Chapter 53: Helter Skelter - The Manson Family’s Reign of Terror
Since meeting Charlie Manson in the whirlwind that was the Summer of Love two years before, Mary Brunner’s life had changed dramatically. Once a bookish, shy, midwestern girl, practically indistinguishable from her peers; she was utterly transformed. Her hair was long, tangled, and full of flowers and when she (rarely) wore shoes, they were almost always sandals. Beads dangled from her denim vest and the stale stench of Marijuana clung to her faded, ripped jeans. The girl who had once been the apple of her parents’ eye was now “Mother Mary” to an entire “family” of young people, like herself, who were caught in the intoxicating spell that was Charles Willis Manson. Not to mention of course, the illegitimate child she had had with Manson shortly after they first met, a healthy if neglected boy she named Valentine. As she awoke on the morning of July 25th, 1969, she rolled over on her dingy mattress to find the space next to her, as usual, empty. She sighed. There was some part of her, some small, hopeless part she incessantly tried to make shut up, that never stopped hoping that she would wake up and find Charlie,
her Charlie there next to her, with Valentine in his arms and a smile on his face, just like a real daddy.
Stupid Mary. She chided herself as she rose and stretched in the early morning sun.
That’s not Charlie’s way.
The truth was that Manson hadn’t visited Mary’s bed in months. Shortly after Mary quit her job at the University library back in ‘67 and took Manson up on his offer to travel up and down the Golden State in search of a never ending party, their relationship suddenly and rather rudely was expanded into a threesome. As Mary felt the first kicks of what would grow to be Valentine (nicknamed “Pooh Bear”) growing inside of her, she and Manson became acquainted with 18 year old Lynette Fromme in Venice, California. Recently homeless and desperate for answers and warmth in what seemed to her a confusing and cold world, Fromme hoped to find both in the embrace of Manson, whose charm played her like a fiddle. Against Mary’s weak protests, Manson brought Fromme, his next sexual plaything, home with him and the three began to live together. They were soon joined by Susan Atkins, Patricia Krenwinkel, and over a dozen other young women, all drawn to Manson’s overpowering presence and charisma. After traveling up and down the west coast dozens of times in a dilapidated Volkswagen touring bus, the ever growing number of young women, and a handful of men, established a central base of operations at Spahn’s Movie Ranch in August 1968, after a run in with Dennis Wilson’s manager got the family violently kicked out of the Beach Boy’s luxurious estate.
The ranch, owned by a near blind man of almost 80 named George Spahn, was once a regularly rented television and movie set, primarily used for Western productions. By the late 60’s, however, the buildings had deteriorated significantly and the ranch’s primary source of income came from selling horseback rides to tourists and children. In exchange for agreeing to fix up the place and maintain whatever buildings remained, Spahn allowed the Manson Family to take up residence there. When it became clear that money would be an issue for such a large group’s boarding, Manson worked up an alternative means of payment. The man who was rapidly becoming a dictatorial cult leader ordered the female members of the group to occasionally have sex with Spahn and act as seeing eye guides for him, doting on him with affection and pleasure. Spahn eagerly accepted the deal, and did not charge the family a dime for the whole time they lived on his land. The old lecher enjoyed Fromme’s company especially, nicknaming her “Squeaky” from the sound she would make when he pinched her thigh. Mary was disturbed somewhat by these activities, but was relieved when Charlie did not make her participate in them. He ruled it out during their first week or so there. “No, no, no Marioche,” he said, wagging his finger in a tease. “You’re better suited for the more important work.” By this of course, Manson meant procuring the funds that would keep the group supplied with food, clothes, and most importantly to Manson’s control, psychedelic drugs. To this end, Mary and her cohorts stole credit cards, vehicles, and myriad other odds and ends from the surrounding Los Angeles area, resulting in several short lived jail stints and Mary nearly losing her baby to child protective services.
