in its decisions.

Taken by surprise, David Hirsh, his son and the Eloy could not obtain a revenge that would gratify their desires during the four remaining months of the first grade. David Hirsh thought long and hard on the matter. The Biblical answer was an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The punishment must fit the crime. David Hirsh’s thoughts roved back to the celebrated Dreyfus Affair in France at the end of the nineteenth century. Dreyfus, a Jew, had been convicted of spying. Part of his punishment was a brutal degrading. He had been compelled to stand before his assembled brother officers as he was stripped of the insignia of his association with the French army; had them torn from his uniform and thrown in the mud. Ruminating on this famous cause celebre he associated it also with his son’s embarrassment. For as difficult as it is for me to conceive, Michael Hirsh took my objection to his injustice in the same manner in which I will describe my humiliation. In his mind David Hirsh sought to avenge both Dreyfus and his son on me.

Hirsh formulated his plan, instructed and drilled his son and the Eloy in the procedure. I remained with the Johnsons in a state of agony, fearing the approach of September.

I know that winter had not arrived as the leaves were still on the trees, so it is possible that I was gotten on the first day of school. I still do not know exactly what happened. I am only surmising from an interpretation of the photograph I was shown in my dream; or perhaps I am drawing up information reservoirs my subconscious still denies me access to. I have thought that my punishment was the requirement imposed on the Black children two years previously in Kindergarten. But in reality it was the ‘punishment’ I had had unknowingly imposed on Michael Hirsh. David Hirsh had instructed his son what to do. His son executed perfectly. At recess the Eloy arranged themselves in a semi-circle around me. The worthless Morlocks, who were excluded from all Eloy intercourse hung listlessly in the background where they belonged. In Kindergarten Hirsh had encountered me in the point position. Exposed, he had retreated into the protection of the Eloy behind him. His lack of character at that moment was the crime with which I was charged. Now, as the keystone in the arch surrounding me, protected deep within the pocket which enclosed me, from within which authority always works, coward that he was, all authority is cowardly, he was prepared to deal with me. I ha no problem with fear. I would have fought if challenged. I might have fought if Hirsh had been on point as in Kindergarten. Maybe the movie of the Alien Kids acted as a mild solvent, loosening the cover on my suppressed memory which decades later allowed me to recover a souvenir of this incident, for just as the Space Kids glared hatred at the Noble Martyr only to break his reserves too late, so the Eloy gathered around me and glared hatred into my soul. If they had all set upon me physically the result could have been borne, but I could not resist their cumulative concentrated hatred. I crumbled beneath the projected blizzard of hatred. David Hirsh achieved more than his goal. He not only humiliated me he killed my soul. Michael Hirsh, in the keystone was shaking the customary finger at me. He told me that I was to take a step toward him and stop when he told to stop. I raised my foot and he said stop. In that awkward position I was told to remain for the duration of recess. Thus I was substituted for the Negroes in Kindergarten.

I hope the reader doesn’t think badly of me. I don’t know that I am ashamed today although I resent myself for having complied. I know in my heart that they would have backed down if I had resisted.

Hirsh must have been the shadowy figure in my dream. His finger must have been the laser rifle, or perhaps the laser beam was a symbol of the hatred projected on me. The figure never fired because the laser beam represented a hatred that would never cease.

The memory of the event was immediately suppressed by me. I died at that moment. As Abram became Abraham and Jacob became Israel, so even though my name remained the same I became a different person, a stranger in a strange land. I therefore did not give an appropriate response to my punishment. David Hirsh had expected me to go the Michael Hirsh and the Eloy and beg forgiveness for my original sin, accept my punishment and go forth and sin no more. They were disappointed for I felt, not remembered, only their rejection. While I would never have asked their forgiveness, I might have tried to correct the matter.

Throughout the second grade I endured the active resentment of the Eloy joined with the passive acquiescence of the Morlocks, for they were forbidden to speak to me. They were powerless in their self-accepted mortification, useless in their ineffectuality. The symbol of authority, the teacher, without ever seeking my side of the story, said that I had been justly chastised. Authority lacks integrity completely.

I became a very distraught little boy.

As the second grade ended my mother informed me that I would be leaving the Johnsons. After the emotional wrench of leaving the Smiths I had prepared myself for further disappointment by making no attachment to the Johnsons. My only question was, where to next? I knew it was serious when she kneeled down to address me face to face. It’s always serious when an adult lowers themselves to a position of equality with the child.

She told me that she wanted me to enter the Children’s Home. The Municipal Orphanage. I went numb. First, I had a mother, or thought I did. Second, I had passed the back fence and stared horrified at the inmates. I didn’t know then that she meant to abandon me entirely but I subconsciously feared such a thing. I resisted stubbornly although I saw that no matter what I said she was going to put me there anyway. Finally, in an attempt to save face, I asked her if I would still have to attend Emerson. She said the Children’s home was in the Longfellow School District. Only have trusted this perfidious woman I severed myself from humanity and entered the House of the Distraught. The boys dorm was on the fourth floor. But my experience in the Orphanage is not germane to my story and I return to the war against me by the Hirshes.

Beset by psychological distresses before I entered the Orphanage, my emotional anxieties increased a thousand fold. I have often compared the sensation to an excess of electrical current passing through a transformer. All fuses blew. Wires broke loose and flashed fire to the skies. There was a loud hum, a boom, and then silence. I do not know how I survived and recovered even though that recovery would take forty years. As shattered as I was I received no mercy from David Hirsh.

I was now eight. The two wars, the European and Pacific had ended. The Japanese Empire and the Axis Powers had gone down to defeat. The enormity of the Nazi policies became apparent after the war. The impression of the American people was incalculable. The terrific inhumanity of the Nazis was difficult to comprehend. The wholesale slaughter of people for which they had no use, both within and without the borders of Germany the murder of as many intellectuals as they could get their hands on, the slaughter and debasement of the Polish nation, other Eastern and Central European Slavs and, of course, the attempted extermination of the Jews were staggering to the American mind. The single mindedness of the Nazis in the pursuit of their goals was incredible. The human mind changed from the shock of recognition.

The destruction of the Jews created a feeling amongst the Jews comparable to my own upon entering the Children’s Home. For the five years after the war, the American Jews were devastated. They had suffered no discomfort in the US but the ant colony had been disturbed, all ants were affected. They began to see Fascists everywhere. They trembled in fear that it might happen, would happen, in the United States. A Jewish writer, Ben Hecht, stated the feeling most poignantly when he stated the feeling simply as: The Jews struck out.

David Hirsh took it very hard. For the Jewish immigrants America had been a land of unexampled opportunity and freedom from the national conflicts of which they had been a part of in Europe. Their history had been one of conflict. Prior to the nineteenth century they had been in conflict with Catholicism. After the French Revolution when the influence of Catholicism had waned they began a pan national confrontation with the Pan Germans and Pan Slavs. As they butted heads with the Slavs in particular it became apparent that the Slavs would not bend to the Jewish will. By mid-nineteenth century the conflict had become bloody. A group of French Jews decided that the only recourse was to remove the Jews from Slavdom and colonize elsewhere. The Jewish Colonization Association was formed. Beginning in 1860 it was begun to transfer the entire Jewish population from Slavdom to colonies ranging from Argentina to Canada. The majority came to the United States. The difference between the Pale of Settlement in Eastern Europe and the United States was as between night and day. A transition from the rural routes to Coney Island. From medieval technology to a land of scientific marvels. From the attentive supervision of the Russian government to the complete indifference of the American government. They arrived as opportunity became a byword for America. Most stayed where they landed in New York City. Solomon Hirsh, David’s father, who was not without resources, or at least had contacts with men with resources, looked West, staked out the Valley as his personal duchy and built up a successful department store.

David Hirsh, born in 1918 in the Valley knew nothing of Eastern Europe. His life had been a life of plenty when plenty was enough for anybody. Good clothes, good food, good cars, good social position. David Hirsh had never known any more discrimination than Poles, Italians, Greeks, Lithuanians or any one of dozens of nationalities. He had known less. So in those fifty years or so of immigration he as well as a great many Jews had grown lax in their attention to the religion of their fathers. A great many would probably have become lapsed Jews but for the events in Europe during the thirties and especially in the wake of the European war. Nazi atrocities reversed the trend and confirmed them in their commitment to Judaism. David Hirsh was one of these.

It didn’t happen here. David was now twenty-eight heading into the power years of his thirties and forties. He was rich and influential in the Valley community. Always good looking, tall and well proportioned, the weight one always gains with age had filled out his form and features admirably. He had married well. He had married the former Linda Webster, an Episcopalian. By so doing he had joined two Valley fortunes. The Hershey Department Store money and the Webster Coal Yard money. He had three lovely children, well, two plus Michael. The Department store and the Webster coal yards still prospered, although the increasing chain store competition after the wars would undermine the base of the department store and the Webster’s assumption of the continued use of coal didn’t foresee the switch to gas and oil would see the coal yards and department store sit idle and empty. Still David Hirsh had everything. Family, position and the money to buy anything he could conceive. He was an American citizen in the best of all possible worlds.

Always of an imperious temper and a vindictive mind he now brooded over the European disaster of the Jews, as did all Jews and knew not what to do. As usual he wanted revenge, which meant against all the goyim; for he believed the whole world was responsible as he and the Jews believed it had sat idly by and let it happen. His grief distorted his perception of reality; although to a certain extent he was right. For, while no one but the Nazis would have attempted such an atrocious deed, still the world had been rather indifferent to the fate of the Jews.

But if all the goyim were guilty he was faced with too many targets. Unable to find satisfactory victims for his anger, he turned to child abuse and directed this additional hatred to me. He didn’t exactly remember why he believed it but he believed that my mother was an anti-Semite because of her rejection of his rude advances. He projected his own inadequacies on me and in his mind made me the future father of a nation of anti-Semites. The memory of his humiliation because of his frustrated designs on my mother still rankled in his mind. It mattered not whether he had caused his own embarrassment. Reversing responsibility came easy to him as it does to most people. It only mattered to him that he had suffered humiliation, and from an inferior bitch in his mind. He always sought to avenge his thwarted crimes, to heap injury on injury, to add insult to insult.

I had not begged for forgiveness after my humiliation so he believed that I had not been hurt, that I had stood there In jest. His natural vindictiveness now augmented by his rage against the world, Hirsh had planned a nasty reception for me as I entered Third grade. However I had evaded his net that year by transferring from Emerson to Longfellow. He was unaware that he had already hurt me as much as mortal man can be hurt; for myself had died of remorse on that September morn. He had murdered my self-esteem and I could not continue in life. I carried my dead self around with me and my walking body was half dead. It would be forty years before I could retrieve my dead self from the House of Death and begin to re-integrate my personality.

But the challenge to Michael Hirsh’s dignity by my rebellion had been severe; although I neither knew nor cared. He was being groomed to be an ever victorious man of affairs; for some reason my revolt had shattered his self-confidence and lowered him in the esteem of the Eloy. He was never to attain the same kind of self-confidence as he had enjoyed in Kindergarten again. For this I was blamed although Michael was only of mediocre talent and authority and would have had and did enjoy much lesser stature in a world larger than his Emerson class.

It didn’t take the Hirshes more than a month to locate me in the Orphanage and at Longfellow. One day in late October I saw Michael Hirsh conferring with a third grade classmate, one of the Websters, although I didn’t know the connection at the time. I knew I was in for more trouble. I was but it wasn’t that bad. The kids of the Children’s Home were kept a separate group at Longfellow. The old two class Eloy-Morlock division was broken up. The Orphanage insulated me from direct vengeance. David Hirsh watched, he stalked. He was unhappy and frustrated. He brooded and planned. A thirty year old man, acting anonymously, waged his war against a defenseless eight year old boy. The third grade passed. Hirsh planned his move for my fourth grade.

In the fourth grade I understood why the Eloy-Morlock division had disappeared. As I was turning nine the organization of the world began to become apparent. I began to see more tings. There were probably two third grade classes at Longfellow but if so I was ignorant of the other. In the fourth grade there were definitely two different class rooms. One upstairs, in a large bright airy room where the Eloy were assigned and another in a half basement, the windows level with the ground, to which we of the Children’s Home were assigned as well as others who were not fortunate enough to be assigned upstairs.

Our teacher was a woman named Miss Marks. She was a very old miss. Miss Marks was a Sephardic Jew. Her ancestors had arrived from Brazil in 1654 in the first contingent of Jews to arrive in the United States. Her name as she pointed out to us several times had been Marques in Portuguese. Her ancestor who had landed as Marques turned up several years later as Marks. She was very international in her outlook. Our study program revolved around readings about children of other lands.

As improbable as it may seem, David Hirsh devoted great gobs of time to divining his next plan to wreak vengeance on me. The plan he devised was complex, requiring the involvement of dozens of people and the complicity of hundreds. Thus, should it fail his reputation would be placed in jeopardy. David Hirsh started his campaign in the spring of my third grade, just before the humidity of summer. He was powerful amongst the Jewish community and very influential among goys. His wife Linda, nee Webster, was equally socially and politically active as her husband. She was of top standing among the women of the town. Enlisting supporters they, together, began a campaign to separate the kids from the Children’s Home from their own on the reasoning that as a class of social lepers or ‘white niggers’ we were detrimental to their childrens’ welfare. They worked hard to have a separate facility assigned to us. Failing that they wanted that, at least, we might be made to attend classes within the walls of the orphanage as, in fact, was the case with the Catholic Orphanage down the street. We were to be contained so that we might not contaminate their children. This separation might have occurred in democratic America except for the almighty dollar, God bless it. The expense could not be justified. There was seemingly no real objection to the deed.

Frustrated in their ambition, driven by their vindictiveness, the Hirshes foolishly adopted Plan B. Incredibly it succeeded if only temporarily. But for one woman its success might have been permanent.

Hirsh still thought that I had merely sloughed off my lesson in the second grade. Thus in his mind I had not only humiliated his son in Kindergarten but had done the same thing in the second grade. I had been accorded he dignity of a rebuke by Michael Hirsh himself. There was a certain dignity to that that ought to be appreciated. Handled properly by myself I might have gained honorary admission to the Eloy. Now I was to be treated to the same indignity that the Black kids had endured. I was to be their ‘nigger’ forever.

The Hirshes now sought to separate their children from we of the Orphanage within the class. Miss Marks made the orphans sit together along one wall. The Hirshes influence in town was so great that the School Board was persuaded to prevent us from playing, not only with, but playing on the same playground with the parented kids. During recess Miss Marks was compelled to separate the Orphanage kids from the parented kids. We were compelled to sit on benches and watch the parented kids play. If an additional participant was needed one of us was called up.

As we stood before Miss marks while she, suppressing her embarrassment, explained this to us, it all seemed vaguely familiar. I couldn’t remember my ritual murder but I did remember Kindergarten. For many years I thought the fourth grade incident was the only revenge attempted. I saw through the attempt immediately. The notion was repugnant to Miss Marks, as it should have been to any honest and fair person. She implemented the requirement but reluctantly. Inadvertently I defeated the Hirshes in a minute. My victories over them were always Pyrrhic.

As recess began Miss Marks instructed us in the new program. Whether I remembered Michael Hirsh and the Blacks or whether I was as indignant in the fourth grade at such nonsense as I had been in Kindergarten, I don’t know. The others from the Orphanage sat down obediently. I grabbed a ball and ran off to play by myself in another part of the playground. As I couldn’t quickly persuade any of the others to follow me, I left them. Immediately there was a chorus of ‘You’ve got to sit down.’   It came from both groups. My reply was a very aggressive ‘Make me.’   No one was riding point that day. They never do when a fair fight is in the offing.

Then a ruse was attempted. Someone of the parented kids left the field and a substitute was needed. One of ours was called off the bench to come and tell me that I was selected as the replacement. I wish I could say that I said a witty or trenchant thing but angry people seldom do. I was angry. I just said ‘no.’

David Hirsh and Michael Hirsh had been parked in a side street facing the yard looking at the scene through their windshield expecting to enjoy my humiliation. They both stared in disbelief as their efforts were foiled again. David Hirsh’s head sagged to the rim of the steering wheel. Mechanically he turned the key in the ignition and angrily shifted into first. Both David and Michael’s faces twisted into expressions of chagrin. Their brows hooded their eyes, their mouths gaped as the edges turned downwards. Their perfidious design had failed again. Another bitter pill.

Miss Marks was overcome with shame and remorse. She had tried to recover her self-respect by offering me the role of substitute. A role I rightly took as another insult. Her Judaism was offended by such criminal discrimination. Unlike Hirsh she suffered from the restrictions which had been placed on her people at other times in other far places. Her Portuguese ancestors had been lucky to escape the Inquisition. They had found a refuge in Brazil only during the short period of Dutch control of the colony. When the Portuguese regained Brazil her ancestors fled to the Dutch colony of New Amsterdam, later to be called New York. She remembered, or knew this only too well. Rather than inflicting punishment on innocent others for remembered conflicts she sincerely wished to remove injustice from the world.

The second day of the segregation was too much for her. After school that day she informed the Principal of Longfellow that she would have to resign if the segregation continued. As the Hirshes, the instigators, were well known for their wish to segregate we orphans and they attended the temple together, so that David was well known to her, she then went immediately to him to whom she offered her unwelcome opinion. Nor was she kind or diplomatic. She vented her full indignation and threw her own guilt at his feet. David Hirsh was abashed. The next day the order of segregation was rescinded. She was a courageous woman. She acted as an individual, not as one of a collective.

The repercussions of the failure of their plan were very serious. The whole concept of what America stood for had been violated. In the aftermath the reflection on the consequences of their action caused many embarrassed faces in the Valley. As the prime movers, the Hirshes bore the brunt of the blame. The two lost some fair credibility. The concern was not so much the justice or injustice of their crime, for, in society the only concern is whether one succeeds or gets away with it. The credibility was lost because the Hirshes displayed poor judgment. While misjudging their own chances of success they had humiliated all the other people that they had involved. That is a cardinal sin. They never were to enjoy the same confidence again. Hirsh, as was becoming his habit, sacrificed a great deal to his vindictiveness. He was becoming his own worst enemy.

Hirsh was not one to learn from experience. Conscious of his loss of credibility which he now blamed on me, he now made two quickly and poorly conceived efforts to destroy my reputation, such as it was, and credibility, such as any enjoyed by orphans.

The far sides of the streets surrounding the Orphanage were lined with rows of fine mature maple trees. The branches spread over the streets and yards. There were a number of men, homosexuals and perverts, who stood near the tree trunks in the shade hoping for a little short action. We were prime targets. Deprived of love, denied respect, both sexes were susceptible to minor blandishments. My mother had always advised me not to talk to strangers so I always walked by them like they were not there.

Hirsh had determined to influence the direction of my future life. As the twig is bent, so the tree inclines, he said. So he got two social rejects, men who had made a life of doing dirty deeds dirt cheap in order to be associated in any capacity with the successful rich, to wait for me along the back fence. On that day I happened to be walking back from school with Richard Grainger. They mistook Richard for me.

One said to Richard: ‘Hey, you little bastard. Youi know where you’re going? You’re going to be a criminal and die in the electric chair. You’re a thief. God hates you and you are going to spend your life in prison.’

We were young and small, at the impressionable age for imprinting. Richard was terrified and took the man’s curse literally. I had watched. Now forming my opinion I began to curse them as old bums and failures. Just as I had begun the other man realized their error and said: ‘Uh, oh, I think you nailed the wrong one.’ They had. They had also destroyed Richard’s life for he believed them, took their suggestion in, and fulfilled their prophecy.

Hirsh had failed again. He tried once more. The fall and winter had passed. Spring burst out once again. Hirsh had learned my habits. In those days before super markets and convenience stores there was an old dilapidated rundown little grocery store every few blocks. There was one two blocks from the Orphanage. We used to take our money gained from the deposits of beer bottles and whatever there to buy candy.

There, one Saturday, I found Michael Hirsh and thee of his friends waiting for me. I asked Hirsh why he was out slumming. Badinage passed between us. I went into the store to buy some candy. I was followed by Hirsh and his friends. They jostled around me while I paid. I elbowed back. Taking my candy I left the store followed by the Hirsh gang. Outside they gathered around me. But Hirsh reaching into my back pocket pulled out a candy bar and said: ‘Hey, Gresham, what’s this?’ He had placed a candy bar in my back pocket while jostling me in the store. In later years he would have been astute enough not to have taken it out of my pocket himself. He was young and inexperienced.

I said, ‘Looks like a Butterfinger.’

‘Yeah? Did you pay for this? Looks like you’re a thief, doesn’t it Gresham?’

‘That candy bar’s not in my hand, Hirsh. It’s in yours. Looks like you’re the thief.’ The grocer, seeing the candy bar in my back pocket as I left had come to the door.

‘Hey, mister,’ I said, ‘Michael Hirsh here stole this candy bar from you. Better make him pay for it. He’s got lots of money.’

Hoisted by his own petard again, Hirsh turned shamefaced, threw the candy bar down and he and his friends stalked off. His witnesses witnessed against him and Hirsh forfeited his hoped for role of a leader forever. The Hirshes would never learn.

What might have happened next remains unknown. I turned ten. At ten we were farmed out to foster parents. The Wardens took me way to the other side of town.

The Hirshes had been instrumental in the formation of my personality. My character was beyond their reach.

My dream had revealed the controlling fixation of my life. In the process my personality had completely disintegrated. The personality that had sustained me in place of my dead self was gone. I stood exposed and naked to the world while I groped to re-integrate my personality. It was a long row to hoe before my subconscious released the past to free me by a dream.

The Remarkable Case Of

Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Eyes

by

Dr. Anton Polarion

Concern for man himself and his fate must always form the chief interest…in order that the creations of our mind should be a blessing and not a curse for mankind.

–Albert Einstein

 

In 1953 a sci-fi novel was published by Arthur C. Clarke which he entitled ‘Childhood’s End.’ I read it only a couple years ago and while I don’t believe I got his point the story has haunted my imagination since then. In the novel he depicts a situation in which the first phase of evolution has flowered, and a second phase is about to begin out of the blown flower or the seed of the first.

Just after the end of WWII Clarke may well have believed than an old order of evolution had matured and a new one was beginning. His symbolism notwithstanding it is clear the evolution was not beginning a new phase, unless he knew something he wasn’t telling, but it is possible to view the post-war period as a culminating point in the historical continuum.

Writers are frequently more sensitive to such shifts than other people. Assuming that the historical continuum had at least transited its first phase, as I do, and was in fact beginning a new phase, which I only postulate, then it is possible to review the historical evolution of mankind and its various sub-special components as completed units. I intend to place Edgar Rice Burroughs in his place in that historical continuum.

Now let us by a feat of Wells/Einsteinian legerdemain roll the paper into a cylinder and step across the seam into that earlier phase of the historical continuum.

For tens of thousands of years the flow of the historical continuum appeared to be nearly as even and uninterrupted as the flow of the mighty Congo from the immense distance of Stanley Falls to the Stanley Pool.

Change there was but so slow as to cause barely a ripple until the accumulated changes resulted in the disruption of human consciousness that occurred in the Victorian Period.

Since then the historical continuum has been as turbulent as the series of rapids on the Congo below Stanley Pool.

THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK,

CUTTING THROUGH THE FOREST WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.

Then along that riverbank

A thousand miles

Tattooed cannibals danced in file.

