Charles Manson Behind Bars (17 page)

Only a few pieces of his personal mail ever received a reply from Charlie. The letters to which he responded usually came from those who appeared to be part of his inner circle. Whether this was due to the writer’s malleability of mind and openness to his ideas, I can only speculate. I knew of no one who engaged in a give and take intellectual discussion with Charlie. Always, it was Charlie’s way or the highway. Always.

Charlie passed many of his letters over to my cell. They were good for a chuckle. Not only did people want to sell him things, there were requests for a wide range of items: samples of his pubic hair, pieces of his art, his ideas or opinion some topic or another, his blessing, his advice, or his agreement to live with the sender upon his unlikely parole. Reading his mail was unbelievably entertaining for me. It was clear that Charlie was a celebrity by the amount and type of mail he received. I was honored to be given the opportunity to view hundreds and hundreds of letters and other pieces of mail that Charlie had received.

Reading through the voluminous mail that he shared with me, I was reminded of his words to me. Charlie would often say, “You’re going to be famous now!” Being housed beside the old man, I could enjoy what these many people only desired: some attention from Charles Manson. My association with Charlie gave me an insight into the many people who wanted to be close to him.

The letters Charlie disliked the most arrived from Christians. It never made sense to him why sincere people would write him to castigate him for all the bad things he supposedly did, how horrible a person he was, and how he was on his way to hell, only to invite him to join their church. Many, many letters arrived imploring Charlie to repent. Charlie admitted to me that he never felt he had anything of which to repent. He had paid any debt he may have owed to society a long, long time ago by spending so much time in prison. In his opinion, it would be justice for him to be released--the prison system and society owed him an apology. “What about the apology society owes me?” he often lamented.

Charlie also disliked the letters that just told him off. He received his share of this kind of hate mail. On the anniversaries of the Tate and La Bianca murders, in early August, probably spurred by news reports or documentaries, an increased volume of mail arrived from people accusing Charlie of being a serial killer, a baby killer (Sharon Tate was 8 months pregnant), the man responsible for the end of the free and loving 1960s, the one responsible for the killer who terrorized the San Francisco Bay area under the name of “the Zodiac,” and any number of other crimes or ills of our society. Charlie got a letter from a man who had spent time in a psychiatric ward. The man wrote to blame Charlie for the mental illness and the institutionalization that the man had received. Though he never met Charlie, apparently he had been attracted to Charlie’s image and reputation, and began to model his life after the icon. The letter was sent to criticize and point blame at the man he once venerated and continued to emulate.

Charlie sometimes responded to those who requested his help or offered him something without any strings attached. One writer coveted Charlie’s ideas on the topic of change; another sent him some food items without even identifying the sender’s last name. Each of these was rewarded with a reply. He was most open to those who sounded sincere, were respectful of him, and were believed to be interesting contacts. Occasionally, Charlie would respond to the kindness of a writer only to find that the gift he had received was sent with some momentous expectations.

Many of the requests he received were blatant grabs for fame and money. One day, he received a check made payable to him in the amount of one dollar. The sender, a man from Texas, invited Manson to, “Use this to get whatever you need.” Charlie laughed when he shared this letter with me. It was no secret that the sender hoped to receive Charlie’s signature on the cancelled check. “For the price of a dollar plus postage? No way,” was Manson’s statement to me. I deposited the request in my trash (and not in a bank account) once we were through laughing at it.

Some of the mail was very peculiar. One letter I saw was a request for a donation to a religious organization, a church that worships cows. The letter included a pamphlet detailing how the group was devoted to cows and their protection. It requested donations of $100, $500, or $1000 to preserve the purity of cows. An MIT professor wrote to Charlie, asking him to make a simple line drawing for him. Apparently, the professor was teaching a class on the human mind and wanted to demonstrate the difference between a normal brain with its thought processes, and Charlie’s brain. I heard that there is a course being taught at some university on the rap star, Tupac Shakur. Perhaps someone should teach a course on Charles Manson.

Some letters contained offers of assistance. The writers of these letters told Charlie to let them know if he had a need and offered to send money. Charlie would let these individuals know the procedure for mailing items to the prison—along with the rules and regulations that might prevent him from receiving something. Quite frequently, a few weeks later, he would receive food items (purchased through a prison-related company), clothing, tobacco, or even money. Most of these items found there way to other inmates who had need of them.

Many of the offers later turned out to be less than sincere, however. One woman wrote him offering to send him money. Suspicious, Charlie requested that she send $5000. She balked, explaining that she had to take care of her own family before she could help him or anyone else. It was apparent that she never intended to send anything in the first place.

Charlie received plenty of mail from women, some of whom were very willing to help him in any way they could. I do mean, “In any way.” I became the recipient of many of these offers when they were passed on to me. One woman from the Ukraine wrote Charlie telling him that she would do anything, absolutely ANYTHING, for him.

“Boxcar, do you want to write a chick from the Ukraine?” Charlie asked me.

“No.” I responded. “That’s too far away. Shoot me some chicks from the United States, preferably from California or the surrounding states so I can receive visits from them.” His piles of mail made my targeted request not as demanding as it might sound. Soon after I said this to Charlie, I was corresponding with dozens of women, all who had first reached out to him. Some were kind and interesting; others were dull or not very friendly. A few of these contacts seemed to be using me, attempting to further a relationship only to get to Charlie. These contacts peppered me with questions about Charlie, what he was doing, what he thought, and how he was coping with life.

More than a few of the letters sent to Charlie were requests for a song or some lyrics. Numerous bands from all over the globe wanted to receive some fresh material from the icon. Some had incorporated Charlie’s name, or the name of one of his family members or one of his victims, in the title of their band. Apparently hoping for some legitimacy, they requested endorsements of him.