Unbeknownst to Mary, the period in between her release from jail in October of 1968 and the next year’s summer would prove pivotal to the future of the Family. Across the Pond, in England, the Beatles released
The White Album, a double LP of jumbled, often mysterious sounding mixes of Dad Rock and psychedelia, which would be, for Manson, “a moment of Great Awakening”. In the lyrics of the Fab Four’s songs, Manson, along with his newfound accomplice “Tex” Watson, found a roadmap that seemed to unravel the twisted prophecies contained in Manson’s mind. One song in particular, “Helter Skelter”, spoke to Manson, who after first listening to the track while dropping acid, believed it perfectly described the coming revelation set to befall the world:
When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide
Where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride
Till I get to the bottom and I see you again
Do, don't you want me to love you
I'm coming down fast but I'm miles above you
Tell me, tell me, tell me, come on tell me the answer
Well, you may be a lover but you ain't no dancer
Helter skelter, helter skelter
Helter skelter
The album, and the apocalyptic visions he was sure it contained, led Manson to order the attempt on Governor Ronald Reagan’s life the year before, but after it had failed, he decided that his identification of “the Blue Meanie”, the anti-Christ sent to prevent him from leading his chosen people to their promised land, must have been incorrect. He told his followers that they could hardly blame him for the mistake. He may be God incarnate, but he was still just a man, in half his nature at least. Thus, it seemed only natural to Mary and the rest of the family when Charlie announced that they were to head out into Death Valley for two weeks’ meditation and retreat, away from the Ranch and the… duties living there entailed. Manson wanted time to listen to the album, his Gospel, over and over, in peace, undisturbed, so that his next interpretation would not be incorrect once again. Though most in the family didn’t bat an eye at the excursion into the desert, Mary was worried about Valentine’s health, and Charlie’s increasing hostility toward him. One night, while Charlie was listening to “Helter Skelter” for the fourth time in a row, trying to derive its meaning, Valentine had soiled himself and begun to cry. Mary tried her best to shush him, but to no avail. Charlie promptly stormed out of his private quarters, scanned the room for the source of the noise and his cold, careless eyes settled on Mary. “Make that brat shut it, Marioche. I’m doing the Lord’s work in here.”
Unsettled, Mary apologized and replied, barely a whisper; “Charlie, he’s your son. Babies cry, it’s all perfectly norm-” her voice was cut off by the crack of Manson’s hand across her face. Blood trickled from her ear down his knuckles and she began to cry. Manson immediately shook his head and pulled her close to his chest, cooing and smiling and laughing to himself.
“Mother Mary,” he said, his voice simultaneously sweet as honey and hard as iron. “I don’t like to hit you, but I can’t think when Pooh Bear gets real loud. Now can you please take him somewhere and help him see the light?” Both terrified and never more in love in all her days, Mary did exactly as she was bid. Charlie flashed his sadistic smile and kissed her hand before she left. “Thank you, darlin’. Now was that so hard?” Watching her leave, Manson took a newspaper from Tex Watson and returned to the task at hand; deciding how to bring “Helter Skelter” about upon the world.
…
The answer to Manson’s question became obvious the moment he had peace and quiet to think. Though the music industry had spurned him in his numerous attempts to become a recording artist like the Beatles, whom he somehow both loved and loathed; he and his Family could create a kind of “album” all their own. Namely, they could paint a picture in blood and terror that the world would never forget, and if done right, would trigger the race war necessary to bring about Helter Skelter and bring Manson, Christ himself, to his true Second Coming. In his demented imagination, Manson could see it all: headlines, evening news reports; a nation terrified; a world trembling, desperate for its savior. For years now he had built his following, brick by brick, malleable mind by malleable mind. Some had fallen under his spell easier than others. The drugs helped. So did the sex. Many of the girls came from repressed households, the kinds of places where Mommy and Daddy never fucked, much less talked about it, and their children would be expected to keep themselves “pure” until marriage, an arcane an institution as any, in Manson’s mind. What good was saving yourself for the sake of your kids? His parents had never spared such concern over him. And the men, like Tex? Even easier. The moment a lonely young man sees a small army of ready, willing, and able young women, several beautiful, the rest satisfactory, fawning like does in heat over him… he’s putty in your hands. The dopes, they probably thought that this was the end he sought. The “eternal party” he promised was but a means to an end, and none of them were wise enough to see it. It almost made him laugh. But then again, he couldn’t spare time for amusement. All of his mind was fixed on one task: destruction.
The “Manson Family Murders” as they would come to be known, began on July 1st, 1969, when Manson confronted, defrauded, then murdered an African American drug dealer named Bernard Crowe in his Hollywood apartment. Erroneously believing that Crowe was a Black Panther, Manson and two of his girls killed Crowe with the intention of attracting a retaliation from the Panthers, which failed to ever materialize. Despite the lack of danger of counter attack from the Black Power group, Manson whipped his followers into a frenzy, telling them that the “time of tribulations” was nigh, and ordering Tex and the other men to patrol the Ranch at night with guns and keep watch. Tex wrote in his diary, “What more proof do we need that Helter Skelter is here? Blackie is coming for the Chosen Ones!” The conviction with which Watson and the other followers believed Manson is at once sickening and tragic, though it is difficult to feel sympathy for them when one considers the bloodbath that was only just beginning that night.