–Vachel Lindsay, The Congo

The French Revolution was important but that was mainly a political transition from the late feudal to the early modern. What we’re really concerned with is the challenge it gave to the psychology of man, that time when the Congo and the Jungle became a symbol of Man’s conscious and unconscious mind and his conscious mind cut through the darkness like a golden track. To put a convenient date on the psychological transition let’s put it at 1859 when Darwin’s

Origin of Species’ was published; nothing challenged the ancient mentality of Mankind more. It was then that the Congo crept North of the Equator to flow through the Euroamerican mind.

Darwin’s theories rent the mind of most men in two. Some like Edgar Rice Burroughs understood instantly but most resisted for decades while a hundred fifty years later the howl of disbelief can still be heard. The Semitic vision of the origin of man and the world as portrayed in Genesis became impossible for any reflective Westerner to believe. The hold of the ancient Semitic system of belief was so strong that exoteric scholars could not express their evolutionary views openly for fear of losing their jobs while having their lives ruined in what might risibly be termed ‘premature McCarthyism.’

Then I heard the boom of the blood-lust song

And a thigh bone beating on a tin-pan gong.

–Vachel Lindsay -The Congo

Nevertheless the brief period from 1859 to 1914 was one of the most exciting and productive periods of history.   The past had been or was being made intelligible to Western Man’s inquiring mind. As unpleasant as the fact may be to some people, modern understanding is solely the product of the mind of Western Man or Homo Sapiens III. Neither the African of HIS nor the sterile Semites nor the various sterile Mongolid races contributed one iota of understanding in this period, very little since and that only under the influence of the West.

While the Semitic Freud was delving into personal psychology his great rival, CG Jung, was exploring the development of human consciousness to open a psychological understanding of the mind of mankind in which the individual might be included and explained. In other words, he was placing the individual in the historical continuum. An esotericist of some note, it is to Jung and the school he founded that we are indebted for our understanding of all the phases of consciousness, their development and evolution.

At the same time that our increasing awareness allowed us to see clearly into the past for the first time, the pace of change was becoming so rapid that it was possible to project current trends into the near future. In conjunction with the rapid increase in scientific discoveries a futuristic or science fiction became possible.

In the popular mind the foundations for futuristic fiction were laid by the vastly underrated H.G. Wells.

Understanding the past, projections into the future and tremendous technological achievement, lent this period such great self-confidence that it was thought that anything was possible to the mind of man. The attitude was abruptly brought to an end in 1912; not by the First World War but rather by the unthinkable fact that Man’s mind had erred in thinking that it could build an unsinkable ship. When that great ship, the Titanic went down it took the pride of Western, which is to say human mind down with it.

The period of 1859 to 1914 was also one in which the absolute superiority of the ‘White race’ seemed not only apparent but real in fluorescent colors. In fact, White, or HSIII, superiority was acknowledged by all the people of the Earth, who were overawed by Western achievements. It was only after 1914 when the confidence of HSIII was shaken that the counter-attack became possible and success plausible. Even then this was an internal schism between the right people of the West and the wrong people of the Reds.

I have studied the notion of evolution of Dugald Warbaby in his essays ‘Tarzan Over Africa’ and ‘Tarzan Meets Mohammed.’ Based on his notion I would like to explain how the various sub-species are to be characterized during this first historical continuum.

The character of a sub-species is fixed from the moment of its mutation. Everything that it will ever be able to do it can envision at its inception; there is no evolution of ability within a sub-species its abilities unfold to its limits as its development progresses.

In you believe in Darwin’s concept of natural selection then you must believe that the various sub-species segregated themselves from the other sub-species on the basis of likeness. Further, following Darwin’s theory of natural selection so did various races form within a sub-species. Each race within a sub-species will by natural selection exclude all others who are not true to type until the race is uniform in appearance and psychology.

To use the African model: If one race is flat nosed and thick lipped then those characteristics will be valued. Any who do not conform to the ideal will be ejected from the race or killed.

If nearby thin lipped people with a bridged nose exist those two peoples will come into conflict with each other. The ensuing war between the physical and psychological types will be to the knife. In a word: genocide. Undisturbed by outside forces the battle will continue until either one race is exterminated or one or the other moves from the vicinity. This is what natural selection means. This is the history of Man. The notion of natural selection was also put into the words: survival of the fittest.

Thus HSI claimed sub-Saharan Africa for itself expelling the mutated HSII and possibly the Semites if they mutated at the same time . HSII migrated from the Mediterranean Basin and on into Western Europe. The Semites separated from HSI and HSII or were driven away migrating into the Arabian Peninsula, a backwater. HSIII when it mutated was either expelled from HSII or separated themselves to occupy the area near the Caspian Sea.

The English geneticist Bryan Sykes believes that the various Mongolid races mutated from HSIII a mere ten thousand years ago although this seems unlikely. The Mongolids like the Semites are also a sterile offshoot. They migrated across the steppes to the Eastern seaboard of Asia. Thus, following Darwin’s theory of natural selection when the traceable historical continuum becomes apparent one has HSI in Africa, HSII in Western Europe and HSIII in the Caspian area of Central Asia, the Semites occupying Arabia and the Mongolids in Eastern Asia.

The first confrontation between the sub-species in historical times came when a people of HS III derivation migrated to Mesopotamia. There they created a civilization which may have been influenced by an HSII population already in possession. Either HSIII alone or together with HSII, this people created the Sumerian Civilization.

 

From Sumer To The World Trade Center

 

In the present struggle in Eastern Europe the element of religious antagonism is the most important factor in the problem. The question originally one of race and government has become to a great extent one of religion. …Muslims…use the Sheriat, or law embracing or based upon the Cor-an and its commentaries, and this is declared by many persons in Western Europe to be utterly inapplicable to Christian subjects. Here, then, is the real difficulty; is Mohammedanism so plastic as to be adapted to the reforms which it is universally admitted…are required, or must it be eliminated altogether from Europe? If an affirmative answer be given to the latter proposition…there is no solution of the difficulty but a religious war, and such a war as the world has never yet seen.

–Mohammed and Mohammedanism.

Anonymous reviewer in the

Quarterly Review, January 1877

The answer has proven to be that Moslemism is not so plastic as to be adjusted to rational or Western psychology. Moslemism is an expression of the Semitic psychology. That psychology is particular to the Semitic sub-species. In the Darwinian sense it is part and parcel of natural selection. HSIII and the Semites are psychologically incompatible. That cannot be changed.

Now, the Semites could never have created a civilization on their own but the glitter of the HSIII Sumerian civilization drew them from their desert haunts much as the glitter of Western civilization has drawn the Semites from their desert oil fields today. Bear in mind that the Semitic character was set a hundred thousand years before Sumer and that no matter how circumstances may change their character cannot. Its stern limits are set by genetic evolution.

It is to be assumed that just as the Semites first infiltrated Western civilization then attacked and destroyed the symbol of Western supremacy, the World Trade Center in the Western capital of New York City, that they committed a similar outrage against Sumer five thousand years ago. Character, methods and tactics in a sub-species do not change; as it is it was and ever shall be.

If one analyzes Semitic methods and ethos which will have remained unchanged for the five thousand years of recorded history it will be readily seen what transpired in Sumer and why the Sumerian civilization was obliterated.

The main body of Semites undoubtedly blamed a militant minority for whatever crime was perpetrated against the Sumerians. The Semitic story of Cain and Abel may point the way to the nature of the dispute, just as the Sumerian story of Gilgamesh and Enkidu may present the Sumerian version of the quarrel. Believing they were dealing with an honorable people, rather than driving the Semites away, the Sumerians believed that the Semites were sincere and that they could get along with them. Thus, while palavering endlessly the Semites continued to infiltrate Sumer until they had sufficient numbers within and sufficient military power without to displace the Sumerians in their own land. ‘Ye shall live in houses that ye never built.’ As the Bible says.

Not having inherent scientific ability the Semites gradually replaced the scientific basis of Sumerian society with their own brand of fanatical ignorant religion.

Thus, the Semites appropriated Mesopotamia and Syria occupying the coasts of the Mediterranean while retaining Arabia. The deadly pall of Semitic ignorance settled over the Near East, or Western Asia, however you look at it. Contemporary Egyptians styled them ‘vile Asiatics.’

Over the centuries the Semites came into direct conflict with the Egyptians who, if I am right in the origins of the Libyans of Lower Egypt, were an HS II people. As empires grew larger and came into direct contact the Semitic empire of Assyria was able to conquer the HSIIs of Egypt in the seventh century BC. Thus, in the Darwinian struggle for supremacy the Egyptians were eliminated as a people. They have never recovered being now a remnant after a genocidal persecution of centuries. Their place has been taken by Semites.

As in Sumer the Semitic character immediately began to attack the scientific religious culture of Egypt in an attempt to destroy it while superimposing their own fanatical religious culture, the culture of ignorance.

The HSIII Persians ousted the Semitic Assyrians being in turn ousted by the HSIII Greeks who were replaced by the HSIII or possibly HSII Romans.

Now, following their sub-special manner a group or race of Semites, known in history as Jews, who had been displaced in an intra-sub-special conflict with the Assyrians in 586 BC, had been infiltrating the various kingdoms of the Mediterranean from Gaul to Egypt and Libya much as their ancestors had infiltrated Sumer. They followed the intolerant Semitic impulse by combating the religion of their host countries. They aggressively over turned altars and insulted the religion of these nations.

Unwilling and unable to assimilate themselves, as in the prototype of Sumer, they sought first to infiltrate and then to conquer. In the Roman case, much as in the Semitic attack on the World Trade Center, they made their move prematurely and had insufficiently infiltrated the enemy territory while having no military force without to complete conquest. In the resulting wars known to history as the Jewish Wars the Romans all but exterminated the Palestinian Jews while the Jews within the empire stood by helplessly.

In the ensuing syncretistic Semito-Christian religion the Semites acquired a disproportionate influence over the Greek scientific thought completely suppressing it. In keeping with the Semitic Sumerian tradition the Semito-Christians attacked all science and learning in an attempt to stultify the Greek or scientific influence in their attempt to impose the ignorance which was in keeping with their native intellect. The result in the West was what is know as the Dark Ages.

Then, in the seventh century AD an Arabian Semite by the name of Mohammed re-evaluated the situation to come up with a new and more determined attempt to impose Semitism on the world.

After Sumer, in the Jewish attempt of the conquest of HSII and HSIII, the Jews were so cranked out that in their pride they excluded all from their religion but their own small race of Semites. This created a situation which in a direct confrontation with the majority must always lose. Mohammed realized the error of exclusiveness rewriting the rules so that even forcible proselytization to his new Semitic religion was preferred.

Thus, by enrolling potentially unlimited auxiliaries under a religious banner he was able to augment the numbers of Semites so that there was a chance of conquering the world under the banner of ignorance.

Mohammed also undoubtedly realized that even though the Semites had gained a preponderant influence in the Semito-Christian religion that eventually the majority would reject the foreign Semitic influence. It was necessary then to impose Semitism on the majority by physical force. He thus organized the Semites into a military force capable of attacking the world.

The Arabs quickly overran North Africa while their converts the Moors entered Spain quickly conquering that nation. Without a pause they swept through the Pyrenees to penetrate deep into Europe where they stopped nearly at the gates of Paris from which they were driven back into Spain. The Spaniards then began the Reconquista which took them nearly a millennium to accomplish. Thus Europe barely escaped being impaled on the lance of ignorance.

Although it is generally believed that at the beginning of the Arab conquest a brilliant scientific civilization was created this notion is completely false. The Moslems rode over an existing HSIII Greek scientific culture which they immediately assaulted in much the same manner as that of the Semito-Christians. It took them about three hundred years to suppress the Greek scientific culture until today there is not one shred of scientific learning in Moslem lands. Instead they dynamite anything that challenges the ignorant bigoted Moslem view of religion.

From that first impulse to the present day the Semites have never ceased their worldwide attack on both the West and the East. What the Assyrians failed to do in Egypt, Mohammed’s fanatical Moslems have accomplished. With ceaseless tireless energy and will Moslems have sought to impose their ignorance on the world.

The situation in 1877 when the Russians, Poles and Austrians were driving the Moslems out of Central and Eastern Europe was essentially that of today. Whether you like it or not Milosevic was continuing and winning the war referred to by the prefacing quote in 1877. The reviewer in the Quarterly Review realized that one must drive the Moslems out or accept the stultification of the HSIII species. That is what Milosevic was doing.

There was some surcease for the West when the Slavs and Austrians succeeded in driving the Moslem power back into Asia at the end of the nineteenth century. However Moslems remained successfully active in Africa, India and the Far East.

It was only Western Science that provided the means to temporarily crush the Moslems and put them in their place. That is where matters stood when the first historical continuum ended in 1945.

Regaining courage and strength from their oil reserves the Semites once again following in their five thousand years practice began to infiltrate every country in the world while consolidating themselves in their core areas.

Whether the attack on the West in New York was premature or not remains to be seen in the response the West makes. If it follows the Sumerian model of toleration then it must lose this five thousand year battle with the forces of ignorance. If it follows the Roman model and destroys Mecca and Medina as the Romans were compelled to destroy Jerusalem, while either exterminating or confining the Moslems then civilization will survive at whatever cost. The Hitlerian solution is so extreme as to cause revulsion. However if we are truly a scientific people both in physics and psychology we do have the means although we probably lack the will to conquer. Perhaps that was the Sumerian problem, too much prosperity and comfort to imperil. Like them we will probably be too supine to assert our superiority. We should be able to manage pretty well if we assume the will the defeat the enemy. This battle will be fought as a test of wills. This is a colder war than the war with Communism.

This same sort of analysis can be applied to every sub-species on the planet; the potentialities and possibilities of each has become an established fact, their future actions can be forecast from their past history. I do not intend to go into each, but it should be clear that the former Chinese leader, Mao Ze Dong, was true to the Chinese sub-special type. No matter what the Chinese may say, Mao bared the Chinese soul.

 

Edgar Rice Burroughs Strides Into The Scene

 

The life of Edgar Rice Burroughs straddled the great 1914 division of this both terminal and seminal period from 1859 to 1945. His youth was lived in the shadow of the Little Big Horn where Custer died for our sins in 1876 the year after Burroughs was born. The Plains Indians were still being overrun in his youth while he himself participated in the last Indian battles against the Apaches in the Southwest. Even as the Indians were being defeated he saw the success of man’s attempt to fly, the introduction of the telephone and movies. Henry Ford introduced the Model T making a mass market auto industry a reality almost at the same time Burroughs sat down to begin his Tarzan stories. And then the Titanic sank.

Burroughs was a pulp fiction writer. I think it can be argued that the pulp fiction magazine originated with the Strand Magazine in England. Pulp fiction called for a different approach than literary fiction. Literary fiction is designed to appeal to refined, informed or cultured tastes while pulp fiction was designed as popular entertainment for the widest possible audience.

Thus, Literary authors have tended to look down on popular writers. However one result of universal literacy was that ‘common’ tastes prevailed over fine literature. Today almost no one can tell you who the American literary author William Dean Howells was or have even heard of him, yet you may be certain that he and his contemporaries thought his literary immortality was secured.

Ernest Poole won the first Pulitzer Prize for literature yet I doubt that even one person in a million could identify him. Booth Tarkington won two Pulitzer prizes which no one else has ever done yet the mention of his name draws blank stares. He wrote good stuff too which one hopes won’t be forgotten. ‘Seventeen’ was a real charmer.

Strangely, the great popular fiction writers are known not so much for themselves as for their creations. Thus, everyone knows Sherlock Holmes, but many would be stumped by the name Arthur Conan Doyle. You almost have to be a specialist to know who Bram Stoker was yet Dracula is a piece of furniture in everyone’s mind. Not one in an infinite number can identify Gaston LeRoux but all know the Phantom Of The Opera, his creation. Edgar Rice Burroughs’ name is fairly well known but not everyone can connect him to his universally known creation, Tarzan. Not even in his home town, Tarzana.

Burroughs came at the tail end of that crop of popular writers who have been the staple of twentieth century literature. He was too young to be a part of the Kipling, Wells, Haggard and Doyle scene although circumstances did make him a friend of the OZ creator, L. Frank Baum.

Even thought H.G. Wells was only six years his senior Well’s writing career began in the 1890s. He had been famous nearly twenty years before Burroughs put pen to paper. And yet Burroughs writing connects him to this pre-1914 literary scene as a sort of younger sibling; he belongs to this tradition. Nor is his creation, Tarzan, inferior in reputation to any other literary creation of the time with the exception of the archetype of the twentieth century, Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

Even then, many, if not most people don’t realize that there is not only one Tarzan novel but a series of them.

Edgar Rice Burroughs’ eyes had seen most of the seminal events of this productive pre-1914 period when he sat down to write. He was able to reflect on them all. Unlike his near contemporaries he did not create the era so much as recapitulate it. From 1914 to 1945 was pretty much a playing out of these earlier developments.

Darwin’s theory of evolution had created a defined racial hierarchy at the bottom of which was the Negro and at the top of which was the EuroAmerican White. In between were the Semites and Mongolids. This notion is reflected in Burroughs’ writing.

While it was believed that this was the order of evolution there was no scientific basis for proving what was apparent to the eyes.

The great disrupting discoveries in physics and psychology had already been made and were becoming popularized. Havelock Ellis, Krafft-Ebing and others were leading a sexual revolution; the Feminist Movement was in full tilt while in a few years the unthinkable would occur when Communism seized power in Russia in 1917 which made the post 1914 world so different while people were slow to understand the magnitude of the change. And then there was the introduction of the income tax which disturbed ERB so much in ‘Tarzan And The Ant Men.’

Amazingly Burroughs eyes were so acute he was able to understand and incorporate all these developments in the Tarzan novels without ever mentioning any by name. In his dedication to ‘entertainment’ he was able to write around, below, above and through these developments without letting any of them obtrude didactically into his stories. Therein lies, I think, the secret of his success. While H.G. Wells became a didactic preacher for his causes at the end of his career thereby dating himself; Burroughs sublimated his opinions while yet always coming down on the right side of the question. He cannot be considered a reactionary or even a conservative; he always understood the nature of the question and saw the correct viewpoint. Thus, he remains ‘modern’ or current.

Burroughs has been accused of ‘racism’ for his views on evolution but the accusation misses the point. Bear in mind the consequences of evolution and natural selection. To speculate on the nature of evolution and apply the results is not ‘racism.’ After all, not only did Burroughs have no trouble with evolution but he seems to have a well thought out notion of it which differs little from Darwin’s natural selection and seems to be closer to the more accurate scientific genetic explanation. One might call ERB a speculative evolutionist.

This is a remarkable achievement as in 1912 when he began to write, no academic could openly reject religion in favor of evolution without being expelled from the academic community. Even though they knew better they still proclaimed that evolutionary beliefs did not challenge religious opinions.

Burroughs, courageously one might say, disregards all religious considerations, writing about evolution as though it were an accepted and undeniable fact. Tarzan experiences every phase of evolution in his development. He was reared as a beast, consorted with the Africans, then considered the lowest form of humanity, and went directly to being a civilized EuroAmerican and then backtracked to become the chief of the Black Waziri then becoming the Great White Potentate of all Africa.

The significant point here is that Burroughs apparently considers the Negro as a distinct species. Rokoff, the Russian villain in ‘Son of Tarzan’, tells Jane that as her husband was born a beast so Jack, his son, will be placed amongst an African tribe to be reared in the evolutionary stage of the Negro, that is, between the apes and homo sapiens.

Blacks are also differentiated culturally by Burroughs; he does not deal in rude stereotypes. He is aware of cultural differences between African tribes. His proud Waziri are the crème de la crème of the African tribes in every respect, especially in never having submitted to Arab slavers. American Blacks such as Robert Jones of ‘At The Earth’s Core; who have been subjected to different cultural influences in the United States are portrayed entirely differently from the various African Blacks. ERB has a keen eye for distinctions, in dialect and speech most especially.

He himself was an avid reader. This is no more apparent than in his treatment of his Arab characters. He never traveled outside the United States so his knowledge of Moslemism and Arabs had to be acquired completely from books. As Warbaby pointed out in ‘Tarzan Meets Mohammed’ Burroughs was a keen student of Moslem culture. He perceived the complete lack of Science in Moslem thought nearly predicting 9/11.

It is very true that he has no great liking for his Arab characters. They are uniformly disreputable and bad.

Yet they are not stock characters. There is a great deal of individuality about them. Personally I found Amor Ben Khatour, the abductor of Miriem in ‘Son of Tarzan’ a terrifying and realistic character. I thought the sub-plot between Meriem’s father and Khatour well handled.

That the Arabs are all villains may be attributed less to ‘racism’ than the fact of their occupation. They are all slave traders. The Arabs living in Africa were associated with the slave trade. Being a slave trader in Arab society was something like being a dope dealer in ours. Just because someone want to buy the product doesn’t mean they want to be associated with the dealers. The dealer is usually a disreputable person whether in drugs or slaves. Anyone who has read his Burton and Stanley can form a pretty accurate idea of a slaver’s character.

How then could Burroughs depict his Arabs as any less than brutal, mean, disreputable men. This is what a slaver is; this is what Burroughs understood; there is no racism involved. He doesn’t descend into name calling. Rather Burroughs grapples honestly and accurately with some fairly difficult problems.

Burroughs was cleverly synthesizing the ideas and learning of the 1859-1914 period in a way in which those of us of the post-1945 generation who were at ‘Childhood’s End; could use his opinions and attitudes to build a base of opinion on which to extend our own attitudes into the future as a basis of our own lives.

As evidence that Burroughs succeeded is the fact that his character named Tarzan who no longer has a home in a geographical location called Africa still exists as the Lord of the Jungle in a psychological projection of our subconscious called Africa.

 

NOW I SEE THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK,

CUTTING THROUGH THE FOREST WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.

 

Yes, that terrifying Congo, that symbol of the Heart of Darkness, the savage untutored wildness creeping through the jungle of our nocturnal fears, the psychological malaise that affects us all. How to find that golden track of consciousness that will relieve us of our uncertainties and make the world safe for us, that is the question.

Perhaps Burroughs’ greatest success was that he created a character to represent our conscious minds while reducing the world of subconscious terrors of this jungle of Africa called Life to a manageable form. In this mental Africa by the force of character we can all feel less threatened and more at home as we cruise down our personal Congo in our very own ‘Lady Alice.’

Long live Tarzan and God Bless Edgar Rice Burroughs.

Rethinking The Las Vegas Shootout

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Let us examine a different scenario for the Vegas Shootout involving Stephen Paddock. First let us consider that numerous people have insisted that there were numerous shooters on the ground. Eight of the most prominent of these people have died within a month suggesting that they were removed. This suggests two things: a. The shooting was part of a large scale plan involving numerous plotters and b. there is a cover up concerning multiple shooters in which many who could contradict the official narrative have been killed. That was either done by an upper management group or the plotters themselves in an effort to maintain the Paddock narrative. This scenario will assume a large plot.

As to criminal methods: If you are going to commit a crime the practice is to implicate an innocent party as a patsy or fall guy. All the evidence will point to the patsy. Once his guilt is established and he judged guilty as far as the police go the crime is solved. No need to look further and the perps are in the clear.

This was how the Kennedy assassination was run. If you remember Lee Harvey Oswald said on TV: I’m just a patsy. He was the obvious shooter although others guaranteed the killing. However it seemed clear that Oswald was going to talk. If he knew he was the patsy then he knew who else was involved. Therefore Jack Ruby was recruited to silence him. The police were warned beforehand that an attempt to kill Oswald was going to occur. They took zero preparations and Oswald was shot by Ruby. The killing of Oswald was done to protect certain parties.