A few of the letters I read were from individuals claiming to be illegitimate children of Manson’s. We both laughed at those. Charlie has been incarcerated in maximum security since 1971, soon after the Tate and LaBianca murders, and these letters came from individuals born in the 1980s and 1990s. We could only wonder what these people were thinking. The sex that Charlie engaged in over that the last forty years wasn’t with fertile women! “Dumb asses,” Charlie would call them.

Charlie received numerous letters from students. They would send questions for him to aid them in their next term paper or report. He didn’t know why he received so many of these: perhaps teachers were suggesting his name, he thought, or the students themselves had a profound interest. Some of the questions from the students that I read included the following: “Why did you do the murders?” “How do you feel being stuck in jail?” “What do you do with your time in prison?” and, “Is it true what is written about you?”

Not infrequently, Charlie received contraband in the mail. Someone would send him a pair of panties, a condom, or a publication that he was not allowed to receive. He would be notified by the prison that the forbidden item had been sent, that it was a violation of law for the prison to forward it on to him, and that, if he chose to, he would have to arrange to have it sent back to the sender. Since it cost him money from his account to have something returned, he usually just ignored the memos.

What Charlie was not able receive in prison included panties, rubbers, bras, cash, food not sent through an approved company, offensive material, drugs (legal or illegal), alcohol, repair tools, heavy equipment, large musical instruments, and books not sent directly from the publisher. All these items would be relegated to a storage room, stacked along side his blue suede shoes, obscene pictures, and paintings deemed to be of a deranged nature. Someday, I expect these items to be made public for all to see and understand a little bit more of the mind of Charles Manson.

Charlie once asked me to respond to a couple of letters for him. I suspect that the pile of letters he wanted to answer had grown so high that he needed the help. He shot me over three letters with his fish line. As I read them, I found that all three were from journalists. One was a request for an interview. Charlie suggested that this woman might be able to supply me with a television and some money for my prison canteen account if I played my cards right. I was honored that he would trust me to speak to the press, given all the stories I had heard from him and all the experiences we had shared by that time. It showed me that even though we bumped heads from time to time, and could get downright nasty with each other, he still saw me as a close associate and trusted confidant.

The second letter was from a producer wanting to create a documentary about Satanism and Satan worship. The letter writer had experienced an exorcism and wanted to tell the world about the reality of demon-possession. The third letter was a request for a television appearance. The producer of a television show hoped to bring cameras into the prison for a one-on-one, sit-down interview with the icon. I responded to all three letters, but not much came of my efforts. Apparently, they all wanted to interact directly with Charlie and couldn’t be bothered with me. I never got any money or a television set out of the deal, but I couldn’t fault Charlie for trying to help me. He was at least attempting to give me something.

This showed me a side of Charles Manson that few people see, and even fewer understand. If someone wants to sensationalize his life and actions for a television show or a movie of the week, it’s not hard to do. It titillates the audience. The truth, however, is much more complex. Charlie, despite whatever crimes he has committed, had a big heart.

Because I generally mistrust others, I was cautious around him at first. I expected and demanded something from him when he requested something of me. In those days, it was quid pro quo in my world. I didn’t give anything unless I got something in return. I would ask for cigarettes, money or food items whenever I gave him food items or information about other inmates. Thankfully, he never held it against me. He never demanded anything from me, but continued to give generously. As I got to know him, and felt comfortable in our economic dealings, I began to realize that he didn’t grasp his possessions as most people do. If someone needed something of his, he was quick to provide. By copying his example, I learned to share as generously (well, nearly as generously) as he did.

When I first started to show him my artwork, he was overjoyed. Like a kid with a new toy, he would really light up to my drawings of animal life. Charlie’s heart would melt like butter in an oven if I showed him a scorpion that I had drawn, or if I shared with him a picture of a dolphin or butterfly. He liked my pictures of spiders the most.

At first, he offered to buy some of my artwork with cigarettes or food items. After a few exchanges, where I suspect I got the better of the deal, I began to just give things to him without any expectation of repayment. He even tried to give me things in exchange, but I refused. Soon, we were both giving, heartily and joyfully, and not keeping track of who received what and when.

In addition to the great volume of mail that he received, Charlie had many visitors, more than any other prisoner. A fortunate inmate will get a visit a week from a spouse or close family member. Many get few or none. Charlie’s fans nearly beat the doors down to get close to him. Few people were actually granted personal visits, but that didn’t stop a parade of reporters, ministers, evangelists, and groupies from requesting to meet him in person. The people who did get to see him were the ones who were already at the prison for some other function. They were the ones who requested and were granted the opportunity to “see” Charlie.

It amazed me to witness the large number of inmates, guards, and prison visitors who clamored to get a glimpse of the icon. Every week, there were people who came to Corcoran to tour the prison facility. They came from junior colleges, universities, and different law enforcement agencies. All these groups visited to learn how the system works, and possibly find employment among the ranks of the Department of Corrections. In addition to these educational visits, some juvenile probation officers brought their charges to participate in a “Scared Straight” program, designed to scare the living hell out of youngsters to steer them away from a life of crime. Part of many visits included a walk past Charles Manson’s cell, as a zoo tour would include a trip to the tiger cage. Most participants never approached his cell directly, staying some 30 feet or more away from it as though they could sense danger. They hoped he was not asleep, but if he was, a guard would tap on his window. “Charlie, you’ve got some visitors,” they would say, or “Girl’s, Charlie, girls!”

He usually got up to the window and put on a show for the guests. Sometimes, he would wave his arms around mimicking an octopus or he would jump around his cell like a monkey. The visitors usually went away laughing. Once, he put on a fierce expression, and appeared to growl at the spectators. He may have been trying to look like a grizzly bear. Even in his seventies, it was apparent to me that Charlie could still move quickly and be entertaining.