The next victim in the killing spree, Gary Allen Hinman, was a music teacher and PhD student at UCLA. He had been described as a "kind, gentle soul" who would often open his house up to those needing a place to stay. At some point in the late 1960s, he befriended members of the Manson Family, with some staying at his home on occasion. Manson was under the impression that Hinman had considerable stocks and bonds and owned his property. Believing that he was wealthy, Manson sent Family member Bobby Beausoleil along with “Mother Mary” Brunner and Susan Atkins to Hinman's home on July 25, 1969, to convince Gary to join the Family, which included turning over the assets Manson thought Hinman had inherited. The three held the uncooperative Hinman hostage for two days, during which Manson showed up with a sword to slash his ear. After that, Beausoleil stabbed Hinman to death, ostensibly on Manson's instruction. Before leaving the Topanga Canyon residence, Beausoleil, or one of the women, used Hinman's blood to write "Political piggy" on the wall and to draw a panther paw, a Black Panther symbol.
In later magazine interviews, Beausoleil would say he went to Hinman's to recover money paid to Hinman for drugs that had supposedly been bad; he added that Brunner and Atkins, unaware of his intent, went along idly, merely to visit Hinman. On the other hand, Atkins, in her autobiography, wrote that Manson directly told Beausoleil, Brunner, and her to go to Hinman's and get the supposed inheritance of $21,000. She said Manson had told her privately, two days earlier, that, if she wanted to "do something important", she could kill Hinman and get his money. Beausoleil was arrested on August 6, 1969, after he had been caught driving Hinman's car. Police found the murder weapon in the tire well. Two days later, Manson told Family members at Spahn Ranch, "Now is the time for Helter Skelter to truly begin."
Unfortunately for Manson and his apocalyptic vision for the future, the murders of Hinman and Crowe, while grisly, were not seen as out of the ordinary to the people of Los Angeles. Two young, single men living on their own murdered? What a terrible world, but what was to be done of it? It seemed that if Manson and his followers were really going to raise public outcry and awareness about the coming cataclysm, then he needed to up the ante and make their next target a little more high profile. Luckily for the cult, Los Angeles with its massive movie studios and music industry contacts was the hub for entertainment and celebrity in the United States and perhaps the world. Famous people trampled down Sunset Boulevard every day and went home at night to fabulous mansions in Beverly Hills or quiet, secluded bungalows in Malibu. To Manson, this latter sort of dwelling made for an ideal target: isolated, far from the bustle of the city, and often with little to no major security features to speak of. These thoughts, combined with an endless desire within himself to up the ante and bring about the reckoning he so craved, drove Manson to the conclusion that his Family’s next victim simply had to be a celebrity. The only question that remained was who exactly should they target?
The madman had not lost too much of his sanity to forget his own twisted mechanisms of logic. He understood that some targets had merit where others did not. Some would attract more attention, some less, and some would be sure to capture front page news and shock the world to its core. For a few days, Manson settled his mad gaze on Hollywood rising star and international sex symbol Sharon Tate and her husband, director Roman Polanski. Blonde, beautiful, and pregnant with the couple’s first child, Tate was the archetypal “girl next door”, the very image of the blissful ignorance of American girlhood. She checked all of the cult’s boxes and would have likely been the target, had Tex Watson not made good on his promise to bring Manson a newspaper from the city everyday when he returned from work. The cult leader liked to keep an eye on the goings on of the world, monitoring events for the outsiders’ reactions to his handiwork. Instead of a front page report on the killings however, he saw another story entirely.
In large, bold print across the headline, Manson read:
Canadian PM Trudeau to Visit L.A. with Girlfriend Streisand
The ex-convict set down the paper, the seed of an idea taking root in his thoughts. He called Tex back into his room, barked at him to sit down for a second. “Listen here child,” he told Watson, his voice nearly breaking with anticipation. “We need to get to work.”
…
The night of August 8th, 1969 was a refreshingly cool, placid one on Malibu Beach for Barbra Streisand and her handsome beau, Trudeau. A gentle breeze from the ocean blew salt and spray onto the edge of Streisand’s dock, close enough to be harmonious, but not so near as to sully their feet, which lay exposed and tangled as they made love against the sunset. Upon attaining their pleasure, and realizing that guests were due over to join them at 11 o’clock, the couple rose from their passionate embrace, reluctantly dressed, and began to slowly walk back to the house proper. Words and laughter passed easily between them, like champagne flowing into a favorite glass. They made each other beam and Streisand told herself that if he asked the question then there was no way that she could say no. She was still married to Elliot Gould, but their divorce papers would take care of that little hiccup in no time. There was no way she would choose her contentious marriage over her newfound bliss with Pierre. Besides, didn’t they say that love was better the second time around? She pulled Trudeau’s hand to her chest and squeezed. He smiled easily at her and kissed it.