Ruby was imprisoned but he made the conspirators nervous. He was first declared insane to make anything he said irrelevant. Then a couple years later he died from ‘natural’ causes. The conspirators believed they were in the clear.

As far as Paddock goes, with shooters on the ground, the grassy knoll, so to speak, it seems obvious that Paddock is the patsy. It is only assumed that he was the shooter because he was found dead amidst all those guns. (Pay attention to the role of guns.) Hundreds of pounds of weapons and ammunition. Way too much for what was intended.

Now, everybody says that he was a mild mannered man who never caused any trouble while he is said to have sat playing video poker, a solitary occupation, at twelve hour stretches several days in a row. At 64 years of age he had no police record. A law abiding man.   He frequently was comped rooms at the casinos so his checking into the Mandalay was nothing unusual for him. The valet who checked him in said that he had nothing but the usual luggage. Certainly not hundreds of pounds of guns. That valet is one of the people who has died post concert.

Mandalay management says that he didn’t come out of his room after he checked in. There was no way for Paddock to get that arsenal into the hotel and his room.

That means that he and his room was selected as the site for the plot. Bear in mind that the shooting took place after dark so that there was no way that the shooter could have had a clear shot at what he was shooting from 300 or more feet away from a couple hundred feet above street level. The Mandalay was just a decoy to draw attention from the real shooters on the ground, but attention has been directed to the Mandalay, bump stocks and other irrelevant details.

The plotters probably moved the guns into the building into an adjoining room—perhaps the one whose door was ajar that supposedly brought Paddock to the attention of the Mandalay security guard. In all likelihood the security guard was the shooter.

Probably posing as room service he got Paddock to open his door. He then shot Paddock who then was dead before the shooting began. The guard wheeled the weapons into the room either alone or assisted by others who were checked in as guests, leaving the cart outside the door where it was found. The guard then sprayed the door with a burst or two of machine gun fire. Any accomplices did not have to leave the hotel; all they had to do was return to their rooms and wait till the coast was clear.

The guard then created the Mandalay diversion by shooting into the concert enclosure perhaps hitting people but perhaps not. Once the panic began most concert goers would have had no idea what was happening except that it was happening. Probably conspirators called attention to the Mandalay, as the site would not have been that obvious, at which point it could be said that the shooting was coming from the Mandalay.

In any event, chaos created, the guard throws the gun down while giving himself a flesh wound in the leg to authentic his ridiculous story of being hit by a bullet from the spray of machine gun fire through the door and around it.

The police arrive find the guard with his wound, listen to the story and find it credible, then find Paddock splayed out on the floor and assume that he was the shooter. They had absolutely no proof other than the circumstantial evidence. Remember that they only assumed, assumed, that Paddock was the sole shooter.

Thus the case was solved as they chose to ignore the reports of multiple shooters on the ground. The real perps had pulled off the most successful mass murder in US history. The only question now is who were the real perps and why. The shooting was barely over before some anti-gun enthusiast was on the air loudly proclaiming that guns and bump stocks were liable. The presence of so many guns and the uproar about guns points in the direction of the anti-gun crowd as possible perps.

Paddock almost certainly was not the shooter. He was the patsy and had to die just like Oswald. Dead patsies tell no tales.

A Review:

David Amram’s Vibrations and Offbeat

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Amram, David: Downbeat: Thunder’s Mouth Press, 2002

Amram, David: Vibrations, original MacMillan’s 1968, this issue Thunder’s Mouth Press 2001

Wakefield, Dan: New York In The Fifties, Houghton, Mifflin/Seymour Lawrence, 1992

 

While apparently but few have ever heard of David Amram yet he was a significant figure in the Sixties and beyond. He was or is a musician, French Horn player and composer. A couple of his movie soundtrack credits, The Manchurian Candidate and Splendor In The Grass of the Fifties give some indication of his recognition in the entertainment world although having seen both movies I had no idea he scored them while Imdb gives credit to Amram and Irving Berlin and Grass to a Euphemia Allen. So there you have it.

No one to whom I have mentioned him has ever heard of him. As I was in the record business in the Sixties and Seventies I knew the name but nothing more. I don’t recollect selling any of his records or even carrying them. I called his name up on Amazon’s Echo or Alexa and listened to a couple hours of stuff a couple of times and while the music is pleasant enough I find it undistinguished.

My attention for this review was brought to me because his book Offbeat is a record of his association with Jack Kerouac the author and founder of the Beats. I will deal with the association in the appropriate place. Vibrations, David’s first book, is a discussion of his life from birth in 1930 to his thirty seventh year in 1967, the book was published in 1968. Vibrations is a very interesting psychological study whether the reader has heard of Amram or not.   As of this writing (8/2/17) he is still living at 87 years and looking very presentable. Significantly he doesn’t call Vibrations an autobiography but a memoir.

David was born in Feasterville, Pennsylvania, where he spent his early years on a farm until his father took a war job and moved the family to Washington DC in 1942, the move was very traumatic for twelve-year old David who loved his life on the farm and never recovered from losing it. Later in life he would buy a farm.

The move to DC was especially traumatic because his family moved into a house in what was called a checkerboard neighborhood, that is a mixed Negro and White area. David and his family were themselves Jewish. The central childhood fixation that governed David’s life was when he entered Gordon Jr. High. He describes the experience in detail and since it is so important to the telling of his story I will quote in full, pp. 17-18:

A few days later I entered Gordon Junior High School. Because I had just come from a small rural school, Gordon Junior High seemed enormous. The playground alone was larger than the entire school area in the country. The atmosphere was completely different because of the large number of students, the fact that it was a southern school and the air of seething violence that seemed to be everywhere. The atmosphere of violence was constant and when it erupted the teachers as well as the students seemed to take the idea of fighting for granted.

The moment I arrived I saw three or four serious fights in the school playground.

Six or seven boys were holding someone’s arms behind him while he was being smashed and stomped by two or three others. I was used to being in fights myself, but at least we used to go at it one at a time and when I got to be a good fighter myself, the fights finally stopped. But I noticed that here the parents of some of the smaller kids led them right into school or they came in with older kids who served as protection. It took me a little while to realize there were several organized gangs in the school, including one called the Foggybottom Gang. My sister was going to boarding school in Florida because of her health. I was sure glad she didn’t have to through this with me. When we had gone to school in the country she used to lie down on the floor of the car on the way home so the kids wouldn’t see her. She was terrified then because of the abuse I used to take being called a Jew. I had gotten used to it, but she never could.

But there at least she was safe on the floor of the car. In 1942 at Gordon Junior High no one was safe. Even teachers- those who couldn’t fight back- were in danger of being punched pummeled kicked or even knifed. It was a madhouse and I enjoyed every minute of it. I had never liked school anyway except for music and sports, so the chaotic conditions in the classroom, with kids yelling and insulting the teachers, setting their desks on fire, throwing snowballs with razors and rocks inside, fighting and even one student being pushed out the window- it all seemed wonderful and exciting to me. By the third day I felt at home. The classes were so backward that in about thirty minutes I could do all my homework and spend the rest of the afternoon practicing the piano or playing in the back with Walter and some other kids I met.

The fifth day in school I was coming from the science class when a boy named Joe punched me on the shoulder and almost knocked me down.

“Watch that, Joe.” I said.

He seemed surprised that I knew his name. “How do you know my name?” he said.

Suddenly the casual group behind him seemed to become an organized gang standing stiff and hostile. All the kids behind me also stopped and in a few seconds later the immediate rumble was inevitable.

“Never mind how I know your name, just watch who you’re pushing,” I said. With that he threw a right at me. Because I was expecting something like this, I slipped his punch. Next he hit me in the left shoulder, spinning me half around. Then he leaped for me and I caught him with my right elbow in the stomach, hit him three or four times in the face put my leg behind him, hit him on the Adam’s apple and knocked him backward into a locker. He didn’t feel like fighting anymore.

Then all of a sudden, one of the larger teachers materialized out of nowhere, hit me in the face and knocked me down. He then proceeded to knock four or five other students as well while everyone else scattered. I was stunned. Kids who hadn’t even had anything to do with the fight were lying on the floor, wondering what had happened. He pulled up and marched us up to the principal’s office. While we were waiting for the principal to come out, another teacher was rushing down the hall, yelling for the teacher to get to another class where a serious fight was going on. He left and by the time the principal came back, Joe and some of the other students had slipped out of the office leaving just one other boy and myself. The principal was a kindly old man in his seventies and obviously was nearly ready to retire. His name was Mr. Winston, a sweet old man with white hair, a white mustache, stooped and worn out by all the years in Washington’s public school system and very upset about the chaos that had developed since the war began and the younger teachers were all away.

“Boys,” he said in a genteel southern moan, “The good Lord didn’t put you on earth to act like animals. Fighting is for an animal, not for gentlemen. I want you two boys to shake hands and promise never to fight no more.”

“But I wasn’t even fighting,” said the other poor boy, about to break into tears.

“Don’t sass me son, I don’t even want your name. Just don’t let me see you in here again with fights. I don’t know what’s happened to the school and to young people today. In my day people would fight each other fair and square, out behind the schoolhouse. It’s just with the fathers away, there doesn’t seem to be any discipline.” He looked through his thick glasses at both of us almost expecting us to sympathize with him. “All right, boys,” he said wearily, “you all go back to your classes and don’t let me see you in here again.”

We got up and left and went back to our classes. After a hysterical Latin class, during which the teacher, a kindly woman in her fifties with an incredible case of dandruff, was shouted down and almost knocked to the floor by one of the students, I left in disgust. I knew you weren’t going to learn anything that way. Outside I saw Joe and the members of the Foggy Bottom Gang waiting. I noticed that two of them had knives, which I could see glinting in the sun. They were not switchblades but the kind of knife used for shucking oysters in Chesapeake Bay, easy to hide in your pants and very sharp. I had heard of several stabbings the year before, and I didn’t want to be the first victim of the new academic year, so I went out the back way through the boiler room and walked home.

And David says he loved that and was right at home. Apart from pretty spectacular total recall the story sets out the problem of Black and White relations from then on. Of course the effect of this incredible first week at school was very traumatic for David fixating him it would seem with a variation of the Stockholm syndrome. Nor was this an isolated incident but the ‘normal’ situation that would go on for years, his entire youth, in David’s checkerboard neighborhood.   While seeming to maintain a rigid separation between his Black and White identities as well as White and Jewish identities his primary identity seemed to be White during this period while he sank into a medium grade depression. He immersed his mind in music to escape his desperate situation and his music the rather odd combination of French Horn and Negro Jazz. Probably the French Horn was a desperate clinging to his White identity.

But, first let us put his situation into a perspective that must lead to the Supreme Court decision of Brown vs. The Board Of Education. The Brown decision assumed that schools were not segregated and that there was no experience to indicate what the result of integration would be. Yet, here in DC in the forties and probably the thirties one has a sociological situation that indicates precisely what the result would be. There was no need for guesswork.

The Supreme Court justices who would make the Brown decision had integration information on the residential level that was horrendous. Eventually all the White people would leave DC or were driven out by the Negroes and DC became something of a cauldron of crime. One in which even Negroes were desperate to escape.

The schools were such that, as in Amram’s case he was terrorized for life but the White fantasy was that no resistance by Whites should be offered to the atrocities. Now, this was not just young Negroes mixed with young Whites. In high schools grown men were entered as students who then directed the young Negroes in terrorizing the Whites to gain control and dominance. Thus,. Whites were taught or required to accept the criminal behavior quietly or they would be charged with the horrendous crime of ‘racism’. If they fought back win or lose they would be charged as the aggressors and have their young lives destroyed, sacrificed on the altar of integration. The saying then and now was ‘you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet. Interestingly David has a song with the refrain, ‘all my eggs are broken.’

Any rational White person could see and understand the result of forced integration. Whites were being denied equality and their rights, essentially enslaved to the Negroes. The Whites of the South against whom the Brown decision was actually directed with their long experience with the Negro were clear as to the outcome. If nothing else they had this sociological experiment in DC before their eyes as well as the deplorable conditions in Northern schools which were already integrated. It was quite obvious that integration would lead to disintegration of society so it must be obvious that the intent of the Supreme Court justices was the disintegration of society.

The Southern Whites therefore put up a stout resistance refusing to accept the Justices’ decision which, after all, was merely the Justices’ intention. It would take the Executive to enforce the decision. This led then President Eisenhower to his decision to mobilize army troops and if tanks were not used my memory projected them on the scene. These were regular Army bearing arms to conduct a Negro Student into Little Rock’s Central High School.

Of course, the propaganda value of a switchblade bearing six foot four, two hundred pound Negro giant being led by an army squad into the high school was nil. Not being totally ignorant of propaganda effects, as their model student they chose a petite little girl in a pink pinafore and pigtails to be escorted by appropriately huge soldiers bearing arms. Resistance at that point was futile and Little Rock’s Central High was turned into the same hell hole that David Amram experienced at DC’s Gordon Jr. High. Rape and turmoil.

In today’s schools, one doesn’t see too many petite Negro girls wearing pink pinafores with their hair in pigtails. The propaganda effect of Eisenhower’s action was that the US government valued Negroes over Whites and that has been proven in the sequel. No integrated school today is an educational institution. Today, however, as well as knives, guns are much in use, so students pass metal detectors on the way to classes. Was Brown an improvement in race relations? As the current situation was predictable it must have been according to plan.

David Amram endured this torture all through Jr. High and High School. He must have needed some escape and he found it in his music allowing him to retreat into the safety of his own mind. Trapped in a Negro culture the music given him to express himself was Negro jazz. However the instrument he chose was the French Horn which is not a jazz instrument. He might have done better to have chosen the saxophone or trumpet if he had really chosen to excel as a jazz musician. Rather the French Horn was his rather obvious connection to his White heritage. He carried it around with him like a child and his security blanket.

Perhaps in an effort to gain some security he sought the company of Negro musicians who accepted him and his French Horn although they usually remarked: ‘Hmm, a French Horn, you don’t see those much in jazz bands.’ I never have. David must have been a semi-comical figure on the band stand. ‘Who’s the dude with the French Horn?’ Thus he had a presence in the DC area.   I presume he graduated high school although he says that what with the constant chaos in class the academic standards weren’t too demanding. Sufficient to say he attained a degree of competence on his symbolic French Horn.

I suspect that he was a mental wreck by his late teen years. The military draft had not been discontinued after the war so the probable necessity of serving in the military loomed before him. He solved this problem by volunteering just as the Korean War burst upon the scene.

Following so quickly on the heels of the Second World War the Korean War, referred to as a ‘police action’ had a psychologically disturbing effect on society especially just after the Soviet Union exploded their own atomic bomb in 1949, relying heavily on US spies. The idea that Americans would betray the country to Russians was very traumatic, causing a lot of self-doubt. It shook the country to its foundations.

-II-

David was fifteen when WWII ended and he probably graduated high school in 1948. The Korean War began in June of 1950. The military draft was still in effect so rather than wait to be called up David volunteered for a two year tour of duty in the Army. Joining the Army also got him out of DC a movthat might have been more difficult otherwise. For the first time since Jr. High, then, he was removed from a Negro environment. The military at the time was averse to social experiments so there were few Negroes in the Army. The Army, of course, had had Negro regiments since the Civil War but they had White officers and were not integrated otherwise. The Navy had never had Negro sailors except for Stewards and other service personnel and would evade integration until 1957.

While his memoir balances David’s Negro, Caucasian and Jewish heritages it must have been true that the Negro characteristics of his heritage dominated his personality at the time. He was clearly a hipster and may have been what Norman Mailer called a White Negro. Certainly his speech must have been heavily Negro and hipster, or cat, to use an alternate term.

At any rate with his trusty French Horn tucked under his arm he began his military experience. As luck would have it he was not sent to Korea but to the other side of the world to monitor the Germans and keep the Soviets on their side of the Iron Curtain. The fear of an invasion of Europe by the Soviets kept people on edge along with the A-bomb.

Psychologically his Army service must have been a healing period for David’s mind even if the military experience is nearly as traumatic as David’s DC Negroland life. But, the Army would probably have been less dangerous to navigate. And then, at twenty he was older and more able to deal with things.

To compare my own experience of a very difficult childhood that left me with certain psychological impairments and my military experience following immediately after high school graduation I was removed from the scene of my youthful pressures, and, even though under the stresses of the military, my mind began healing as soon as I left the scene of their creation so about eight months on the worst psychological effects lifted much to my relief. I’m sure that happened to David also because like me he spent the next decade or so in the process of realizing not only his White heritage but even more deeply his Jewish heritage. At this period he became a Jew. Indeed, his memoir that carries his life only up to the age of 37 was a record of that journey of realization.

David’s descriptions of his states of mind and person are presented only incidentally. There are no detached descriptions and no analysis. So looking through his narrative one sees a beat up hommey running very nearly on auto-pilot, unkempt, close to dirty, making his way through the army. His trusty French Horn removes him from the more onerous aspects of army life into a twilight zone of musical misfits forming the Seventh Army Band.

As David describes the band they are one subversive lot, refusing to wear their uniforms properly while evading all other regulations to the best of their ability. It should be noted that most were draftees and not regular Army. There was always conflict between those coerced to serve and the regulars who chose military service as their vocation, so his group wasn’t too far out of line. David describes how he grew his hair as long as possible carefully stuffing it under his hat. I know where that’s at. I too was I wouldn’t say rebellious, bur resentful, not only of the Navy but of life, I too grew my hair as long as possible and stuffed it under my hat.

I hadn’t his congenial atmosphere but I’m sure that being in with these musicians eased his two years which in different circumstances might have been disastrous. With a better frame of mind his tour of duty would have been delightful as the band toured Europe giving concerts thereby living the high life compared to foot troops.

Somewhat rescued from himself David was discharged into the world in 1953 having contributed his two years to the destiny of America. However he was still an ill man suffering the after effects of Washington DC. Consequently unable to face returning to that future he chose not to return to the United States taking up residency in Paris instead.

He was still a beat up hommey hence he chose the Bohemian way of life. While he wallowed in his misery his intention was still to reclaim the Feasterville life he enjoyed before his disastrous removal to DC. Thus, after gathering his psychological bearings to some extent he returned to the US landing in NYC in 1955. Having no desire to return to the horrific memories of DC he found his way to Greenwich Village and the Boho way of life.

-III-

From 1955 when David Amram returned to the US from Europe to 1966 when he climbed the mountain of respectability to become the resident composer of the New York Philharmonic was a short eleven years, only a decade. For the major part of those years David was a dirty, ragged Bohemian who most frequently offended his friends by his appearance and the rat holes he lived in, by his own admission. His depression must have been fairly deep yet he avoided drugs in a druggy atmosphere, stayed fairly sober and worked like the devil.

He had been advised that composing music would be his deliverance rather than his horn playing. Indeed, while David assures us that he was a superior horn player a professional shows up, befriends him, and gives him lessons on horn playing to correct his defects. Regardless then of David’s self-evaluation capable horn players thought he needed help. Composing was to be his meal ticket.

Now, let us concentrate on the subject of Amram’s second book, Offbeat, concerning his relationship with the writer Jack Kerouac. I’m sure that most people will recognize Kerouac as the author of the Beat bible, On The Road. Perhaps some of those know that Kerouac wrote reams of material throughout a couple dozen books. Critics at the time castigated the writer as close to worthless. I have to agree with them although I have to say that Kerouac is one of the all time greatest word slingers. The words slip mellifluously from his pen but with small content. His books are the equivalent of well produced B movies. For me they always leave a bad taste. I mean, he wrote about bums.

Kerouac had a difficult time getting On The Road published. Indeed from the time he wrote the book to its publication he wrote ten other unpublished books and he didn’t stop there. I was probably among the first to read On The Road. The Beats, of which Kerouac is considered the originator, were considered to be revolutionary, but as unsavory types they succeeded indirectly. Revolution was in the air in the Fifties through the Sixties and it permeated my time in the US Navy just before the beginning of 1957 through 1959.

My ship was leaving for a Pacific tour of duty at the end of the summer of 1957. Just before we shoved off, this is true, a sailor on the dock passed a blue bound advance copy to our Communist Yeoman telling him this was an important book for the revolution. I missed what was revolutionary about it reading only about a bunch of footloose losers. It was talked about aboard ship however and it changed attitudes.

Subsequently the book became a bible of sorts for a certain type of guy. I could never understand why but it was a major influence on their attitude toward life.

So, Offbeat is a three hundred page book about Jack and David’s relationship. David met him in 1956 just as the Beat movement was about to surface nationwide. According to David in Offbeat their relationship was intense; at times one can almost believe that they were married. David says that he wrote the book at the insistence of a friend who thought Dave’s experiences were too valuable to go unrecorded. However, in Dave’s six hundred page memoir Vibrations Kerouac gets only a couple mentions with no indication of an involved relationship, not even a hint of Kerouac’s significance. Where the truth lies, from my reading is indeterminate. Nonetheless certain indisputable facts are recorded.

In 1959 Kerouac wrote the script for a movie titled Pull My Daisy. A short film of twenty minutes. David was asked to score the film. His accounts between Downbeat and Vibrations vary wildly. In Downbeat he says Jack asked him to score it; in Vibrations he says Leslie and Frank did. I would imagine most people have not heard of the movie, Pull My Daisy. David makes it sound like a major cultural event. I have watched part of it. I left off maybe halfway through. David who is a real booster of anything his friends did thought it was terrific.

For those immersed in the Beat period it may be of interest to see their heroes in action. Ginsberg, Corso, Amram, they’re all there in their beatnik glory. For my tastes they looked like a bunch of bums goofing around a dump of a house. In Variations David gives credit for the film to the artist Alfred Leslie and the filmmaker Robert Frank. Leslie was an artist, apparently of some renown, I have to confess I have never heard of him, he has a couple of published collections, while Robert Frank has a reputation as an early ‘experimental’ filmmaker. Having become somewhat familiar with various experimental films I find them more self-indulgent than impressive.

In Offbeat David characterizes the performance as improvisational to the nth degree, the actors cutting up in totally undisciplined disarray. In Variations he portrays the filming as carefully planned by Leslie and Frank. Indeed Leslie ‘revealed’ in 1968 that while the production was thought to be improvisational it was actually carefully plotted. You’d have to read the sources to make up your own mind. Offbeat seems the most reasonable approach to me.

It is a silent film with no dialogue but Kerouac does a voice over completely improvised according to David while David improvises the musical background as Kerouac speaks. He says Kerouac and he were satisfied with the result while Leslie and Frank wished to make several takes to get the best possible results. Kerouac and Amram who value extemporaneity more than a hoped for perfection demur but agree to one more take and then refuse any further effort.

In Variations David says the he reworked his music separately seeking perfection corroborating Leslie’s 1968 revelation. There does seem to be a clash of ideals that reduces the integrity of David’s two texts while casting doubt on the veracity of his memories.

Dan Wakefield in his 1992 memoir, New York In The Fifties makes mention of Amram, usually positive and even admiring, as a spreader of sunshine so I suspect David of speaking well, putting things in their best light for the occasion rather than strict accuracy. This is nowhere more evident than in his account of poetry readings. He credits Kerouac and himself as introducing musically accompanied readings to Bohemia in New York. This is probably true as Kerouac and Ginsberg had been doing the same in San Francisco. I think he gives too much credit also to the quality of the poets and their poetry. I attended a coupe readings in North Beach, San Francisco and came away singularly unimpressed with the poetry although the social scene was nice.

For some delightful accounts of poetry reading in the New York of the Sixties Ed Sanders of the Fugs has wonderful accounts in his Tales Of Beatnik Glory. There are also some filmed readings on the internet, but without the ambience of being in the audience it’s not the same thing.

While David is great for waxing enthusiastic about his relationship with his horn he fades away on the historical background of his activities. For instance, he mentions the jazz bar the Five Spot as being important but fails to give context. Dan Wakefield on the other hand found the Five Spot so significant that he goes into great detail even providing some information on its ambiance. In fact, those places, jazz clubs, were holes requiring a great deal of enthusiasm for jazz to endure the environment.

I never visited any NYC jazz clubs during the day but I did pay a visit to the Blackhawk in San Francisco. The Blackhawk was one of the premier jazz clubs in the country. Let me say from the outset that I am not a jazz buff. The depression, pain and rage that underlies the music is offensive to my tastes, especially the classic jazz of the Fifties. The Negro artists of the Fifties were sui generis. As they aged they were never replaced although that fact seems to have gone unnoticed. Jazz began withering during the Sixties, was commercialized in the seventies and eighties and what remains is probably formulaic today.

The mystique of the Negro players was incredible. If the Blackhawk was any indication the club was a church for jazzists and the players were its high priests. Essentially they could get away with anything in those dark nasty hypnotic caves. The Negro artists were themselves worshipped by the Whites. Dan Wakefield tells the following story of one of the highest of the priesthood Charlie Mingus, p. 309:Mingus was a figure all right, and could be as dramatic and surprising off stage as on. The novelist and screenwriter Rudy Wurlitzer will never forget the time he took a beautiful girl to the Five Spot when he was nineteen years old. “I wanted to impress her,” he says. “Mingus was playing, and I could tell he noticed the girl- everyone noticed her. When the last set was over, Mingus came up to our table and took out a pair of handcuffs. He didn’t say a word, just clamped one of the handcuffs on his own wrist and then clamped the other on the wrist of my date. She didn’t say anything, and he pulled up her arm, so she stood up, and then they walked out the door together, neither of them saying anything.”

Of course, the important thing here is that Wurlitzer made no protest, he acquiesced in her abduction although he was responsible for her safety. No one else in the jazz church said anything either. The high priest had his prerogatives. That and the mystique accorded to the Magic Negro.

Indeed, Amram, Wakefield and others were all working hard for the integration of the bands themselves, perhaps thinking that was a panacea for something. Wakefield himself, accounts the advent of the Beatles in 1964 as the disruption of the integration dream and perhaps the beginning of the end for jazz. Certainly, the musical priesthood was transferred from Negroes to Whites when the Beatles became the high priests. As Wakefield complains, the Beatles and the bands following from England were all White. So, while there were a few exceptions in Rock- Jimi Hendrix- that jazz dream was destroyed. It should be noticed that there is a Hendrix church. Negro energy was transferred to the all Black soul bands of the Sixties led by Detroit’s Motown label.

According to Wakefield the Lit., Music and Art crowds of Greenwich Village were separate, the artists favoring the Cedar Tavern, the Literature crowd the White Horse Tavern and the music crowd the Village Vanguard and other spots. The Folk crowd was not prominent in Wakefield’s mind during the Fifties for some reason. They were certainly there. Wakefield says that while most crowds stuck to respective groups Amram was a curiosity as he moved freely through all groups with a reputation as Mr. Sunshine.

Indeed, he was something of a touch giving small sums of money to anyone who asked for it. He complains about being broke while at the same time he says that he gave his money away, living in digs few would tolerate. If his sweater, of which he speaks so lovingly, hadn’t been so raggedy, worn and smelly he would have given that off his back to anyone willing to take it. A real St. Francis. He must, then, have had many acquaintances who would speak well of him in place of returning the loans.

In addition to pushing for integrated bands and racial harmony David rediscovered his own racial roots in Judaism. A synagogue beneath his window whose religious music rose through it awakened his interest through its mournful dirge answering to his own depression as jazz did. Consequently David offered to compose sacred music for the services, which music was well received. Thus his ties to Judaism were revived.

As a composer he composed furiously, able to turn out reams and reams of compositions. Now, the Fifties, they were not a dull time unless, of course, you were dull, although my own familiarity with the later years was disrupted by entering the Navy, losing contact with those critical years for the future; I was in exile, as it were, in the military. Nevertheless, so-called world music began after WWII in the nascent Folk music scene by the group called the Weavers led by the ever present Pete Seeger. Wakefield seems to have ignored the Folkies but Folk was very largely White as well as Rock music and the two actually coalesced in the Sixties.

After the War it seems like there were hundreds of songs celebrating the charms of far away places with strange sounding names. Martin Denny’s LP The Quiet Village was a whole album of songs celebrating exotic tropical paradises.

At this time also Electra Records began a series of LPs of ethnic musics that was very in with the knowing, the avant guard. On its Nonesuch label Electra issued two terrific albums of Balinese Gamelon music including the memorable Ramayana Monkey Chant, a real listening experience. A Bulgarian record was much revered and well as several others. The African record Missa Luba is a not to be missed classic. That’s only if you are of the ilk otherwise you won’t appreciate such discs

So, David was a leader of this Travel Poster Crowd. Travel posters of far away place were de riguer on everyone’s walls especially after the Boeing 707 changed international travel in 1959. David Amram was riding the wave of a future on that score even though jazz was emitting a dying moan. By the seventies these Fifties jazz artists were so passe that a record producer by the name of Creed Taylor fashioned a line of easy listening records employing various of these old passe Negro players with reputations as a front to legitimize his easy listening and he made a fortune. There’s gold out there you just have to know where to find it. It was the end of an era.

David then had conquered all musical worlds except for the White world of classical music. As I see it he had made a million friends with his zippity doo dah attitude expecially and most importantly in the Jewish religious world.

The background story here is unknown or, at least, undiscovered by me. The New York Philharmonic had never had a resident composer but in 1966 the position was created for David. David was appreciative and by his account overwhelmed and well he might be. There appears to have been a great gulf between what he was doing and the professional world of the New York Philharmonic of Leonard Bernstein.

The impression one gets is that the Philharmonic gave into pressure from somewhere to create a respectable paying position for Dave. In doing so, of course, they enabled him to rise from his declassed state caused by his entrance into DC’s Gordon Jr. High. He now became a man of all classes and was enabled to regain his lost self-respect. He probably would never fit in to the over world because of the underclass characteristics he had acquired in his long and traumatic exile among the subteranneans.

If I had to guess as to how he was offered his newly created position I think it would be his association with the rabbis and his sacred compositions for them. The upper music world of New York is almost all Jewish. Leonard Bernstein himself, then the conductor of the Philharmonic, was himself Jewish and subject to pressure from the rabbis. I’m guessing it was all in the synagogue, but David realized his goal and immediately commemorated it in his memoir. David was only thirty-seven, living today at 87 his life wasn’t even half over.

-IV-

Up to 1967 David’s is an American story. A collection of racial, ethnic and religious heritages to be reconciled: in his case White American, Jew and Negro. The conflation of all three could have destroyed David’s life but he had what it took to blast through to salvation. Salvation to at least 1967, the sequel remains to be seen. David continues his story in a 2008 book he titles Upbeat: Nine Lives Of A Musical Cat. I have yet to read that but I may report on it when I do.

David grew up under a Melting Pot hope of immigration. Under that fantasy the immigrants would gradually assimilate themselves to Anglo-American mores, forget their antecedents and then the US would be a great big harmonious happy family Anglo Saxon family because Anglo-Saxons had discovered he secret of governing. One fault to that theory was that Negroes weren’t immigrants and the Melting Pot theory didn’t include the Negro race. No matter what happened the Negro problem would be insoluble.

The theory also broke down because some immigrant groups wished to impose their mores on the Anglo-Saxons rather than those of the Anglo-Saxons on them. Chief among those were those of David’s Jewish heritage. As it was their intention to impose their mores made it necessary to dissolve the Melting Pot into its constituent parts and then reassemble them under the Jewish aegis. Thus for several years after 1945 it became a custom to have various national festivals in which people dressed in their national dress and did a couple dances. That didn’t last too long because under American conditions it was humiliating; we were supposed to be one and for most other national customs really had no place. The time for that sort of celebration had passed.

David’s Negro heritage was a more convenient lever for disintegration as well as his Jewish heritage itself. Lest we have confusion let me say I share David’s three heritages, as do all Americans whether they realize it or not, plus a heritage of the orphanage and several lesser ones, most notable Polish an English but I consider myself American First, White second and devil take the hindmost. But, we all, because of immigration, share in each and every heritage. The Jews, the Negroes and whoever have given up any exclusivity to their heritage, like it or not.

As there was tremendous White guilt over slavery this was cultivated as the Negro question and was a great tool as witness the White girl Mingus abducted for sexual purposes no doubt and neither she nor her boyfriend nor anyone objected. No other race or nationality could have pulled that off. It is significant that Mingus knew he could. No one has to excuse his conduct because he was Black and objecting would make one a racist. Absolute nonsense. Injustice wherever it is found should be resisted.

It is also indicative of how society had disintegrated when David as a Jew, within the synagogue if I’m correct, had the job of resident composer created just for him.

America rather than being a Melting Pot was being created as diverse before our eyes consolidating under a Jewish aegis.

In order to do that it is necessary to destroy the symbols of power of the dominant culture. Thus, the well documented War on Christmas, reducing it from a national custom to a parochial one, depriving Anglo-Saxon of the notion that America is Christian. This, even though the Jews are only two percent of the population. In the last couple of years any symbol ‘offensive’ to a non-White culture such as statues, trademarks etc. are being forcibly removed by sub-cultures. Not only the Confederate flag but the US flag itself is under assault. The law, the Supreme Court Justices, enforces minority rights against the majority. Since the election of Trump resistance to these encroachments has become permissible but not legal.

The problem is not that sub-cultures want their own monuments that exist along side traditional monuments, names, titles, whatever but that the dominant culture and its monuments shall be replaced by the minority cultures and monuments.

Rather than follow that line of reasoning for the time being I think I will break off here and continue when I have read Amram’s Upbeat, see how the nine lives have worked out.

A Review

Tough Jews by Rich Cohen

By

R.E. Prindle

We’re trying to get America by the wallet.

Abe ‘Kid Twist’ Reles

 

Cohen, Rich: Tough Jews, Fathers, Sons and Gangster Dreams, Vintage, 1999.

Rich CohenRich Cohen

 

Our author, Rich Cohen seems to be oppressed by the vision of Jews marching obediently to the death camps in war torn Europe. He is ashamed that Jews didn’t organize and resist the Nazis. Actually those that could did. The Warsaw Ghetto being the most famous example. Of course having no infra structure to support them that resistance, while commendable, was futile. This reaction within Nazi lines was not the same as that by Jews beyond those lines. US Jews campaigned mightily with the full assistance of President Roosevelt to get our men to fight their war for them and succeeded. Jews fought in the Russian army where there was a supporting infra structure. It is also true that the political Commissars attached to the Russian army were nearly all Jews. Their role as political Commissars in the conducting of the war was equal to or maybe even superior to that of the military generals. The Germans have incredible horror stories of the barbarities perpetrated by the Commissars that are equal in horror to anything that occurred in the death camps.

But few people are aware of the Jewish influence in the battle units. Rich Cohen apparently being one of them or he wouldn’t lament ‘weak’ Jews while trying to find heroes amongst a group of barbaric Jewish criminals who operated on about the same level of brutality as the Soviet Jewish Commissars.

Nor does Rich seem to be aware of the attitudes of Jewish-Russian criminals flooding into NYC just before and during the writing of his book. So, this review will roam about a bit in putting Tough Jews into perspective.

In his own way Rich Cohen has written a valuable piece of immigrant Americana. Brooklyn although a Jewish colony was and is a part of NYC and the US. The borough currently functions as the Jewish capital of the US and rivals the whole State of Israel itself. Because his father grew up in Brooklyn and was part of the Jewish underworld Rich is now a very privileged fellow. As Tough Jews was written when Rich was a mere thirty years old, currently turning fifty it is nicely turned out. His father left Brooklyn moving to the equally important underworld of Chicagoland, Illinois. From there Rich attended Tulane University of New Orleans then finding his way to the Big Bagel, NYC.

Arnold RothsteinArnold Rothstein

He had no trouble finding literary jobs with prestigious magazines such as the New Yorker and Vanity Fair, indeed, I am guessing, with the aid of his father’s connections.

His father grew up in Brooklyn with the future TV journalist Larry King so it is hardly surprising that Rich did a stint with the Larry King TV show.

On reading Rich’s book one is haunted by the feeling that, while ostensibly about a group of criminals hardly worth the eulogies Rich heaps on them, there is a deeper more pervading and significant interest. Indeed that interest would subsequently appear in his book, Israel Is Real: An Obsessive Quest To Understand the Jewish Nation and Its History. Obsessive and Nation are key words.

Indeed, Tough Jews might be considered a Volume I of that obsession. That obsession will color my review as I will range wider than a bunch of Neanderthal criminals and I mean no insult to the Neanderthals.

Tough Jews itself is a handsomely written book although one twinges at so many cuteisms that mar the writing, descents into purple prose, but picky complaints aside the book reads smoothly, smartly and coherently at a high level of interest, perhaps lagging a bit around the Abe ‘Kid Twist’ Reles denouement. But that complaint might also be a touch of envy.

Yet, he admires these creeps, these primitives, these brutal beastie boys. And what redeems them? They are Jews. Like himself, like Brooklyn. He excuses them because he confuses their unredeemable savagery with strength. Tough Jews. As he points out these are little fellows in the 5’ 0” to 5’ 2” range, as young men no more than 120 pounds. Any six footer could brush them aside. So what made them formidable? They were ready to not only kill, but mutilate, at the drop of a hat. And they did, often for silly reasons. It was wise to step back from them.

Of course, Rich believes the reason is that they are poor immigrant lads, immigrant Jews who have been brushed aside denied their place in the sun by bigotry. He believes that they couldn’t go to University because all the best schools had quotas, which is not quite true. Hence he believes this criminality lasted only one generation and then the Tribe went straight. Forget the Russian Jews of the 1990s who came in criminal and have nearly completed the task the early Jewish mob undertook. As Abe Reles is quoted as saying his mob wanted to get America by the wallet; in other words by controlling the money, control the society.

Things were not being done haphazardly. They were planned. And they were only a part of the plan. At this point of his life Rich may not have been able to piece things together but he does know the criminals he is describing. And they were tough Jews and as such role models for himself and apparently the Russian Jews who came later. Those Russian Jews had their own legends of how the Jews did things in New York in those early years. Called new Robber Barons by the New York press they apparently believed that they were emulating the industrialists who built the railroads, creating an astonishing steel industry and the oil business. But to mention thugs in the same breath as Ford or Carnegie is an unforgiveable sacrilege. Ford and Carnegie built things and created it, adding to stock. Criminals steal it and diminish wealth.

There are different ways of being tough and there was a small army of tougher Jews in finance, in the universities, in politics. Rich essentially picks up his story with the ascent of the arch criminal and master mind Arnold Rothstein. He was the criminal who masterminded the fixing of the 1919 World Series.

Lepke1Lepke Buchalter

Nineteen eighteen through nineteen twenty-seven, these were the crucial years of the takeover of Western Civilization. The really critical period was eighteen, nineteen and twenty when the West realized that the ‘Russian’ Revolution was a Jewish affair and that as the anonymous author of the celebrated book The Cause Of World Unrest put it Jews and the cause were synonymous.

In that asymmetrical war following the destruction of European manhood in the shooting war the Jews, united Jews of the world, fought to avoid defeat while at the same time establishing themselves as the dominant guiding role in Western Civilization. They had won primacy in Russia by the 1917 Soviet revolution. It would take them a few more years to consolidate their role in Europe.

Complete success was denied them by the resistance of Italy’s Fascism and Germany’s tremendous Volkist identity. Thus, in Germany it was Jewish nationalism vs. German nationalism. A virtual Civil War in which the only solution was the expulsion or extermination of the other. There is nothing surprising or unnatural in the so-called holocaust. It was inevitable just as the continuing asymmetrical war on Europeans by the Jewish survivors was only to be expected and prepared for.

The economic engine that made Jewish success possible was the plundered wealth of the Rothschilds in Europe and the equally plundered wealth of the US obtained by crime and misappropriation.

Nineteen-twenty provided the setting and the criminal streets of NYC the set. With the advent of the prohibition ‘experiment’ the wealth of the US was laid at the mob’s door. The wallet of the US that Abe Reles was talking about was deftly lifted by Jewish hands.

The engine driver for the early years was Arnold Rothstein, an especial hero of Rich’s, whose usefulness for the cause was gone by 1928 when he was taken out and replaced by Lepke Buchalter who was succeeded by Meyer Lansky after Buchalter was convicted and executed in 1942. Lansky was instrumental in the funding of the State of Israel using money collected by criminal means.

So, all these underworld figures were working hand in glove with the aboveworld figures. The international Jewish government required an enormous amount of money to function and most of these vast sums were obtained by exploiting the gentiles. The Jewish mob was not stealing to live; those enormous sums of money were being funneled into the Jewish World State. As well, Jewish charitable collections were put to political purposes.

Abe RelesAbe Reles

The aboveworld politicians were also out to get America by the wallet. In one of the most wonderful feats of history the Jews pushed through the Federal Reserve Act by which they secured control of US currency receiving interest on every dollar in circulation. What a bonanza. And it was a private corporation owned by nine Jewish banks of Europe and one of the US. The single non-Jewish owner was the Rockefeller combine. And it was a corporation independent of legislative and executive control. Hey, hey, hubba, hubba.

Going into WWI the Jews were advantageously placed monetarily in Western Civilization. The war consolidated their gains and even expanded their influence, without mentioning the elimination of the Czars, thus making the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics a Jewish country.

These astounding successes stirred up a reaction among the farseeing gentiles resulting in publications such as the celebrated The Cause Of World Unrest. This in turn brought out the Jewish Damage Control units that fought back by silencing each and every critic while destroying them economically and socially. The terrorist Anti-Defamation League was very effective at this.

Another of the aboveground threats, this one entirely criminal thus blurring the line between aboveworld and underworld methods was the theft of millions of dollars worth of Liberty Bonds directly from the New York Stock Exchange. The bonds would continue to surface in all kinds of places during the twenties. Not surprisingly Arnold Rothstein had an ample supply.

Of key importance here was the election of the rump of the old political post-Civil War establishment, the three Republican presidents, Harding, Coolidge and Hoover. These three were the last hurrah of the old American establishment. When Franklin Roosevelt succeeded Hoover in 1933 the new Jewish immigration dispensation began.

The years of Woodrow Wilson marked the first penetration of the US government by the Jews. Wilson as well as his Jews were socialists and with the end of the war they established a limited socialist government. They were prepared to go further had Cox and Roosevelt been elected in 1920. Harding’s victory derailed their plans for twelve years and the Jews disappeared from Washington for the interim.

Thus, while Jewish criminals infiltrated further at street level the economic situation in the US government was temporarily out of reach. However, even then the government had no control over the currency. To avoid ‘partisan’ interference the Federal Reserve had been placed beyond the political control of both the executive and legislative branches of government. The Act could have been challenged by the Supreme Court but with Brandeis on it that was not probable and in fact the question didn’t even arise.

Thus, at this critical juncture of the Stock Market crash of ’29 Hoover had had no way to monitor the Fed. The Fed was free to engineer the crash.

All of this did not pass unnoticed by alert Americans; however to point out Jewish machinations was to automatically label oneself an ‘anti-Semite’ and place oneself outside the pale of society. Not that there were not brave men and women. Chief of these citizens was the industrialist, perhaps the greatest American of the twentieth century or ever, Henry Ford.

Jewish historians, of course, portray Ford as an unredeemable bigot who woke one day and declared to himself: I am going to be the world’s #1 anti-Semite. The historians can find no other reason for Ford taking up a very expensive campaign to solve what he and a great many others considered to be the world’s #1 problem.   As Ford is central to the American side of the equation, it might be profitable to examine Jewish antecedents.

Without going back to the transition from the Age of Taurus to the Age of Aries when the Jews split off from the universal Astrological religion to create their own, let us look at the immediate cause of Jewish unrest. At about the turn of the nineteenth century expansionist Russia annexed what became the Pale of Settlement that included a major part of Poland. The area had been the refuge of the Jews; it contained the vast majority of Jews in the world.

Meyer LanskyMeyer Lansky

Under the Poles who had administered this territory the Jews had been a semi-autonomous people to whom Polish commercial affairs had been granted. Autonomy, political equality as a separate people with the host country had always been the Jewish goal. They wanted to be a nation within a nation. Remember the Jews always aspire to autonomy with themselves as the senior party. The Russians denied the Jews autonomy wanting to reduce them to subjects of the Czars. They insisted that the Jews and all the subject peoples become Russian.

By so doing, from the Jewish point of view, the Russians had declared war to the finish on the Jews. From 1800 on the Jews were at war with Russia, or, as the they put it, the Czars. At the time, 1800, the US was not a significant entity but within a couple short decades it would be.

The Jews of Western Europe were emancipated at almost the same time as Eastern European Jewry came under the dominion of the Russians. At the same time the Rothschilds had become the richest family in England and Europe with many other Jews becoming also very wealthy so that there was an economic, if not political equality, if not supremacy for the Jews. The kings and princes, the European nobility, stood between emancipation and Jewish supremacy so that European institutions had to be destroyed. Hence the nineteenth century was a century of revolution and destruction.

By 1870, following the US Civil War it became apparent to the discerning that the US was the country of the future. Thus, about that year their situation becoming intolerable in Russia the great migration equaling that of the exodus from Egypt began. Thus, the Jews in full revolutionary mode boarded the great steamships that parted the Atlantic to the US as the Red Sea had been to Israel and the transfer of the Jewish population began. The Jews did not come as peaceful immigrants but as revolutionaries seeking autonomy or as Abe Reles poetically put it, to get America by the wallet.

They did not come as individuals but as an invasion organized in Europe by wealthy Jews. This was an expensive operation. The way had been prepared for the Eastern Jews by the Western Jewish 48ers, those who fled Europe to escape the consequences of their failed revolution of 1848.

Circumstances had favored the Jews as they arrived just as the great technological revolution of the nineteenth century was gaining momentum. The sewing machine was beginning to revolutionize the needle trades. Thus, the 48ers appropriated the industry for the East European Jews almost guaranteeing employment for them as soon as they landed in NYC. The end of homespun and rise of readymade occurred fortuitously and the rag industry became Jewish. This was not inconsequential but a major coup.

Things became possible that had never been possible before. The great continent spanning railroads had come into existence within a decade of the Civil War. Standard Oil began its rise. It was the Gilded Age, money was there for the picking up for those on the qui vive.

There was a difference between the US and Europe that leveled the playing field between Jews and Aryans.   The US had never experienced a Feudal Age; there was no landed aristocracy. It had been born straight into the Age of Money. Whereas in Europe land had been the basis of status and wealth in Europe, in the US land was a nearly disposable commodity, you used it until it was exhausted then moved on. Money was what determined status and money alone. Being a millionaire was the height of success. For the Jews money had always been the symbol of success. In Europe it was necessary for money to displace land to be the signifier so that in that struggle Europeans lost out to the Jews as money displaced land and title.