For Trudeau’s part, the relationship was just as warm. He received no end of questions from the press and within his own party about his dating an already married woman. Several of his cabinet members had asked him to break things off, but he doubted their intentions’ purity. These men had only recently been competing with Trudeau for the Premiership. Could they secretly be jealous of him, leading the nation by day and sleeping with a Hollywood star by night? In Trudeau’s heart of hearts, he believed this to be the case. He would have to wait until the divorce went through before could ask, that much was obvious. Even a “swinging sixties” guy like himself could not get around the legal system, or the massive backlash he would receive in the press for even considering it. But as soon as Gould got his money and left Barbra alone, Trudeau had made up his mind: he was going to ask to be her husband. That particular evening was to be one of their last together before Trudeau packed his bags and made the long flight back to Ottawa. There were debates being held in Parliament about how much Canada should support Harold Wilson’s “peacekeeping” mission in Rhodesia, or America’s new foray into Cambodia, both of which Trudeau opposed for his own reasons. Not wanting to spend his last hours with Barbra stressing about political matters at home, she and Trudeau decided to throw a small house party that evening, inviting Jay Sebring, a hair stylist; acclaimed Egyptian Actor Omar Sharif, who had been Streisand’s co-star in the hit film
Funny Girl, and up and coming record producer Richard Perry, with whom she hoped to record an independent album for the pop market.
Known, as ever, for his laid back attitude, Trudeau had declined to take any form of security detail with him to Los Angeles, believing that he should never “lead his life in fear”, as a result, when Tex Watson, Susan Atkins, Sandra Good, and Patricia Krenwinkel arrived outside of Streisand’s Malibu home in Watson’s pickup truck, they did not encounter any resistance to what they had come to do. The Manson Family arrived at the beach house around midnight going into August 9th. Watson climbed a nearby telephone pole and cut the phone line, preventing telephone access in or out of the home. He then ordered his female accomplices to find an open window into the home, and cut the screen, which they promptly did. Watson lead his three co-conspirators into the beach house’s drawing room and first found Richard Perry, who had passed out after some drinking on a sofa. Perry was shocked awake when Watson laughed and kicked him in the forehead. Upon asking Watson who he was and what he was doing in the house, Watson smiled and said “I’m the Devil and I’ve come to do the Devil’s work.” Before Perry could scream, the women pounced on him, covering his mouth and stabbing him to death. Perry would be only the first of many tragic casualties that night.
Watson and the women quickly set about their terrible work, rounding up the other occupants and putting them together in the house’s living room. Sebring and Sharif, furious when they saw Perry’s body, attempted to overpower Watson, but were each in turn cut down by attacks from Atkins, Good, and Krenwinkel, enduring dozens of painful knife thrusts before finally succumbing to their wounds. Trudeau attempted to negotiate with Watson, asking that Barbra be allowed to leave and that he be taken hostage so that the attackers could get whatever they wanted. “I am the Prime Minister of this nation’s closest ally. What you are engaged in easily qualifies as political terrorism, do you understand that? When word gets out of what you have done here, you will have countless people lining up to lock you away for life. If I’m alive, I can help you. I’m no good to you dead.” Watson did not seem interested however, in any bargain. After forcing Trudeau and Streisand to strip naked and be tied together, he gave a nod and the three women stabbed their two final victims to death as their screams poured out around them. The cult finished their awful deed and left the building, smearing the words “Prime Minister Piggy” in Streisand’s blood on the wall of the living room.
The next day, the police were called by a concerned neighbor and the world was shocked, horrified, and repulsed by what was found at the scene. Manson and his Family, as they intended, struck the nation and now, the world, to their very core. The United States lamented the loss of Streisand and Sharif, two of Hollywood’s most talented and inspiring stars, and back across the continent in Ottawa, an entire nation mourned the loss of Pierre Trudeau, the first Canadian Prime Minister in history to be assassinated. Trudeau’s mangled body was cleaned and then returned to the capital via the Royal Canadian Air Force and given a state funeral shortly thereafter as his caught-off-guard and somewhat unprepared successor, the 39 year old “Golden Boy” John Turner became the 16th and youngest Prime Minister in Canada’s history. Turner called on his nation to “nurse its tremendous, gaping wound” and unite in memory of their popular fallen leader. Only time would tell if Turner had what it took to lead the Great White North through this trying time.
Though Manson and his followers would ultimately pay for what they did, their senseless deeds, combined with the rising uncertainty in the international zeitgeist, seemed to be the unspeakable funeral toll of a happier time. The 1960’s in all their optimism and ideals for a better future, represented by Kennedy, Khrushchev, the Moon Landing, and Trudeaumania were rapidly fading away, being replaced by the dark realities of a world threatened by instability, famine, violence, and war. Social historians often point to the Manson Murders not just as an awful example of cult mentality brought to its logical conclusion, but as the bookend at the beginning of the 1970’s.
Next Time on Blue Skies in Camelot: Three Days of Peace, Love, and Music
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