Herbert HooverPresident Herbert Hoover

In the US money was the object. The question then would be how to outmaneuver the Americans to be the dominant money power. As Europe was insecure and as US Jews became as rich or richer than European Jews the World Jewish Government was shifted to the US at about the year 1900. The great Jewish institutions such as the American Jewish Committee, still existing today, took form. A whole generation of very active Jewish politicians most of whom the ordinary American has never heard of came to the fore. One, Bernard Baruch, would be a major power in US politics through the Eisenhower administration.

It would be tedious to list them at this point when the names mean nothing to you but they will appear. Key to the formation of Ford’s opinion of the Jewish problem was the Wall Street financier, Bernard Baruch. Prewar he made his fortune as ‘the bear of Wall Street.’ When the American entry into WWI became imminent, as Baruch tells it, Woodrow Wilson begged him to enter public service. Baruch did, becoming the Czar of American industry as the administrator of the War Industries Board. It was this point that being the Czar of something became an American cliché, The Czar of Baseball, the Czar of Wall Street, etc. The term has fallen into disuse now.

At the same time Wilson opened the doors of Washington to the Jews who up to that time had been treated more warily. But, as the WIB administrator Bernard Baruch was put in charge of the entire industrial apparatus of the US, all industrialists were subordinated to his authority. He was the actual Czar, autocrat, of Industry. They were accountable to Bernard Baruch and he took advantage of the situation to further his own interests and those of the Jews.

Wilson instituted an unnecessary rigid socialist government in the US during the war. Many old socialist shibboleths were imposed under cover of what was an unnecessary involvement in the European war, such as the nationalization of the railroads which were returned to their owners after the war over strong protest.

The rules Baruch imposed on industry were but little short of nationalization. You may be sure that Ford and other industrialists objected strenuously. But, Woodrow Wilson had made Baruch, not unlike the Federal Reserve, independent of any other authority with full dictatorial powers to enforce his, Baruch’s, will. Baruch did not have to clear his actions with Wilson or anybody else, he had full license. As he said, he was the most powerful man in America and possibly the world save Wilson and his actions were taken independently of Wilson.

Ford and the Dodge Brothers in Detroit strenuously resisted Baruch’s directives, the Dodges especially becoming intemperate, using racial slurs. Baruch did not forget. Fortunately, the war ended before Baruch had time to implement his full program, much to his regret.

Academic historians will gloss over Baruch’s actions as their careers depend on pleasing the Jews but the WIB was a major influence on Ford’s post-war attitudes toward the Jewish problem.

Henry Ford

Rich Cohen, writing at thirty, doesn’t seem to be aware of how influential the Jews were as Prohibition began but in both the aboveworld and the underworld Jews were well able to forward their plans.

Prohibition itself provided oceans of money for crime. While the Sicilians are most often associated with bootleg liquor the Jews were immense beneficiaries.   Rothstein himself set up the trans-Atlantic route in which his agents made purchases in the British Isles which were then delivered offshore to speed boats that took the liquor ashore. Cuba was a major entrepot but then Canada was showered with gold from liquor sales. The Jewish Purple Gang of Detroit ferried liquor across the Detroit River with no problems. The Jewish Mayfield Road Gang of Cleveland brought shiploads across Lake Erie with little interference. The greatest Jewish beneficiaries of all may have been the Jewish Bronfman family of Canada who were suppling both the Purple Gang and the Mayfield Road Gang. The Bronfmans emerged from Prohibition immensely wealthy and with their established European connections were major post-Prohibition distributors of legal booze.

Rothstein during his brief reign as crime lord also organized the distribution of heroin just before he was shot so that money poured into the underworld’s coffers.

But, to return to the aboveground rollers. Ford read The Cause Of World Unrest and that set him to thinking, and then he read The Protocols Of The Learned Elders Of Zion and that put him in action. It is difficult today to realize the impact of Ford from say 1912 to 1932 both domestically and globally. The Sherwin-Williams paint company used to have a logo of paint pail pouring out over the globe with a slogan reading Sherwin-Williams Paints Cover The World.

Well, so did Ford. By 1920 there were few places in the world that you couldn’t buy a Ford. I have no proof of it but I believe that the Daddy Warbucks character of the comic strip Little Orphan Annie was based partially at least on Ford. Ford’s Service Department was part of an intelligence force not unlike the FBI or CIA or the Anti-Defamation League so it would be unreasonable to think that Ford was not very well aware of what was going on.

His enemies have portrayed him as a rube ignoramus but quite the opposite was true. So, when Ford took up the battle in 1920 he was a very formidable foe to the Jews and the struggle was epic. The main weapon of the Jews, of course, was defamation and the protestation of purity and innocence and Ford over the coming two decades or so was so intensely defamed that even today he is reputationless.

The Damage Controllers of the Jews then first took up the task of discrediting and suppressing the two books they found the most damaging: The Cause Of World Unrest and The Protocols Of Zion.

The Cause was released in the US in 1920 by the prestigious firm G.P. Putnam’s Sons. The book was causing an uproar in England so the notion was to censor it, that is prevent its publication in the US. Distribution was very limited from Putnams who also recalled it. Other efforts were made to publish but they were defeated so The Cause Of World Unrest was defeated by those who call themselves the champions of free speech.

The Jews were never successful in completely suppressing the Protocols of Zion. Numerous versions of the Protocols are still available today although their worth has been superseded by movies and TV which are much better propaganda tools. The Cause of World unrest has been reissued by the Cornell University Press.

thBugsy Siegel

Ford believed that exposure would solve the Jewish problem so he bought a newspaper called the Dearborn Independent. Dearborn, Michigan was the location of his first major plant. Today the city is a Moslem center. He thus created what was perhaps the first attempt at a national newspaper as the paper was distributed throughout the US and actually abroad.

It was not necessarily a propaganda sheet. Ford was in many ways a social reformer. He objected to nearly everything in what later generations called the Jazz Age. One of those things were scandalous newspapers devoted to crime, sex, and carnage. Indeed, although this is not well known Ford ran one of the three largest movie studios in the US. His films were, of course, devoid of sensationalism, devoted to educational topics. We were still shown some in ’48 and’49 in class.

The Dearborn Independent was a sedate, wholesome weekly that featured an expose of Jewish activities in the US on a weekly basis for a couple years. The articles were then collected into four small books titled The International Jew. The articles infuriated the Jews and evoked an hysterical reaction from the aboveworld Jewish government but there was no handhold for a major lawsuit.

The international Jewish government was composed of people you likely have never heard of but were hugely influential in US politics. Louis Brandeis and his understudy Felix Frankfurter, Brandeis a Surpreme Court justice and Frankfurter a future one, Jacob Schiff, Louis Marshall, president of the AJC, Samuel Untermyer, Rabbi Wise among others and, of course, the ubiquitous Bernard Baruch, all wailing behind the scenes. William Fox, the Fox of Twentieth Century-Fox. The whole Hollywood establishment. All of them were arrayed against Ford. It was worse than today’s war on President Trump. Their chief weapon was the anti-Semite slur and Ford was labeled the Anti-Semite in Chief.

The goal of the Jewish establishment was to disable any critics as anti-Semites. A key goal was to make so-called anti-Semitism a legally sanctioned crime, a punishable offence as it is today in France. They achieved this goal in the Communist Soviet Union at the time so such a law in the US would be an extension of the one of the USSR thereby assuring such such a law would become universal.

The anti-Ford campaign would climax in 1927 in the Sapiro-Ford trial in which the goal was to make criticism of Jews a legal offence. Thus Louis Marshall, the president of the American Jewish committee sat in his New York cubby hole like a spider tracking a fly- the fly being Ford.

As I said above, in 1918 the Dodge Brothers- Dodge Motors- used language offensive to Bernard Baruch in the contest of wills over WIB directives. Baruch never forgave them and two years later the brothers died under mysterious circumstances. As mentioned, the Purple Gang was in Detroit, so an attempt was also made on Ford’s life when his car was forced off the road, very nearly pushed into River Rouge. The defamation had already taken effect so that Ford was treated as semi-deranged while it has been generally accepted that he staged the accident himself, while no explanation has ever been offered why he would have done so.

FDRFranklin Delano Roosevelt

Still, the articles continued and still the Jewish establishment was outraged. But, the US Constitution guaranteed free speech while Ford’s articles were firmly grounded in fact. They were exposes not defamations. Ford himself did not write the articles, that task was delegated to his editor William Cameron for whom Ford amassed a colossal library on Jewish subjects. His agents in the Service Department were busy investigating in the field. Ford did not do things by halves.

However, while criticizing the Jews was not illegal, the Jews had made it the extremity of gauche in gentile circles so that Ford found himself increasingly ostracized but not estranged. Believe me, he had friends in high places. A letter purportedly from President Harding is extant deploring Ford’s exposes and asking him to desist. Perhaps a forgery. At any rate about 1923 Ford agreed to publish no more articles, but the collected articles remained available in The International Jew series. The extant articles were probably as much or more than the public could absorb.

But, then, in 1924 it came to the attention of Ford that a man named Aaron Sapiro was attempting to organize farm co-ops in a manner Ford considered injurious to the farmers as they were in fact. Once again Ford sent investigators into the field to get a clear idea of what was going on. He once again began publishing his findings in the Dearborn Independent. This may or may not have been a setup but it seems clear that the proceedings were directed by Louis Marshall and gang in New York City. Samuel Untermyer.

The evidence implicated Bernard Baruch, Albert Laker and Eugene Meyer as well as Sapiro. Sapiro whose fortunes were on the decline may have instituted proceedings in the hope of a large settlement but as he turned the trial into a crusade to end ‘defamation’ of the Jews it became a move to make criticism of Jews illegal and punishable as it was in the Soviet Union.

The trial was something of a farce that ended in a mistrial when it was learned that Sapiro tried to influence a juror, jury tampering. Whether a new trial would be adjourned or not, Ford, in the midst of a critical model change, decided to call it off, made a settlement and walked away.

It is interesting that within the next year he traveled to New York City to call on Louis Marshall in his cubby hole. According to Marshall (see Letters of) they sat and looked at each other then parted. Marshall died soon after.

With the settlement of the Sapiro case the damage control in the US was complete although in Europe Adolf Hitler was on the rise and in a few years would be elected Chancellor of Germany setting off a huge reaction among the Jews of the US.

-2-

The Jewish government or establishment whatever you want to call it failed in the attempt to establish a semi-legal principle that criticizing the Jews was a punishable offense; however they did effective damage control and by defaming Ford silenced any further criticism of themselves. Henceforth any such criticism war strictly verboten.

DeweyMr. District Attorney, Thomas E. Dewey

Ford was not their only target; scholarly writers like Madison Grant and his volume: The Passing Of The Great Race as well as several volumes of the Harvard historian Lothrop Stoddard detailing an accurate account of current affairs and their logical consequences. By the early forties such writers had been so thoroughly defamed that they lost all credibility. Indeed, the Jews placed them on their index of forbidden books.

The Jews were also moving forward on several fronts. Their further goals were made feasible by the assumption of the presidency of Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1933. As Herbert Hoover, who preceded Roosevelt may be said to represent the last of the post-Civil War ‘American’ presidents, so Roosevelt inaugurated the era of the immigrant presidents. FDR was a strange case. There was none with a more American heritage than he. He went back to the old Dutch knickerbockers, the first settlers of Manhattan. The fellows with the beads. Yet there is no president more representative of immigrant America than he. There has never been a president more tender to the Jews and their Communism than he. This tenderness also embraced by his wife Eleanor.

This tenderness began to show when they were quite young. The fact is that when the Jr. League of society women was formed to work the Settlement House scene of New York City after the turn of the century Eleanor participated and she dragged her soon to be husband, Franklin, along with her. The impetus for the Jr. League was railroad magnate E. R. Harriman’s nineteen-year- old daughter. Harriman was associated with the aboveground Jacob Schiff and the Kuhn-Loeb crowd. Kuhn-Loeb was the Jewish investment banking firm on a par with J.P. Morgan. Why these young society women chose to go to the Lower East Side to cater to raw immigrant Jewish women with no ‘upbringing’ or manners is a bit of a mystery. However a lifelong bond between the Roosevelt’s and the Jews was created. Indeed, it may be said that the Jews took the couple under their wing.

It was an irrational bond in which the Roosevelts seem compelled to accede to Jewish wishes. I’m going to go out on a limb here and speculate that the Roosevelts were hypnotized on the Lower East Side and implanted with post-hypnotic suggestions. Manchurian Candidates as it were. I imagine I hear you guffawing but the idea may be more reasonable than you think.

Bear in mind that these Eastern European Jews all came from the Pale of the Settlement. The assembly point for the trek to the transports in Hamburg, Germany was in a town called Brody on the Austrian border. As the assembly and departure point Brody assumed an interesting character. The trek to Hamburg passed near Vienna. Vienna was a hotbed of Jewish aspirations, a Jewish culture center. Vienna was also the home of the famed psychologist Sigmund Freud and the most active branch of the International Order of B’nai B’rith. Freud was a lifelong member of BB from 1895 to his death. He often lectured at the meetings on what must have been psycho-analytic matters including hypnosis. Freud was a supreme authority on hypnosis. Freud hated Europeans and European culture and wanted to see them all dead.

Key people on the trek made a layover in Vienna where along with Freud a number of organizers, all prominent well-to-do men lived. Vienna may have been the most important Jewish center of Europe. How improbable is it that they were given instructions on how to go about furthering objectives in the US? No stretch at all. One must also remember that key American Jews took long vacations in Europe every year. One imagines that Vienna was a favorite destination so coordinating plans would have been convenient.

Freud quite likely indoctrinated key people in hypnotism who spread it further so that many on the East Side would have been knowledgeable. What better method to gain the loyalty of the upper crust of society than through these philantropizing young girls of the new Jr. League?

So, Franklin Delano Roosevelt just drifted into politics with some pretty hazy political notions. It just so happened that a little way down the road from Hyde Park a family of Jews named Morgenthau lived. The Morgenthaus were very active Jewish nationalists. Morgenthau Sr. at one time served as ambassador to Constantinople, now Istanbul. Constantinople was a key destiny post and for many years a Jewish prerogative of US diplomats.

Henry Morgenthau Jr. attached himself to Roosevelt like a limpet. Whether he was a guest at Hyde Park or not he made himself a guest anytime there was activity there. In time, when FDR became president, Henry Morgenthau Jr. more or less made himself FDR’s Secretary of the Treasury. He constantly tried to expand his role in that position. He was in command of the money. The Treasury was filled with many Soviet spies.

There was also a very strange relationship between the Jews, Governor Al Smith of New York State and Roosevelt. Smith who was governor of New York for the critical period of 1918 to 1928 with a two year hiatus from 1920-22, was managed by the Jews also. His principal monitor was a woman named Belle Moskowitz. FDR was being groomed to be Al Smith’s successor as governor. When he was elected Eleanor advised him to be wary of Moskowitz. When he was struck down by polio this caused a certain amount of panic as Smith was set to run for president in 1928.

Louis Howe FDR’s political manager and Eleanor Roosevelt kept FDR in the game while he was flat on his back. As 1928 loomed it was necessary for FDR to succeed him. Roosevelt who was desperately trying to regain the use of his legs at his spa in Warm Springs was unwilling to abandon his quest but Smith put the screws to him. FDR ran and won by a narrow margin. Smith embraced a forlorn hope of displacing the Republican Herbert Hoover during the greatest boom the US had ever seen. Naturally Smith was wiped.

Smith was discarded and replaced by Roosevelt as the great Democratic hope. Easily winning reelection as governor FDR prepared for his presidential run. His replacement as governor would this time not be a gentile stooge but an actual Jew, Herbert Lehman.

Had Hoover been able to maintain prosperity there is no chance Roosevelt could have been elected in 1932. It was therefore necessary to arrange an economic disaster to give Roosevelt his chance. The disaster had been in the works for a couple years and the plan was sprung six months into Hoover’s presidency. The event was the great stock market crash of 1929. The Democrats spent the next three and a half years trying to prevent a recovery. The crash has been discussed endlessly with many different arguments but the end result was as desired. FDR succeeded Hoover.

This was not an ordinary succession but a sea change in the direction of the country. The old order of the Gilded Age and individualism had drawn to a close; the new Jewish Age of collectivism began as Hoover had predicted it would. In the Old Order the government had served the people; in the new dispensation the people would serve the government. Thus, the Jewish order in which the Jewish people served the synagogue was transposed onto the American system.

Accordingly Jews flowed back into Washington DC. The groundwork had been prepared by Supreme Court justice Louis Brandeis and his Harvard law professor acolyte, Felix Frankfurter. Since the ‘teens Frankfurter had been indoctrinating a generation of law students into Judeo-Communists; they now infiltrated every branch of government as Roosevelt created new jobs to accommodate them. This invasion of government was not unnoticed as his disciples were known as Frankfurter’s Happy Hot Dogs.

Roosevelt also allowed Communists of every stripe and then denied their politics. The first year was a busy year as among many other things the administration turned on the institutions, the ideas, the politics and the mores of the Old Guard hoping to stomp them into the ground, eliminate them completely. The notion wasn’t too different from that of the revolutionist, Victor Hugo, who wanted to exterminate the old believers because they could never be converted, or what was going on in the Soviet Union where old style Russians were being murdered wholesale, starved to death or sent to the gulags.

The revolution of ’17 was being completed in one way or another around the globe. In the East the Japanese were alarmed trying to set up a defensive perimeter in Northern China and Manchuria. The Soviets hurried to annex Outer Mongolia so the border between the Communists and the Japanese was roughly that of Outer Mongolia and Manchuria, or, Manchukuo as the Japanese styled it. While the US government was Red leaning, the American people were anti-Communist. The Japanese confused the two thinking they and the US were a united front against the Soviets. They learned too late.

Taxing became a major weapon in the Jewish assault on the Western peoples. In Europe, so long as land was the measure of wealth and status then the value of the land had to be destroyed. The great holdings had to be eliminated. Confiscatory taxation was a weapon of mass destruction on the economic front as starvation was the weapon of choice on the social front. It would take a generation or two but the old nobility, land rich but cash poor would have to sell out taking their useless titles with them.

In the US where money had always been the medium determining wealth and status it would only be necessary to destroy incomes and estates. Once again confiscatory taxation was the weapon of choice. Just as the object in Europe was to destroy the old aristocracy replacing it with themselves so the object in the US was to destroy the Old Money of the Gilded Age.

A campaign was directed at inherited wealth which was characterized as evil. The great Gilded Age fortunes had to be destroyed. That meant that in addition to confiscatory income taxes of up to ninety percent so the inheritance tax was raised to 90 percent shattering this value and impoverishing the inheritors. To add insult to injury a capital gains tax was placed on holdings commensurate with other confiscatory taxes.

One has no pity for the fortunate but while land was not the issue those with money had expansive life styles that could longer be maintained, could no longer be afforded, but with everyone in reduced circumstances there was no longer any market for the properties and what with property taxes they became less than valueless. Million dollar mansions became worthless destroying that wealth.

To take only one example, a bete noir of the Jews, William Randolph Hearst, ostensibly worth millions, was instantly placed in bankruptcy. He narrowly evaded it but only under the most humiliating circumstances.

A leading Jewish advocate of this holocaust, the writer Gustavus Myers, was advocating the prevention of large fortunes being accumulated in one’s own life time. In other words, after a cutoff point of X dollars one presumes the individual is prevented from working. That would have a very salutary effect on initiative. Myers crowed that with FDR in office they had their man to realize this insane hope. Fortunately FDR either didn’t go all the way or the Jewish purposes crossed with the rise of the beginning of the WWII, the matter was set aside and forgotten after the war, although confiscatory taxes continued for some time until the injustice was abated. The war intervened and the gentile wallet was saved for a decade or two. It is clear that the aboveground and underground were working together.

Through the thirties then Jewish moles were busy in the underworld, the aboveworld and the netherworld of politics. FDR brought Prohibition to an end upon his entry into office in 1933. This caused a certain disturbance in the underworld when their chief occupation as bootleggers was brought to an end. New vistas opened up however. The sale of addictive drugs grew by leaps and bounds while in the 1960s drug usage entered the mainstream of middle class America. The grip on America’s wallet grew stronger.

While J. Edgar Hoover and his FBI may not have recognized organized crime those more immediately affected recognized the monster when they saw it. That would be New York City. A rising DA by the name of Thomas Dewey seized the snake by the tail. Beginning in the mid-thirties Dewey began the effort to bring the mob to book. He succeeded admirably even getting the mobster-in-chief, Lepke Buchalter arrested.

As well as his extortion racket to milk NYC businesses of the tens of millions, Buchalter had begun a lucrative business of his own called Murder, Inc. Assassination was his business. The business model could be traced back to the Jewish Old Man Of The Mountain of Crusader Times. He is not be confused with the Ismaili cult of assassins led by Hassan-i-Sabah in Iran. He was separate but in the same business.

Murder Inc. was responsible for hundreds of assassinations having a whole stable of killers. Buchalter was first arrested by the Feds, Hoover had been prompted to deal with him, probably because the Mob gave him up to reduce the heat, but the City of New York wanted him to be relaxed to them to be tried on murder charges. They had a bear of a time getting him out of Federal hands.

In one of those hard to explain Roosevelt moments, FDR refused to release Lepke to a certain death sentence. When his hand was forced and New York tried Lepke and sentenced him to the chair there was an incredibly obstinate attempt to prevent his execution. This definitely would have had to come from the Jews who seeking to protect one of their own, wholesale murderer or not. So, we don’t just have a bunch of neighborhood lovable thugs here, we have the head of Murder, Inc. and his people are trying to prevent his execution! Rich Cohen can amaze.

The Jews obviously put tremendous pressure on FDR to prevent Lepke’s release from Federal custody but in this tug of war to bring Lepke to justice apparently Dewey’s men were stronger but even then their determination to put Lepke down over what must have been tremendous pressure from Brooklyn is truly astonishing. The Jews don’t often lose. They even finally got Pollard out.

However, the pressure applied by Dewey on the Mob scattered them from NYC fearing they might be next. Meyer Lansky fled South to Miami and crossed the water to Cuba to thoroughly corrupt that country. He made Havana the gambling Mecca. Gambling seemed to be the new Prohibition but the habit had been prevented by law and few seemed to be complaining about it. However, Lansky’s partner, Bugsy Siegel, chose as his place of exile Los Angeles. LA was close to Las Vegas. Gambling in Nevada was legal but the desert seemed to provide an unattractive environment,

Siegel, though, looked at it and saw opportunity. Naturally a barren desert, Las Vegas would soon be on the shores of Lake Mead, created by Hoover Dam (named Boulder Dam during the Roosevelt years, FDR hated Hoover and did all but blacklist him.)   Water, the missing ingredient.

Bugsy Siegel set about creating the gambling oasis of Las Vegas. A new bonanza appeared in Nevada but reserved for the Mob. Prohibition was gone but the Mafia had landed on its feet. The Jews found another way to get America by the wallet. And this time they wouldn’t be ashamed of it. In the twenty-first century they opened the The National Museum of Crime to celebrate their greatest criminals. The National in the title didn’t refer to the United States.

This does imply intent and volition, a pre-conceived plan. Let us compare these nineteenth century immigrants to a Jewish immigration of the late twentieth century.

This group of so-called immigrants also came from Russia and they had learned their criminal skills in Russia. They all had Israeli passports, actually being Israeli citizens while claiming dual Russian citizenship. Whether they added US citizenship isn’t clear as they always had to be on the qui vive to evade the law by hopping back to Israel from which they couldn’t be extradited. In fact, these people were a global criminal network. They were not only busy gutting the US economy- getting America by the wallet- but they and their confederates had stolen the public assets of Russia during its privatization scandal. They were a problem throughout all Europe at the same time. Masters of banking schemes and human trafficking, a synonym for prostitution.

As usual the filmmakers are the people to go to to get an idea of their activities. Somehow the movies always get the details first and right.

Rich doesn’t get around to examining this latest Jewish migration in Tough Jews nor even in his Israel Is Real. The latest immigration from Russia seems to be a grab and smash involving the whole world, grab the really big wallet. The banking system that grew up to launder the huge amount of criminally gained cash is a story in itself. Not here and now though.

Tough Jews is a good read from more than one point of view. It has something to say about the Jewish colonization of Brooklyn, the Jewish role in crime, the US during the first fifty years of the twentieth century and the organization of a national crime syndicate. I don’t think Rich’s Jews are shown so much as tough though, just murderous and amoral.

Why they would build a museum to celebrate these guys is beyond me.

La Maison de la Derniere Cartouche

Maison

A Contribution To The ERB

Library Project

A Review: Atlantida

By Pierre Benoit

Review by R.E. Prindle

Pierre Benoit’s excellent novel Atlantida: The Queen Of Atlantis was first published in 1919. Written in French it was translated in 1920 so it is possible that Burroughs read it. There is a possible reference to the book in Tarzan the Invincible, I’ll get to that later. Benoit himself was accused of ‘plagiarizing’ H. Rider Haggard but he defended himself by saying he neither read nor spoke English while Haggard was not translated into French as of 1919.

It matters little as Benoit, Haggard and Burroughs all knew their Greek mythical heritage and all seem to be addressing the male-female conflict from the same intellectual approach derived from that mythology. And they all placed their stories in Africa, a burning question of the day.

The heroine of Benoit’s novel, Antinea, is an irresistible woman along the lines of Haggards She and Homer’s Circe, and Burroughs’ La. All three women rule over lost lands. Antinea lures Aryan men to her to her palace carved from a mountain of the Ahaggar range.

The Ahaggar range, Ahagger is Taureg, the Arabic is Hoggar, is located almost in the middle of the Sahara at what is now the Southern extremity of Algeria. Its highest peak is nearly 10,000 feet in elevation, the whole massif of a half million square kilometers being at the same elavation as Denver, a mile high. Boiling summers and freezing winters and fair moisture.

Antinea having lured the men entrances them and when they no longer amuse her she embalms them alive in a unique metal called Orichalch. Thus, they are preserved forever as they were in life. An advance on all other methods. The question is why does she do this?

The answer is explained by Benoit’s character Mesge:

“Now you know,” he repeated. “You know, but you do not understand.”

Then, very slowly, he said:

“You are as they have been the prisoners of Antinea. And vengeance is due Antinea.”

“Vengeance?” said Morhange…For what, I beg to ask? What have the lieutenant and I done to Atlantis? How have we incurred her hatred?”

It is an old quarrel, a very old quarrel.” The Professor replied gravely. “A quarrel which long antedates you, M. Morhange.”

“Explain yourself, I beg of you, Professor.”

“You are a Man. She is a Woman…the whole matter lies there.”

“Really, sir, I do not see…we do not see.”

“You are going to understand. Have you really forgotten to what an extent the beautiful queens of antiquity had just cause to complain of strangers whom fortune brought to their borders? The poet, Victor Hugo, pictured their detestable acts well enough in his colonial poem called la Fille d’ Otaiti. Wherever we look we see similar examples of fraud and ingratitude. These gentlemen made free use of the beauty and the riches of the lady.   Then, one fine morning, they disappeared. She was indeed lucky if her lover, having observed the position carefully did not return with ships and troops of occupation….Think of the cavalier fashion in which Ulysses treated Calypso, Diomedes Callirrhoe. What should I say of Theseus and Ariadne? Jason treated Medea with inconceivable lightness…”

And so on. Thus on page 114 of 229 Benoit explains the nature of his story. Bear in mind that of Circe and Ulysses in which Circe enslaves all the men who approach her and turns them into swine by lust while Ulysses with a pocket full of mole to defend himself resists her charms, maintains his manhood, rescues his sailors and sails away. So, while there are great similarities between Benoit’s, Haggard’s and Burrough’s stories they could easily derive from the same sources; variations on a theme. Of course, Burrough’s La is derived from Haggard’s She. But La is closer to Antinea in method than She. La’s job in Opar is to sacrifice men on the bloody altar. La is also from Atlantis. And all three share the glorious tradition of being too beautiful to resist.

Benoit himself the son of a French diplomat grew up in Tunisia and Algeria where he became acquainted with the desert and its legends. Thus, his story is an authentic addition to the great stories of the African explorers and the fictions of Haggard, Burroughs, Edgar Wallace, Mrs. Hull, P.C. Wren and others.

Benoit charmingly writes his story as current history rather than fiction without any framing story. He includes the Emperor Louis Napoleon and others as well as showing himself familiar with the latest Parisian designers and bon ton retail establishments. He mentions a painting titled La Maison Des Derniers Cartouches which can be found on internet and with which I have headed the review. Translated it means The House of the Last Bullet. I’m sure all his Parisian references are real but they have slipped through the crack of time had have not found a place on the internet.

In this case there is a Captain Avis who is believed to have murdered his fellow, Capt. Morhange and hence is in bad odor. This is the mystery that holds the story together. We learn later how Morhange died. Avit is transferred to a desert post, indeed demanded the transfer, managed by Lieutenant Ferrieres who is about to embark on a mission passing the Ahaggar massif.

Algeria. Sahara Desert. Ahaggar Mountains. Atakor Massif.

Ahaggar Plateau

At the post Saint Avis tells Ferrieres of his strange adventure in the Ahaggar Mountains with Capt. Morhange during which Morhange perishes. The African scenery is different than any of the authors mentioned and the setting is quite spectacular.

Morhange and Avit are caught in a freak storm on the slopes of the Ahaggar, and apparently these are not uncommon on the massif, where they rescued a Taureg from drowning who happens to be the procurer of European men for Antinea. The two soldiers are procured and delivered to the Atlantian Queen.

Somewhat very similar to scenes from Haggard’s She they are conducted to a great room or hall where fifty some embalmed former lovers stand in niches. The truth descends on our sexual warriors.

Morhange who, being the more handsome and impressive of the two, finds favor with the Queen of Atlantis also, not unlike Ulysses and Circe, is proof to her blandishments and beauty. What he had is his pocket isn’t mentioned. His refusal eventually enrages Antinea. Without going into details, Antinea hypnotizes Avit into taking her large silver hammer with which she bangs her gong and giving Morhange such a good bash it cracks the man’s skull to pieces. Thus she solves her problem of being rejected by Morhange.

A digression here. Benoit here shows off is knowledge. Amazingly I was able to get it. In Paris at the time there was a theatre called The Grand Guignol. It was a place of horrors, a sadists delight, at which all kinds of gruesome murders, mutilations and disfigurations were enacted. Apparently the scenes were so realistic that the faint hearted actually fainted and a doctor was kept on the premises to deal with these frequent occurrences. Now, a guignol is something like a puppets booth. Benoit has Avit climb into a guignol in Antinea’s boudoir where he watches the horror of Morhange being dismissed after which Antinea calls his down, hypnotizes him, hands him the silver hammer, directs him to Morhange’s room and watches as Avit cracks his friend’s skull. The horror, the horror. So Benoit demonstrates he is au courant with Paris’ entertainments.

Avit then turns to thoughts of escape. Here Benoit displays a certain genius in moving his story along.

Antinea had a slave girl named Tanit Zerga who became enamored of Avit and also wishes to escape to return to her people. She organizes the escape attempt. As it turns out she is a princess also, of the Trarzan Moors on the North side of the Senegal River. Bear in mind that everything mentioned in the story is real except the story itself. The Trarzan Moors exist to this day and of course the Senegal is one of the great rivers of Africa. The history is within the realm of fact. Only the story and its leading characters are fiction. Benoit does not spare the reader his knowledge. The man has been around.

The pair are assisted by the procurer rescued by Avit in the storm. He is quite willing to help because he tells Avit he will be back, no one who has ever known Antinea can escape her charms. All the victims in the hall had died of love.

Here’s a Burroughs connection indicating he may have read the book. Tanit Zerga resembles Nao, the fourteen year old girl who rescues Wayne Colt in Tarzan the Invincible only to be discarded coldly as were the heroines mentioned. It would be pushing it too far to claim Burroughs did read the book but he often got his scenes and incidents from other authors so I’m about three fourths convinced.

At any rate Tanit Zerga dies in the desert carrying on Benoit’s theme of women making sacrifices for ungrateful men.

The story then returns to the Foreign Legion camp of Ferrieres as he and Saint Avit are to make a trip across the desert passing the Ahaggar massif. As prophesied, to know Antinea is to love her forever, and her lovers all died from love, so he intends to return to the Ahaggar’s and his certain death. Whether Ferrieres will accompany him is left open.

The book was a slow starter but one is gradually swept along almost as a participant as the storm increases. A very exciting conclusion. Benoit’s is a very worthy book for Bibliophiles. If it wasn’t in Burroughs’ library it must have been through neglect or loss. Highly recommended.

Pierre Benoit 1932

300px-Pierre_Benoit_1932

 

 

Opening A Case For The Reexamination

Of  The History Of The Twenties And Thirties

by

R.E. Prindle

 

No period of US history, or world history for that matter, is more misunderstood than the nineteen twenties and thirties. Some reevaluation is beginning to appear but much remains to be done.

In the following two essays I attempt a more accurate understanding of the squabble between the Jews and Henry Ford. You may be shocked, yes, shocked to find that Ford was not in the wrong nor was he an anti-Semitic demon. This is really interesting stuff.

 

https://idynamo.wordpress.com/2013/09/12/henry-ford-and-the-international-jewish-conspiracy/

 

http://reuprindle.blogspot.com/2013/11/henry-ford-and-aaron-sapiro-case.htm

 

https://contemporarynotes.wordpress.com/2013/11/02/part-ii-henry-ford-and-the-aaron-sapiro-case/

 

https://idynamo.wordpress.com/2013/11/24/part-iii-henry-ford-and-the-aaron-sapiro-case/

 

https://contemporarynotes.wordpress.com/2014/01/18/part-iv-henry-ford-and-the-aaron-sapiro-case

 

 

https://idynamo.wordpress.com/2014/02/03/part-v-henry-ford-and-the-aaron-sapiro-case/

 

https://idynamo.wordpress.com/2014/02/19/part-vi-henry-ford-and-the-aaron-sapiro-case/

 

https://idynamo.wordpress.com/2014/07/22/part-viii-henry-ford-and-the-aaron-sapiro-case/

 

 

The Vampyres Of New York

Clip 10

A Novel

by

R.E. Prindle

 

I sat comfortably in my chair with a glass of excellent Cabernet looking benignly at Lessing, Giusti, Barron Cammell and in the speaker’s seat, Max Savings. There was some uneasiness as the Chicago insurrection was still raging, other disturbances were taking place in cities with majority Negro populations. While cause for concern, the concentration of Negroes in urban centers localized the disturbances rather than making them general.

In many other majority Negro areas most of the Negroes had found it expedient to head for the big cities. Thus the Negro-White situation was rather cleanly divided. Of course Manhattan was a different situation. The Negro population had halved over the past three years so while seven and a half percent was still a large population on Manhattan Island their minority status quietened them somewhat while having been expelled from the Aryan areas even those are untouched directly by the gathering storm. The news today had announced the formation of a New Islamic Republic in lower Manhattan so hostilities were imminent from that part of the city.

I think it struck all of us as odd that we were to discuss events that occurred a hundred years ago having little or no reference to today. It seemed rather eerie. Nevertheless Max began:

Max: All of us are old enough for the Bolshevic Revolution to have influenced our lives. Those born in the year 2000, now turning eighteen, may not have even heard of it, or if they have, its irrelevance to them leaves the mention of it forgotten.

Those born after, say, nineteen-eighty are old enough for more to have heard of it and perhaps taken cognizance of it but except for the few more scholarly the Revolution lacks meaning. The names of the participants save Lenin and Stalin have no true meaning to the majority of Americans living. Even the term American now has little real meaning. It is good to have some company tonight who share my interest. Sometimes walking down the street I feel like a time traveler visiting the future or perhaps a transient from a parallel universe, a man from Mars.

So, the greatest heist in History has gone down the memory hole. The theft of the wealth of a great and extensive nation.

The seizure of the government of Russia by the Bolshevics was accomplished by men who had never know power, men who had no experience or notion of governing, no background in economics nor did they ever have any idea of what money is. Thus when they gained power they were astonished to find that civilization was based on money, and they had no idea where money came from. They immediately destroyed the economy, that is the taxation base so that the only liquid wealth they had was the gold reserves and they were running through those fast.

Knowing nothing of relative value they valued the accumulated wealth of centuries at face value not realizing you could flood the market on things of extrinsic value such as jewels and art works but thing of intrinsic value such furs were only used goods that sold at fire sale prices.

Nevertheless they plowed ahead. Since they were murdering the aristocracy the aristocrats grabbed whatever of value was portable and fled the country. Thus, not only were these confiscated goods a drug on the market but for decades they were a drug on the market. The emigres growing more impoverished by the year they sold their jewels and other portable wares while becoming a laughing stock.

Imagine having been the equals in the highest society then walking around in worn out outdated clothes, no money, while being mocked as ‘Count’ if you dared to say who you had been. And then as former autocrats of Russia they were despised and hated as much as the Germans have been since the last quarter of the nineteenth century.

As they walked the streets, warehouses in the new Soviet Union, the name Russia having been obliterated from the maps, were packed with long rows of stolen or ‘appropriated’ fur coats, furniture, painting and any removables of value. Not only did the Soviets steal from the aristocrats but in an anti-Christian frenzy fabulous churches were invaded, priestly vestments, irreplaceable icons, gold and silver vessels, anything, anything of value was removed. The Soviets themselves were then on the same level as the displaced aristocrats. They had miles of stolen goods but no money.

The Money Trust, both gois and Jews, was willing to make loans to them but the amount of money required to maintain the old Russian Empire couldn’t be obtained through loans; loans were just stop gap measures and since the Soviets had no income they couldn’t pay the loans back anyway let alone the interest.

In desperation they took like some Jewish old clothes peddlers to trying to hawk old fur coats, paintings, used furniture. The Soviet Union in many ways was founded on vengeance. As has been said of the Russian Revolution- Where are the Russians? In fact there were few of them. Mostly they came from the subject peoples of the Russians- Letts, Poles, Jews, Georgians, from everywhere but mostly Jews.

As Dostoyevsky sagely remarked in the nineteenth century: The Jews would kill us all if they had us in their power. Well, now the Jews had the Russians in their power and, in fact, they were killing them; those that hadn’t the opportunity or wisdom to flee.

Barron Cammell: Hold It! Hold it! This isn’t going to some anti-Semitic Jew bashing like that one’s over there is it? The Jews! The Jews! Always the Jews! The first to be blamed and last to be forgiven. Show me some proof that even one Jews was involved.

Me: Leon Trotsky.

Barron: Trotsky was a secular Jew; he wasn’t religious. An atheist.

Me: OK. So he was an unreligious, secular, atheist Jew. What does it take to be a Jew in your eyes Barron?

Lessing: Barron! Barron! Let’s not have any outbursts. This is a fraternal society. We can express ourselves freely without rancor.

Max: It’s just history. The fact are easily ascertained.

Me: Barron, it is no more clear than in Russia that the Jews work as a national unit and secondarily as an international people working together in their own interest against all other interests in battle for supremacy. Why then are you offended that Max is placing them in the place and time?

Barron: Oh, shut up, you.

Lessing: Barron, no rudeness now.

Barron: I don’t know why you brought that guy here Lessing. Everything was fine until he showed up.

Hodding Giusti: No, Barron, things were about the same. It was just that no one had investigated anything where the Jews played as prominent a role.

Barron: They certainly did in my report on the Rothschild’s yet I didn’t accuse them of any crimes. I praised their economic acumen.

Hodding: Well, you were very generous to the Rothschilds. You barely touched on how they got their money or how they bent the rules.

Barron: You mean innovated, how they changed the way things were done.

Hodding: Merely another way of saying the same thing although laudatory instead of critical; after all theft is theft and everyone at the time knew it was theft. Time and an eraser have just altered the reality in the mainstream consciousness. A legend or myth has replaced the reality. Such altering of the past was nearly a cottage industry by the time I retired. But, let Max go on.

Lessing: Yes, Barron, after all Max puts a lot of time and effort into his presentations.

Barron: So do we all. Except for him (indicating me) obviously.

Max: I may resume then? Nevertheless, the largest faction of revolutionaries was Jewish or of Jewish origin, since Barron insists that Trotsky wasn’t Jewish for various reasons, hoping to distance them from the mass, as it were. I won’t call it recent research since the obvious has been known since the Tribe arrived at the Finland Station, however only recently, that is a few years ago, have the Jews admitted publicly that they were the engine of the revolution. I hope we can consider that settled.

It can be no coincidence that while thousands of Christian churches were looted or destroyed not one synagogue was touched so that only Russians were expropriated. Needing money and having little except the accumulated things stolen from the nobility and churches, the Soviets determined to convert the stolen things to cash. This was an incredible stash. Whatever the Nazis are said to have appropriated from the Jews was miniscule in proportion while a large part of their wealth was probably fenced goods from the revolution.

I use as my main source Sean McMeekin’s History’s Greatest Heist: The Looting of Russia by the Bolsheviks published in 2009.

As the Jews primarily were responsible for accumulating these trinkets they naturally had the networks in Europe and the US to dispose of the stuff.

Barron: Stop it! Stop it!

Lessing: Barron, please! Have some respect.

Max: Of course as all the stuff was in a legal sense stolen, the Soviet Union itself was acting as the fence. There was opposition in the West to becoming receivers of this stolen merchandise. There certainly were protests from Russian emigres when they could identify items that had belonged to them.

Curiously their claims were disregarded unlike with the Jews after WWII during which claims without a shred of evidence were awarded from items appropriated from the Nazis, different in no way from the Jewish Soviets.

Barron: There is a great deal of difference, somewhere between six and ten million Jews were murdered by Nazi thugs in the Holocaust.

Me: Six to ten? It keeps going up. Let me point out though that the Jews, as a national group, atheist or religious, were complicit in the murder of millions and millions, using your method, Barron, tens of millions of Russian aristocrats and kulaks, simple folks, and whoever didn’t keep their heads down or make it to the border.

Barron: I believe we can lay the blame for that at Stalin’s feet.

Hodding: I don’t believe we can.

Barron: Well, that’s certainly as it is in the historians I read.

Lessing: There are other histories.

Max: May I go on? Thank you. The attempt, as I say, to sell the stuff ran into opposition so that it was necessary to operate underhandedly in which the main operatives were what Henry Ford called the international Jews.

Barron: Name one.

Me: Armand Hammer.

Max: Yes, he was certainly one of the biggest. And what Jews were big buyers, especially for jewels and paintings? This leads us on to wonder how many paintings Jews were reclaiming as theirs had formerly belonged to Russian aristocrats or came from the Hermitage, that is the Czar’s personal stash.

Certainly these selling activities during the twenties were well known to the Nazis so that one might say they had an immediate example perhaps making them believe they were reappropriating Aryan treasures, to use the term. In any event theirs was not a unique crime. Nazi crimes may be considered as an extenuation of Soviet crimes.

Barron: Oh my god!

Lessing: Hush!

Max: One of the main conduits to the US, if not the main conduit was the Jew Armand Hammer. He was quite notorious at the time being resented and hated on a fairly wide scale. While it was forbidden to attack him as a Jew, anti-Semitic, he could be attacked as a Communist or tool of the Communists, which he denied on both counts. Needless to say he denied he was a Communist although his fortune was made by the Soviets.

Even his name, Arm and Hammer, bespoke his father’s politics. Hammer’s fortune was made in the Soviet Union and then he was chosen as the chief conduit to dispose of the aristocrats’ treasures in the United States. Can it be any wonder then that Hammer acquired one of the great art collections in the world for himself. How many other art works were funneled into Jewish art collections such as that of the movie star Edward G. Robinson’s?

Barron: Can you prove that Robinson bought from Hammer?

Max: Not at this time but it does make sense. For instance, David Bazelon who was the Alien Properties Custodian during WWII made Chicago’s Jews, he was a Jew from Chicago, wealthy after the war when he sold whole industries confiscated from the Germans cheap thereby making fortunes, giving Chicago’s Jews great economic power.

Barron: Can you prove that?

Max: Certainly. Those sales are public knowledge and above board.   The government records exist. Hammer’s sales may have been more clandestine although Andrew Mellon’s collection can be traced to Hammer. Mellon’s paintings were eventually given to the US National Gallery where they reside today, unclaimed by any Russian although had they belonged to Jews you can believe they would have been ‘restored’ by now.

Barron: You sound embittered by that.

Max: Indeed I am for crime anywhere is a reflection on me if I hold my silence. Heard that one before Barron? Or, all that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing?

The point is that Hammer’s collection was composed of stolen merchandise of which he was both a fence and receiver that could be traced to the original Russian owners, but neither Hammer nor any of the Jewish buyers who knowingly and gloatingly bought stolen merchandise ever returned it to the rightful owners. All legal actions taken by the rightful owners were thrown out.

Yet, when artworks were taken by the Nazis the Jews demanded that such, under very tenuous evidence of the former ownership, were given to them. Many probably obtained from the Russian hoards.

Even though the Jewish population losses were horrendous, six million are claimed to have fallen in the holocaust alone while other massacres such as Babi Yar and what we might call natural wartime attrition may have claimed a million or two which should have nearly exterminated the whole European Jewish population but miraculously didn’t. Thus, perhaps, using figures wildly eight million or more Jews perished out a possible ten million yet claimants sometimes multiple claimants after 1945 were there to claim anything that might possibly have been owned by Jews.

Barron: Do you depreciate Jewish suffering to concentrate on a few dollars. How heartless.

Max: You can be exasperating Barron. I don’t denigrate anything, both Whites and Jews have been known to kill for a few dollars more. The point I’m trying to make is that the Jews are not long suffering innocents and that on the one hand they conducted according to McMeekin the greatest heist, that is theft, in history and on the other hand play innocent victims. The end I’m trying for, I suppose, is that neither the Germans nor anyone else need feel guilty for causing Jewish suffering anymore than the Jews feel guilty for causing the untold suffering of the European Holocaust endured through two world wars. If Freud and the members of the B’nai B’rith wanted to see Europeans and Europe dead then between two world wars they nearly did. They sought the destruction of Russia and achieved it when Russia was wiped off the map becoming the USSR. As a Union of Republics, the Jews being one, they on paper, at least, achieved autonomy. When it became time to murder the much despised Czar and his family Jews did it.

It seems to me the height of obtuseness to believe the Jews are a holy and innocent people.

Barron: It seems to me that you and that over there lack compassion. I think you’re being heartless and are despicable.

Me: Compassionate? Compassionate? There’s no one more compassionate than me. My heart bleeds for the whole of suffering humanity. All of it not just an infinitesimal part called Jews. I see the suffering of one as representative of the whole. How can anyone be happy knowing that some poor individual somewhere is unhappy, to quote Liberal dogma. What is going on outside our windows as we sit comfortably sipping fine wine is equal to any suffering in the history of the world. I feel their pain but, still, this is excellent wine and they will have to pry my cold dead hands from the stem of this glass before I give it up. There Barron, was that passionate enough for you?

Lessing: Hear, hear! If I feel guilt I’m sure it isn’t too obvious.

Hodding: History shows that the suffering is not evenly distributed over the entire population. Even in the worst suffering some suffer more and some suffer less. I choose to suffer less. Pass that bottle over here.

Lessing: I found your presentation interesting Max. I really wasn’t aware of the confiscation of the material wealth of Russians by the Bolsheviki.

Max: Who said I was finished, but if I am, I suppose I am. It is quite a story. I was driven off my prepared remarks to a large degree by Barron’s vociferations.

Me: You made your point anyway. I rather enjoyed the controversy but then I am a child of controversies. Barron, what’s the problem here? Since you speak of Jews you know there is a collectivity that calls itself Jewish or it would be useless to speak of Jews. If there is such a collectivity then that collectivity must have some identity, some standards of conduct that it acts on. Since the collectivity functions in the external world it must be observable. Right?

Barron: Yes, of course, but that is no reason for Jew bashing.

Me: Well, analyzing those activities, whether the analysis is correct or not doesn’t constitute bashing does it?

Barron: It’s the intent that makes the difference. You are…you are…

Me: Ok, I’ll finish for you: You are an anti-Semite. Right?

Barron: Not me, you are.

Me: Right. I was just finishing the sentence for you. But Max didn’t say anything that wasn’t true did he?

Barron: That’s not the point. The truth is irrelevant. Some things just shouldn’t be said.

Me: The truth is irrelevant? I give up then. When true things can’t be said there is no hope. Civilization falls to the ground.

Lessing: A good report none the less. Let’s call it a night.

 

We all gave as jolly or cordial a good night as possible. Barron even bent a little although avoiding me in his gaze. As I was leaving Lessing asked for a meeting. I said I had to see about my suits from James Carter. I would give him a call after talking to Goldbladder. As I was leaving, my phone rang. It was Ange.

Ange: Partly, Merivale is at the door. I can see him.

Me: How does he look, Ange? Agitated, determined, worried, what?

Ange: Sort of angry, I can’t tell.

Me: Does he have his cell phone visible?

Ange: Yes.

Me: But he’s not trying to use the door speaker?

Ange: I, I, I don’t know

Me: OK. Hold on Ange, I’m going to speak to Lessing for a moment. Don’t hang up. Lessing, Steinberg’s at the condo trying to get Angeline to come to the door. You have his cell number, right? Can you give him a call and advise him he isn’t acting in his best interests?

Lessing: I think so. Ask Angeline to report on his reaction.

Me: Ange. Lessing is calling Steinberg now, keep your eye on the monitor and tell us his reaction.

Lessing: Merivale, Lessing here. We’d appreciate it if you ceased bothering Angeline.

Steinberg: I just want to talk to her Lessing.

Lessing: That isn’t possible Merivale. Angeline is no longer under your control. She is with Perry now. They consider themselves husband and wife. You have already damaged her enough. Be a good fellow and just leave. Go home.

Steinberg: Damn it, Farquhar, I’ve got rights. I…

Lessing: Rights are exactly what you don’t have Merivale. Rights are what you don’t have and actually never have had. I shouldn’t have to tell you that there are serious criminal acts here.

Steinberg: You’re not threatening me, Farquhar, because if you are…

Lessing: Call it what you will, I’m telling you we’ve got you by the shorthairs. Whatever happens you lose.

Steinberg: This is some sort of anti-Semitic trick isn’t it Farquhar?

Lessing: Good God, Steinberg, we’re talking crime, not religion.

Steinberg: Judaism isn’t a religion.

Lessing: Who cares what Judaism is Merivale. Be wise, turn around, get on the elevator and don’t come back.

Ange: He just looked into his phone, Partly. He looked at the elevator and then back at his phone.

Me: Tell him to leave again, Lessing, he’s ambivalent.

Lessing: Angeline doesn’t want to see you Merivale. She’s thinking of calling security; avoid a ruckus and get in the elevator.

Merivale: Fuck you Farquhar. Watch your step.

Ange: Oh, good, Partly, he’s walking back to the elevator. He’s leaving.

Me: Excellent Ange. Have a relaxing cup of tea. I’ll be there within the half hour. Good job, Lessing. I’ll pass a message through Goldbladder this Monday at my fitting.

Lessing: Will Merivale get it?

Me: Oh yeah. Goldbladder will have minutes of this meeting tomorrow. Steinberg within minutes of my fitting.

Lessing: And the minutes of the meeting will come from Barron, you think?

Me: Sure of it. Alright I’ll call you Monday evening to relay what happened. Great reading from Max. See you later.

 

Things are moving very fast now. My own present life has been one of stress that almost makes me dizzy. I have to make an effort to stay calm. On the home front managing Ange is demanding all my powers so that I have to develop a second personality to deal with external matters. My greatest pleasure, reading, has been shot to hell, no time, while squeezing in writing has forced me to reorganize my time usage.

Dealing with the New York situation has me, uh, ‘rising to greatness.’ I’m learning to delegate whatever can be delegated and hope for success.   Cooperating in an unprecedented emergency has been high. The ethnic cleansing of our area goes more smoothly than might be expected. The major problem is our people who have been conditioned to sacrifice their interests to others and who resist the expulsion of Negroes, Moslems and others. In order to discourage others some of these fanatics have been excommunicated , expelled North into Negroland or South into Moslemland. Tribeca being somewhere between is a mad confusion of peoples. Obviously the American Experiment has hit the rocks.

Saturday and Sunday morning then I spent working with Ragnar and his gym crew and delegations working out governmental problems within our community, maintaining Western Civilization as best we can. It’s sort of like the frontier of the nineteenth century. This is not easy. Afternoons I spent with Ange. While we consider ourselves married we still have to get to know each other.

Central Park is now safe so we spent Saturday strolling the lanes and exchanging confidences about ourselves to each other. Ange is more lovely than I could have hoped for, beautiful in mind and body.

Sunday we combined romancing with touring community neighborhoods to get some firsthand knowledge of how things are shaping up. Unsettled to say the least but people seemed to be concerned for themselves and each other. Transitioning from one state of being to another isn’t easy. So far, so good.

Then Monday was the day for my fitting. Everything going to hell but business as usual. Have to remain centered. Amazingly, amongst the growing chaos the stock market is holding up well. Instead of losing I’ve actually gained a few points in my investments. Of course I have to be nimble. Amidst all this nonsense I find myself plotting my investments. Well, life goes on, nothing stops for tea.

Our area was well below forty-fifth street so there was no problem getting from Tribeca to forty-fifth although I did have to cross the border from Tribeca into Whitelands. Our armed troops were patrolling the streets.

Me: Any problems getting gas, Ragnar?

Ragnar: No. All deliveries are flowing through without any problems. We are getting food shipments from Jersey both through the tunnels and across the Hudson. No interference through the Bronx as yet. Our membership has been growing which we have been able to accommodate so far through expulsion of others but as we’re prepared for trouble Bronxside we’re organized to invade if necessary. It would be nice to have Columbia in our fold.

Me: What does Lessing say about Obama?

Ragnar: So far DC is in a dither. Fires burning in too many places for them to wrap their heads around. Incredibly they were so confident in their agenda that they had no clue this was coming. You’ve probably noticed the jets and copters overhead but so far they’re only making noise. Lessing says they are calling in troops from NATO and other places as our troops are depleted here in the US, or what used to be the US, but where they will deploy first we don’t know.

Me: Yeah, well, I’ve got more important fish to fry just now. I’ve got suits to fit.

Ragnar: I sure hope you can handle it, Boss.

Me: Might not be the highest assignment but I’ll be better dressed for one now.

Ragnar: Especially in hot pink.

Me: You spying on me Ragnar?

Ragnar: Word gets around. Not everyone in town wears a hot pink suit with matching hat and shoes. People do talk.

Me: Yeah? Well I’m going to have a little pink mask too. Fantomas in splendor.

I hopped out of the limo, entered and mounted the staircase. Let’s see what Abe is up to.

Abe: You’re on time as usual, I see.

Me: I’m pretty consistent Abe. Time is money and all that.

Abe: According to Freud so is shit.

Me: Ah ha, ha. Well he’d know better about that than me. However I am willing to pay in kind if you like Abe.

Abe: That was just a bad joke. We’re sticking to your card.

Me: Great. So how close are we to getting the suits?

Abe: This might be the last fitting. Here let me show you something. Check out these shoes, this hat, and these gloves.

Me: I didn’t order gloves.

Abe: No, but I knew you’d want them. Look at this matching hot pink to go with the suiting.

Me: But they’re not fluorescent Abe.

Abe: Get out of here ungrateful One. Do you have any idea how much work this has been?

Me: No, but I have an idea what it’s going to cost. Remember I don’t have a first born.

Abe: We know. By the way how did it go at the whatchamaycallit club you belong to go.

Me: Something tells me you can tell me Abe.

Abe: Do you think we have the place wired or something?

Me: Something.

Abe: What would that something be?

Me: Not what Abe, who.

Abe: Oh, I see.

Me: Sure you do. So what did you boys think of Max’s presentation.

Abe: We thought it was anti-Semitic. We’re beginning to think you guys are Nazis as well.

Me: Paranoia becomes you Abe. Max is an historical researcher he simply reported what was true. We’re true historians Abe. We don’t distort the facts to fit an agenda. You have only yourselves to blame.

Abe: Sometimes the truth doesn’t have to be revealed.

Me: The other night wasn’t one of them. So what else is bugging you Abe?

Abe: We know you’re Nazis because your goons are forcing we Jews out of Little America or whatever you call your enclave. That is anti-Semitism and it has to stop.

Me: Nobody is forcing anybody to leave Abe. Those Jews you referred to wanted to be in Brooklyn in your national colony there. You aren’t going to deny that Brooklyn is a Jewish colony are you?

Abe: How would you like it if we forced Whites out of Brooklyn?

Me: We’d love it Abe, almost pay you to do it but we’d still make a big noise about it, just to put you in a bad light. Times have changed Abe, national lines have been drawn. Anti-Semitism doesn’t have the meaning it did anymore.

Abe: A big noise hey? Wait till you see the new issue of New York magazine. By the way, I see you people have started a new magazine, the New York Beobachter, is that what it’s called?

Me: I’ve always like your sense of humor Abe. No, it’s the New York Intelligencer. We have two hundred and thirty-four subscribers already. We expect to double that shortly.

Abe: I suppose you write that crap?

Me: No, Abe. I haven’t contributed as yet. So far we’ve used stringers to report local events and analyses plus relying on letters to the editor. So far, so good. Want to take a bundle of a hundred back to Brooklyn?

Abe: I don’t live in Brooklyn; I live in Manhattan.

Me: Really? Where abouts?

Abe: Not too far from you I imagine in what we call the Tribeca Free State.

Me: Yucka, yucka, Tribeca Free State, that’s good Abe. Well then, it’s either Brooklyn or the Free State for your emigres but they will have to move; we’re not much on diversity from embedded elements, we have enough problems with our own of various backgrounds.

So, is this the last fitting before delivery Abe?

Abe: There will be a last touch up to make sure everything is true. That’s next for all your suits. Make an appointment.

 

I did. As I entered the apartment Angeline greeted me breathlessly to announce: Partly, I just got a call from Lady and they’re coming back now. All hell broke loose in Europe. They were lucky to catch the last plane out.

Me: Damn. I suppose that will bring the stock market down, at least temporarily. Well, where are they now?

Ange: She said they were a couple hours out. They should be here tonight.

Me: You’ve got everything spic and span, no problem there. Just a minute while I call Ragnar to let him know.

Ragnar, we just received news that Lady and Miles will be back in a couple hours.

Ragnar: I know, they called. I’m on my way now.

Me: Ragnar already knew. He’s on his way. We’re shipshape here. Cook something up in case they’re hungry.

Ange: Lady didn’t sound very happy I was here.

Me: I’m sure she was surprised. She had no reason to suspect I would marry.

Ange. It didn’t sound like that. There was a note of disapproval in her voice. Maybe she thinks I’m not worthy.

Me: Honey, nobody’s opinion but mine counts. I know your worth, I know the criminal acts that were committed on you. There is no better person in the world than you, however the career of Angeline II, of which you are still not totally aware is still out there; for many people that is the only Angeline Gower they know. We don’t know but perhaps Miles attended one of those parties and, well, who knows? Be prepared for the worst but we can’t let that affect us.

Ange: But Partly, I don’t want you to be hurt.

Me: Honey, nothing can hurt me. I am proof to the world. I know how things function. Let me call Lessing to see if he knows. Lessing…

Lessing: I’m on my way. Hold the fort.

Lessing is on the way Ange, everything is under control. We can only wait.

When the keys began turning in the locks Lessing, Ange and I were in our places and ready. The early return was obviously due to the eruption of the Moslems in France and the incursion from Germany to the East. We should soon have some details.

Lessing: There’s the keys. I’ll go open the inner door.

 

The Carmichaels literally burst through the door in high agitation.

Lady: You can’t believe the turmoil over there. France is in flames from Marseilles to the Belgian border; Belgium is in flames. They are looting, burning and killing on all sides. They are every where, everywhere, Notre Dame was blown sky high. Churches everywhere are being blown up or burned. The clergy are being murdered. The uprisings are in all parts of France. While the army has been mobilized to combat the invaders from Germany, the troops are ambushed from all sides.

Good God, never in my lifetime, never in my lifetime did I believe something like this could happen.

Me: (clearing my throat) Welcome back to the Tribeca Free State Miles and Lady.

I said nothing but I had written that this exact same thing would happen. At my age I didn’t know whether it would happen in my lifetime but anyone who followed EU policies could see it coming.

Miles: Tribeca Free State? What are you talking about?

Lessing: Well, Miles, things have been happening here too. Manhattan is now several different States. You have the Moslem Caliphate in Lower Manhattan, the Tribeca Free State here, the New American Republic in mid-Island both East and West, the African Chieftanship in Upper Manhattan and the Bronx. So things are different. And then there’s the Orthodox Hebrew Theocracy in Brooklyn, Queens isn’t clear and we haven’t heard much from Staten Island but it appears it might be Whiteland.

Miles: Egad! The Tribeca Free State! Why that?

Lessing: Nobody is so dominant that it can be claimed but we’re doing our best to get it into the New American Republic.

Lady: Well, at least the lights are still on.

Me: Yes, we were able to seize control of the grid. We’re using it to try to freeze out the Moslems. They have no power at all, of course, that has raised some havoc with Wall Street but they can always go back . Once we cut off their water they will have to vacate. That adds to the woes of Staten Island and Long Island, New Jersey but it’s unavoidable.

Miles: So war is going on here too?

Lessing: Yes, Miles, you might call it a phony war as so far there hasn’t been too much shooting; we’re all still sparring with each other, waiting to see what Obama will do. So far, we assume he’s ‘assessing the situation.’

Lady: My God, is it the end of the world?

Me: It is certainly the end of civilization as we’ve known it. But then that began back at 9/11, now we’re really into it. But, you said something about Merkel inciting it.

Lady: Yes. Over there they think Merkel had the plan when she admitted all those Moslems in ’15 and ’16. The French think it’s a continuation of the Nazis. They think Merkel is rearming Germany and once the Moslems are out of Germany with France in total turmoil Germany will attack Moslem France and begin the conquest of Europe.

Me: Far out! Crazy little Mama Merkel. Who would have believed it. I suppose the Moslems are smashing the wine stores.

Lady: Yes, of course, but what a thing to mention.

Me: Damn.

Lessing: Ata boy, Perry, first things first.

Lady: Now that you mention it Perry I’m afraid that you and that woman will have to vacate the apartment. We’re sorry our agreement isn’t viable. Force majeure. You do understand, don’t you?

Me: Of course, Lady. Angeline has her own condo so we’ll move over there. We’ll pack and leave tomorrow. I can assure you I have no objection and no regrets. I can’t thank you enough for a very wonderful experience. I’m sure Lessing can fill you in after you’ve recovered from your flight and as we are all fighting the good fight I hope we can be friends and associates.

Lady: I’m sure we can Perry. But, I’d prefer you spent the night at…her…apartment and pick up your things tomorrow.

Me: Certainly. I understand fully and as I say Lessing will fill you in later. We’ll take our leave then.

Lessing: give me a minute Perry and we can go uptown together if you like.

Me: Sounds good Lessing. Alright with you Ange?

Ange: (suppressing a sob) Yes. I’m yours Partly.

 

Proceed to Vol. I, Clip 11

Vol. I

The Vampyres Of New York

Clip 9

A Novel

By

R.E. Prindle

 

Angeline woke up in a fine frame of mind. Just as a test I quickly flipped her in and out, the hypnosis was working as before. Now began the hard part; what to do with her second personality. With a little luck it might prove that they didn’t give her a third or fourth but I didn’t perceive any evidence of it.

I thought it might be best to try to combine Ange’s second personality replacing it with a dream world, a sort of false memory, and only a nightmare hence not real and threatening while as a dream I hoped it could be eliminated.

While a vacated second personality might still exist perhaps with time it could be forgotten or fade away. For myself my own painful early personality had become dissociated from myself existing more or less as a parallel universe that had nothing to do with me.

I will spare you the details of our work over the next couple days. While I think we made progress the work seemed far from done. There was some means to transfer the memory images from the second personality to the dream life of the first personality that had me baffled. The purification rites with Hera did seem to remove any sense of responsibility from Angeline’s mind but the memories were still there.

While in her first state she couldn’t consciously remember her activities in the second state still the mind has only one subconscious and that was affected equally by both the first and second states. The deeper I got into her mind the better I understood her catatonia. But, it was Friday and time for our luncheon date with Lessing.

As I had devised a plan to possibly foil any spy agents Ragnar had the limo ready at ten. We drove up to Lessing’s. While standing in his lobby that I thought could be bugged while Lessing should have been able to recognize strangers I explained that my idea was to take the ferry to Staten Island, rent a car and drive to the abandoned Seaview Asylum where I thought it unlikely that we could be overheard. I asked Ragnar to call for a rent-a-car as we would have to leave the limo at the Whitehall Terminal.

Me: The ride’s on me Lessing.

Ragnar: Sure. The ferry’s free.

Me: Aren’t you the spoil sport Ragnar.

Lessing: Funny. Lived here all my life and I’ve never been to Staten Island.

Ange: Me neither.

Me: I just got here and me neither. I’m looking forward to it.

Ange: Any idea how long it takes?

Me: Five miles, about half an hour. Ferries leave every half hour. It’ll be great. Love the ferries in Seattle. If you ever get the chance take the ferry through the San Juans. That’s a wonderful trip.

Lessing: What are the San Juans?

Me: They’re a group of five islands I believe, up on the Canadian border. Small islands but romantic. You can stay at Friday Harbor on San Juan Island and take the ferry back in the morning. Great fun. Plus unlike the Staten Island Ferry you can take your car.

Once aboard Lessing had a puzzling experience.

Lessing: Hello Angeline. Do you remember me?

Ange: I’m sorry, Lessing is it? I don’t think we’ve ever met.

Lessing: Strange. I thought we attended a couple parties together a few years back.

Ange: I don’t think so. I’m sure I’d remember someone like you Lessing.

Lessing: Maybe or maybe not. But I seem…

Me: Lessing, I’ll explain as soon as we’re in the car. This is going to amaze you.

 

Lessing: That was a wonderful trip. I don’t know how I could have lived here this long and not have taken it before.

Me: Bravo, Ragnar. A Mercedes. Thoughtful of you; how did you swing that on such short notice?

Ragnar: We chauffeurs have our ways.

Me: Great. Punch in Seaview Asylum and let’s get some directions. This place is supposed to be in central Staten Island. Ruins. You’ll love it if you like ruins.

Lessing: Oh, ruins, yes. Nothing like a good ruin. Do they have a ruined restaurant?

Me: Naw. We’ll have to stop on the way. Get something to take along. If you see a MacDonald’s pull over Ragnar.

Ange: MacDonald’s? Don’t you really like Burger King better Partly?

Me: Not really. Actually I prefer Jack-In-The-Box but I didn’t think you’d have them out here. If that’s what you prefer, it’s all right with me.

Lessing: If I have to, it doesn’t matter one way or the other to me. I’m not sure that this will be a first with me but close to it.

Ange: Ooh, a snob.

Lessing: A man of distinction and taste.

Me: Oh, come on Lessing, a little plebeianism won’t hurt you any. We’ll do some fine dining later.

Lessing: I believe you said that you and uh…Mrs. Wright ware married Perry. May I ask how you met and hooked so quickly?

Me: Why not? It’s one of those matches made in heaven, Lessing, so far at least. I was at the Nordstrom’s opening as was Ange, our eyes locked and that was it.

Lessing: Ha! I’ve heard of it before but I’ve never seen it.

Ange: It’s true. Partly rescued me from a world of desolation and loneliness. Why do you call Partly Perry?

Lessing: Because Partly told me to call him Perry.

Ange: Well, you do have multiple personalities Partly, or is it Perry?

Me: I’ve only got one, at least only one I use or use consistently, not that I’m trying to be confusing Ange, but I have many facets to the one personality. For people that don’t know me I adopted Perry because Partly always mystifies people. For you Ange, I prefer you call me Partly. I hope we can all keep our identities straight.

Lessing: But, Angeline, you did work at Barton, Dustbin didn’t you? You were a pretty good real estate lawyer there.

Ange: I was a top real estate lawyer there. Top. I wrote some of the biggest deals on the East Coast and as far West as Chicago.

Me: Ooh, that far West?

Lessing: And you don’t remember me Angeline?

Me: I’ll have to explain Lessing. This bears directly on our ability to manage the police and courts. Now listen carefully Lessing because you might have difficulty believing what you are about to hear. You are a lawyer and I’m sure you believe the best of your legal fraternity while probably considering Merivale Adelstein to be a good lawyer and a fine man. You are about to learn differently. Did you ever hear of a Dr. Wormowitz?

Lessing: No, I don’t think I know the name.

Me: Fine. Now, the period we’re talking about is the late seventies and the eighties here in New York. Things were Satanic, violent, druggy and sexually insane. Women’s liberation essentially meant that men could fuck any and all at will. But sexual relations still had consequences. The problem for men was how to avoid the consequences.

Merivale and his colleagues at BAAD worked out what has ‘till now the perfect plan seemingly negating any consequences. The plan was simple. The women could be hypnotized, indoctrinated and conditioned to be perfect sexual objects. Party girls. The girls could be told to remember nothing they did under hypnosis. Thus BAAD had a cadre of partly girls handy for an afternoon delight when things got frustrating or they were emasculated in a courtroom brawl.

Of course once trained one didn’t want them drifting away so they were given exorbitant salaries to keep them at BAAD. They were thus getting good workers and party girls for what was really a particularly good price as if they had to hire working girls for their sexual wants the price for those alone would have been far more than their ‘employees’ were being paid. Thus, the women were actual monarch slaves although not chattel or even obvious slaves as I think you can figure out.

Wormowitz who was Jewish may or may not have been a doctor as he came over from Germany in the thirties and probably lacked any degree nevertheless was an accomplished hypnotist and from practice a fairly knowledgeable psycho-analyst. BAAD billed him an MD and sent the girls to him as a condition of employment for a physical. It was he who hypnotized them and began their indoctrination and conditioning.

Ange was one of those monarch slaves. When she says she doesn’t remember you it is because Angeline I was never at one of those parties; it was as Angeline II. I hope that clears that up.

Lessing: I’m sorry Angeline.

Ange: It was a different time and different place and it didn’t involve me.

Me: No. One might say she wasn’t there. Now Lessing, we have a list of several dozen women who were exploited by the men of BAAD. We have a list of a couple hundred men, mostly lawyers from BAAD and some few others who might surprise you, including actually, yourself.

There is a whole litany of crimes committed by BAAD here, crimes punishable by good long spells in prison not to mention the destruction of careers and lives, nearly all of them are still alive.

This should get us enough leverage to prevent any of our people not only out of jail but not arrested in the first place. As police everywhere have been told to stand down when Negroes, Mexicans and whatever have rioted assaulting Whites our own people have now been re-enfranchised and can do what they deem with impunity.

Ragnar: Bravo, bravo. We now have no worries.

Me: Yes, Ragnar, you can turn the troops loose.

Ange: Boy, this is one spooky place.

Me: What? What? Spookier than you think. This place was used for conclaves of the Son of Sam conspirators, the Final Judgment people. Amazing that buildings like this are allowed to go to ruins. Acres and Acres of what were fine grounds allowed to be overgrown.

Ragnar: Not overgrown, returned to nature.

Lessing: Yes, of course. This is good news Perry. I can certainly turn it to good effect.

Me: I hope so. But we’ll have to be alert for the reaction. I’m sure Adelstein is a resourceful guy and certainly keen on the self-defense. I’ve been set-up several times back in Oregon so I know what to look out for. I don’t know all the tricks but they always use the same ones. At least this time I know who I’m dealing with and have ample resources.

So, Lessing, how soon can you set them up?

Lessing: Right away. I’ll set up a meeting with you, Angeline and myself with Merivale so that he knows that he’s up against the wall. I’ve got it, Perry, now can we get out of this used up asylum? Angeline is right the place is too spooky. I expect to be assaulted by the ghosts of lunatics all the time.

Me: Yeah, well, the ghosts of lunatics can’t hurt you like the lunatics were going to be dealing with.

 

The conversation continued as we walked back to the car for the return trip to the ferry slip. Lessing changed the topic as we set out.

Lessing: There’s a meeting of the Serapion Brethren this Friday Perry, are you coming?

Me: Yes. Am I to pick up where I left off?

Lessing: We prefer to have a different reader at each session, if that’s alright with you.

Me: Perfect as a matter of fact. Who’s up?

Lessing: Max Savings is going to present an essay on the confiscation of the Russian art treasure by the Soviets.

Me: Sounds great.

Ange: What is the Serapion Brethren?

Lessing: It’s a study group Perry and I belong to Angeline. We meet and discuss any submerged aspect of history.

Ange: Where did you get the name Lessing?

Lessing: We borrowed it from a fictional group of the same name created by ETA Hoffman. Have you read any Hoffman, Angeline?

Ange: In college we had to read a story by Hoffman I think. Something about an eccentric jeweler or even crazy, he hated to part with his creations so much he burgled the buyers houses and stole them back. Creepy.

Lessing: That one’s called Mademoiselle Scudery.

Ange: Oh yes. I remember now. Are you going to leave me alone Friday night Partly?

Me: I’ll have to Ange but as Frankie told Johnnie: I won’t be gone very long.

Ange: You better come back.

Me: You and I are one Ange. You need have no fears. Don’t be insecure.

Ragnar: Are you going to help us out establishing our turf Partly?

Me: Yes. I’ll start a magazine so we can all keep in touch and stay informed. I’ll come down tomorrow morning to see where things stand. But, listen Ragnar and Lessing, remember that Angeline is an accomplished lawyer and she is the key for controlling the legal end so she deserves a full share of respect. She has things to contribute.

Where do matters rest now?

Ragnar: We are roughed out in Aryan areas on the East Side from ninety-second down to the Bowery and across town from fifty-second to about seventieth but maybe a little higher and lower. Madison, Park and Fifth are free passageways we have to allow. We avoid the subways.

There have been some serious clashes and some of our guys are in the jug. We want them out.

Me: How is it going on the legal end Lessing?

Lessing: With our present organization we’ve been able to keep them in Manhattan but we haven’t been able to get them out. Angeline’s info will strengthen us greatly. Adelstein himself is powerful and his connections can get things done.

Me: Hmm. Angeline can call him and have him meet her- that is at her apartment. The rest will fall out. You don’t have anything important doing tomorrow night do you Lessing?

Lessing: No, I’m free.

 

By now, we were back aboard the ferry for the return trip. Passing a newsstand I grabbed a paper. I hadn’t been able to keep up for the last several days while tending Ange. The news was eye popping.

Me: My goodness. Look at the pictures of Chicago in flames. Is this 1871 revisted?

Lessing: Where have you been Perry? That mess started three days ago.

Me: I was otherwise employed.

Ange: Let me see that Partly.

Me: So a major revolt has begun in Chicago? Is this just a riot or what?

Ragnar: More than a riot; it’s fighting for real. Our guys are on the alert.

Lessing: the papers only give a hint as to what is going down. It’s really bad. The carnage is going to be terrible.

It started on the South side when some Blacks attacked a police station. When reinforcements were sent the whole place erupted. The West Side and all areas joined in. Lines of citizens have formed around Black areas where possible. Constant shooting across lines but apparently infra-Black areas are wars of Blacks against Blacks. The killing is intense.

As you know there are no grocery stores across the lines so food is already short. ‘Humanitarian’ White groups are gathering food but the problem is how to get it through the lines. The ‘humanitarians’ are shot down as soon as they come within range….

Me: Started three days ago! Lordy, bodies must really be hitting the ground . Which reminds me, has anyone thought of securing our food supplies?

Ragnar: How’s that?

Me? Land deliveries can be cut off easily since the Bronx is controlled by the Negroes. So we should secure water routes across the Hudson and East Rivers, barges or something; and also exit routes if needed.

We should block deliveries into the Moslem area to starve them out. Turn off the gas, water and electricity. This could get serious. We should also raid a military base or two, Ragnar, for fire arms, ammo, grenades and grenade launchers and anti-tank devices. Machine guns.

Obama hasn’t called out the army to suppress the Chicago insurrection but he will do it against we Whites so it’s best to best to be prepared.

There’s a bright spot here though– the Stock Market is up a hundred twenty points, we can still pay the rent.

Lessing: How long is that going to last, I wonder.

Me: Quite a while I suspect, Lessing. The Negro concentrations are all in our major cities fairly tightly confined. Of all we useless feeders the Negroes are the most useless of all. There is no economy in those areas to disrupt. So life can function fairly normally outside those areas.

Even during WWII people fought desperately to go on normally. You would think something like publishing would stop but, I more or less collect books published during WWII, publishing went on close to normal. Almost hadn’t skipped a beat as things resumed immediately right after the war.

So, there may not be a serious reduction of means outside the Negro cities.

Lessing: You may be right. I’ll have to consider things in that light.

Me: Accentuate the positive, Lessing, accentuate the positive.

Ange: I had no idea you had such a grim sense of humor, Partly.

Me: You should have been in the orphanage with us Angelina. I had my early training for this there. I’ve been ready for the worst all my life.

Ah well, here we are, Keep your cell phone on Lessing. I’m going to try to set something up for tomorrow.

Drop us off on the way to Lessing’s, Ragnar. We’ll need you tomorrow.

 

I won’t say Chicago was a surprise. First the collection of the Rebbes and then an insurrection in Chicago.   I suppose Obama was surprised at it as we’ve fought back. Well, you know you can only push so hard and then the hot heads take over. We were into it now. Things should really escalate rapidly. I hope we can keep order within our areas here in New York City. We can’t let law deteriorate but from now on it is our law, not Negro law, Shariia or Jewish law, but our law.

 

Me: Sweetheart, it’s time we put our plan in action.

Ange: I’m ready Dearest Partly.

Me: Alright. Call Adelstein and invite him over to your condo tomorrow night, seven o’ clock. I’ll call Lessing to be present and I think it would be wise to have Ragnar along. I have conditioned your other mind upon the signal to attack Adelstein with all your fury. I have instructed Ange II to desist at a voice command. You, as Ange I, know it too.

I will allow you to punish him as severely as possible but as we need him for our plans you’ll stop short of murder. Besides dead he wouldn’t suffer the humiliation he will have to. The difference between your unearned humiliation and his is that he’ll be conscious of it. So, tomorrow is The Day.

I’m going to go cook something to eat while you call Adelstein.

 

Our preparations are in place. The morrow will find us waiting for the appearance of Adelstein at Angeline’s.

Lessing, Ragnar and myself waited in the kitchen as the doorbell sounded. This was a big moment for Angeline while curiously it was a big moment for me. As Ange represented my own Anima in Ange’s getting her revenge, through her I was getting a little of mine back too. Along with a very large minority of the country’s population I hated lawyers. I saw them as the very scum of the earth.

I knew the type from high school. Nearly everyone I detested had become a lawyer. Curiously enough the detestation was mutual, they scorned me as I loathed them. Peculiar circumstances from my childhood prevented me from hating anyone but if I had been able to hate I would have hated them heartily.

I was able to avoid contact with lawyers until I got into business in Oregon. When you’re in business you’re a target; it becomes unavoidable that you will become very familiar with lawyers, the extortionate bastards.

It was then when I was drawn into the system that I became aware of what kind of men- and women- lawyers are. I would say a full half of them are full blown psychotics of which Adelstein was a prime example, they and the rest of them look upon law as a racket in which you extort money from simpletons who they make sure have no defense.

If it is thought I think of lawyers as criminals that is correct. They are the third part of the criminal system, sometimes erroneously referred to as the justice system. They are base men and women armed to the teeth. Way off back at the beginning of the nineteenth century, when a group of working men called the IWW, Industrial Workers of the World, nicknamed the Wobblies, were resisting the inhumane working conditions in the woods, logging that is, they naturally clashed with the police and law. The lawyers of Portland Oregon all swore a mighty oath never to give legal assistance to a Wobbly. This was of course in violation of the Constitution of the United States or, in fact, the Law. Nevertheless no Portland lawyer ever defended a Wobbly in Court.

Now, a mid-century counterpart of the Wobblies were the people called Hippies. As latter day Wobblies we were placed outside the law. No hippy was ever given a defense although hypocritical lawyers took the money and then negotiated the lowest sentence the accused would get. This isn’t the place to get into it but let’s just say a lot of people who should have been in jail were immune to charges if you get me.

I had started a record store and I did very well. At that time in the late Sixties marijuana, the chief offender in the popular mind, was spreading into the middle classes. Marijuana and drugs were associated with record stores ipso facto. As a store owner I was also characterized as a drug dealer and much worse. As such I was denied any services such as insurance while I was barely able to get electricity and was able to clear the streets as people moved aside to avoid possible contact.

I survived all efforts to shut me down, was forced to move the store several times as agreements were broken, with no recourse. I was forced to walk a very narrow line as any deviation from the very straightest and narrowest would have landed me in court where lawyers were sworn to not represent me unless to turn the trial into a kangaroo court.

This violated everything about America I had been conditioned to believe. Many ridiculous petty charges were brought against me, some of which no lawyer would handle but some of which landed me in court where I was compelled to pay a lawyer for essentially lynching me. In one case I had merely opened my mouth to protest when the judge looked at me sternly and bawled: One more word out of you and I’ll have you for contempt of court. And he would have too. I had to sit quietly while my fate was pronounced. It only involved a trifling fine in the case but my hatred for lawyers and judges was set in stone. Now, not only would Judge Adelstein pay a big ‘fine’ to Angeline but I was going to get mine back in a big way.

As may be imagined when Lessing, Ragnar and I emerged from the kitchen area into the living room Adelstein was non-plussed. Looking first at Lessing, who he knew very well, then at Ragnar, then at me he exclaimed: ‘You’re the fellow I challenged outside the door a week or so ago. What’s going on here Lessing? What do you have to with him? Who is he?’

Lessing: He’s an acquaintance Merivale. As you know recent political developments have been quite startling. There are racial disturbances all across the country while here in the city racial territories have formed with our Whites staking our claim for mid-island. So far the authorities haven’t understood. They are disputing our claims while Negro and Moslem claims have been accepted.

Our people are being arrested while theirs haven’t. We’re asking you to balance equity. We want our boys released and to remain unmolested. As a believer in fairness and justice may we count on you to act in our interests?

Adelstein: Why those people to whom you refer are White Supremacists. There will never be peace until Whiteness is removed from the face of the earth. Why those White Supremacists are even expelling Jews from mid-city.

Ragnar: They aren’t being expelled; they’re leaving on their own. We don’t have anything to do with it.

Adelstein: Nonsense, there will never be peace until Whiteness is removed from the earth.

 

Here Ange, Ragnar, Lessing and myself made scoffing noises.

 

Lessing: I was hoping you wouldn’t force our hand Merivale.

Adelstein: I will absolutely not release any White Supremacists. What do you mean by force my hand?

Seeing the futility of arguing with Adelstein at that point I gave my ear a tug.

It is difficult for me to describe this but Ange caught my signal only from the corner of her eye as she was staring fixedly at Adelstein. It seemed like the air exploded with the fury of her response. I don’t know if I actually was but I felt like I was knocked back on my heels.

Adelstein had no time to anticipate Ange’s assault. She leaped like a tigress with a piercing shriek on him simultaneously raking both sides of his face with her nails from temple to chin while knocking him to the floor. She leaped on his chest in the most undignified manner on her knees pummeling with triple strength at his face. I’m sure his nose went at the first blow.

Hitting and scratching the white carpet began turning red beneath his head as the blood flowed copiously. Damn, I thought, we probably will never get the rug clean, have to buy a new carpet.

Just then Adelstein shrieked: My eye, my eye. Ange had only caught him by the corner so no real damage but as his nose was wobbling right left and back again I thought it best to call Ange off before she killed the bastard. Not that I objected but dead he would be no use to us while a murder trial might make us look bad.

‘Enough’ Ange’ I cried hoping she would remember to respond to my voice command while I was trying to maneuver to where she could see me tugging at my left ear. Fortunately she responded to voice command backing away spitting and snarling, shouting epithets at the bastard. She was terrific; how I loved her.

Having been abused by Adelstein and his band since she was twenty-five you may be sure she had pent up resentments probably conscious in both identities. How I admired her but how ashamed I was that I had to make her appear so unladylike. Still for her mental comfort she needed that revenge.

Merivale was rolling around on the floor screaming ‘My eye, my eye’ when there was really nothing very much wrong with it, just a small tear at the corner of the lid. He should have been shouting my nose, my nose; he was going to have a hell of a time explaining those shiners.

I asked Ragnar to set him on his feet so we could get on with it. Ragnar grabbed him at the shirt front and like a feather pulled him up and stood him on his brogans. Boy, I hated those shoes. What evil memories of guys walking around in those shoes I had from my young manhood. I’d always been the loafer type.

Me: Calm down, calm down Adelstein, it’s not that bad and we have business to discuss

Adelstein: (ignoring or not hearing me) What the fuck’s the matter with you bitch?

Me: Now, now Adelstein I can’t tolerate being called a bitch.

Adelstein: Not you ass, her.

In her own persona, the violence of her acts must have melded both personas. Ange actually spit in his face calling him a eunuch and bastard. Eunuch? Hmm, well maybe that was the ultimate insult in Ange’s situation. I hate spitting and I really hate to see women spit especially Ange as she was such an integral part of me. It was as though I spit.

Between the two then the air resonated lightning with seeming thunder rolls for several minutes. I became aware of myself breathing hard when Lessing made a pass with his hand in the air between Ange and Merivale that seemed to calm the storm. Until as coming from afar could be heard his voice soothing: ‘Calm down, Merivale, calm down. We have to explain our terms to you. Listen, listen.’

I had to laugh to myself when he told Adelstein to calm down while Ange was still fuming at him, making threatening moves at him even in her own persona. I moved over, put my arms around her and tried to comfort her. A little petting and she sank into my arms against me suddenly exhausted, relieved, but exhausted.

I suppose Adelstein must have been almost in shock as he was bleeding from deep scratches all over his face. Ragnar grabbed a roll of toilet paper and threw it to him. The paper brought him around some as he dabbed his face wincing as he brushed his nose. I don’t know how much pleasure Ange got from his agony oh, but it did my heart good as I silently laughed deep within my breast.

Agonized needless to say Adelstein dabbed until recovering his wits sufficiently he turned his face toward Lessing and asked: ‘What the fuck arrangements are you talking about Farquhar?’ This was my cue.

Me: We want your cooperation and assistance Judge in the freeing of any of our men arrested at the first hearing and your cooperation in preventing charges from being brought.

Adelstein: Never. Those men you refer to are White Supremacists and deserve the worst they can get. White Supremacism has to be wiped out.

Lessing: Take a moment Merivale. Take a moment and think. The list of charges that can be brought against your firm, your colleagues and yourself will likely fill pages. These women have been treated criminally; they were essentially slaves without a will of their own. They couldn’t say no. As you know Merivale the prejudice of the Court is always in the woman’s favor; you don’t have a chance.

From the moment of filing charges, that I have already written up, the reputation of you and your firm will be destroyed. You personally will be thrown out of your clubs. Restaurants will refuse to serve you. You’ll never eat lunch in this town again. The charges are heavy charges in multiple counts. White slavery charges alone could get net you two or three life sentences. I could list more but do you really want to risk the penalties by refusing our very reasonable requests.

 

Adelstein was still dabbing at his bloody face while in real agony over his nose and eye. Now Lessing threw real fear into him; we had irrefutable evidence, damning evidence. We waited patiently as Adelstein dabbed.

Adelstein: Alright. I’ll apply whatever influence I can.

Me: Not good enough we don’t want you to apply pressure, we want results now.

Adelstein: I’m only a judge, Federal not State or City. I have jurisdictional limits.

Lessing: Stop it, Merivale. You know your influence is distributed throughout the system. Your word alone can advance or stop any career. Perry is right. Either you do it or we file. I already have the papers drawn up. We have pages and pages of offenses; don’t be a fool Merivale. You’ve a wife and kids.

Adelstein: I never thought you…oh, alright I’ll issue instructions not to book your people too.

Me: Today. We want our men out.

Adelstein: My G-d man, can’t you see I’m in agony. For G-d’s sake get me to a hospital.

Ange: Your god doesn’t exist. No, you bastard. You get your own self to the hospital. Suffer, suffer, suffer. I hate you, you bastard. I hate every time you touched me. I hat the very sight of you. Get out of my condo! Now!

 

Adelstein was suffering but I couldn’t feel sorry for him. I was almost sorry I called Angeline off but I couldn’t let her kill him. He staggered out the door.

 

Ragnar: Nice work, Miss Gower. Do you think he will get our boys out Mr. Farquhar?

Lessing: Yes I do. He’ll have to have his injuries doctored today but I’ll call him in the morning to prompt him. You can tell your men they’re safe from the Courts; I won’t call it the law. We’re into this new phase of warfare where words are being redefined.

Me: I have an appointment at James Carter in a couple days so I should have an account from Goldbladder.

There should be a renewed attempt to penetrate our ranks Ragnar. Keep a sharp lookout. Adelstein may have to comply but he won’t take this lying down. They’re wily fellows; remember the Amalekites.

All three: Remember the Amalekites? What’s that supposed to mean?

Me: Oh, when the Hebrews were on their way to the Promised Land from Egypt they asked the Amalekites for permission to cross their territory rather than take the long way around. The Amalekites refused. The Hebrews took the refusal as an injury and didn’t forget so decades later after they had consolidated their power they returned to exterminate the Amalekites root and branch as the Bible tells it.

Today was a declaration of war between the Jews and us. They will come at us any way they can, they won’t let up, they won’t forget. It will be and already is a war of extermination; I don’t know how long things will take to develop but don’t forget the Amalekites.

Ange: You know this and you’re still going to James Carter?

Me: They won’t do anything direct at this time Ange. They’ll want to shift the guilt to us. Meanwhile hopefully we’ll get more info from them than they get from me. Abe and I are almost buddies anyway.

Ragnar: I don’t think so.

Me: That was joke, Ragnar, that was a joke. Don’t be so literal.

 

Ange and I were talking over soup and a glass of white wine, a Riesling.

Me: Well, Ange, you have had your revenge, how was it?

Ange: Good but not as good as I expected but now I’m having hallucinations.

Me: Yes. What kind.

Ange: It’s like I can see over a wall or maybe through those glass blocks. Terrifying visions. I’m afraid.

Me: Don’t be afraid; you can’t be hurt. I’ve been trying to break down the division between your two identities and unify them into one so that you have your whole life and no dark spaces. Maybe your encounter with Adelstein opened the way a little. Don’t fight it but let the barriers fall. The first rush may overwhelm your senses but just remember they are only memories.

Ange: Oh, but, Partly, what must you think of me? I’m afraid you won’t love me anymore.

Me: Of course I’ll always love you Ange, you are half of me. Hera will welcome you as redeemed; you are her cherished daughter. As her priest I rejoice in your recovery.

You must understand Ange that you are innocent of any guilt and as such you need have no shame although possibly regrets. And I am here to truly love you.

I am familiar with your situation myself. It has taken me decades Ange to realize I was under a post hypnotic suggestion, a hypnotic spell from the second grade to perhaps seventy years of age although to a weakening degree. The reasons for my behavior have only been known to me for a few years. It was only when I came to understand hypnosis and hypnotic suggestion that I understood.

In kindergarten, 1943, some Negro kids were let in school to the great resentment of parents and hence their kids. On the first day, at recess, they were told to sit on the sandbox and not move. I was already an outcast because of things that happened in my neighborhood so I objected to their treatment and offered to help them fight for their rights. They refused and that left me hanging out. It was late in the year so I was told that they would get me next year.

They had to wait for the second grade as I was transferred to a different school in the first grade. At recess they were waiting for me. About twelve boys and girls of the elite formed a semi-circle around me and glared hatred at me while Morford berated me on my sin. Then I was told to stand on one foot for the duration of recess which I did. Then I was told to put my foot down and that I was their nigger now.

In a state of terror with all defenses down I was actually hypnotized although they may or may not have been aware of it, their parents that is, and the post-hypnotic suggestion that I was their nigger mirroring the Negro kids sitting on the sand box, was implanted so that in similar situations I had no resistance and did what nearly anyone told me to do mirroring standing on one foot.

This went on all my life even after integrating my personality at forty-two until I could recognize and reject my post-hypnotic suggestion in my early seventies. So, Honey, I understand completely. My Anima was destroyed at that time also but now that I have found you, I’m complete. You are me; I am you. I rejoice that you’re recovering.

But now you must be especially wary. When Adelstein recovers he will come to avenge your assault. His kind never acknowledge their crimes but only resent the revenges. So tomorrow night I have to attend the New Serapions and under no circumstances are you to answer the door. If the fire alarm goes off ignore it there will be no fire. I will call a couple times to reassure you and will call from the lobby on the way up. Is that clear?

Ange: Yes, darling Partly. I won’t open the door no matter what. I will call you if anything happens.

Me: Exactly, Ange, my darling girl.

And so, here I am sitting in Lessing’s living room.

 

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