Charlie and Jake heard a yell above the dining hall commotion. They knew it came from Link, the brute who had flunked eighth grade twice. “You’ll see! You, you creep.”
They heard the thudding crash of a trash barrel hitting the side of the building. The noise drew few looks against the noisy background.
“What the heck did you say to him?”
Charlie turned a pepper shaker upside down and covered his macaroni with a heavy layer.
“Nothing, really. We were talking about religion.”
“Are you trying to get killed?”
“Nah. I think Link and I are about to reach an understanding about life. I believe he can change his ways.”
“Man, you’re crazy. Are you some kind of a religious nut?”
“No. I just have a good sense of right and wrong. I think it’s time someone talked to Link about hassling other guys.”
Chapter 17
Evening Retreat - Boys Town, April 1949
As Boys Town transitioned to a modern campus, workers razed old, wooden buildings to make room for majestic coliseums and great halls. As the harvests of Hollywood movies and fundraising campaigns filled the coffers, a small white cottage still stood between the dining hall and the dormitories.
The little cottage was old, but freshly painted and not as dilapidated as the other buildings planned for demolition. A porch in front held chairs for the priests to use when time allowed.
And next to the cottage, the Boys Town garage struggled to maintain a fleet of decrepit pickups and flatbed farm trucks.
The cottage and the garage faced south in the general direction of the dormitories, their back doors opening to the dining hall’s long side. Both structures showed on the list of buildings to be removed, but for now they were important landmarks.
The old gym was a block away, and though it would soon be out-classed by the massive new field house, it was a solid, serviceable structure. The gym provided basketball courts, a small locker room, and a basement swimming pool.
Evening approached sublimely that Friday. A gold haze mingled with the sunlight and lingered before bathing the campus in orange and rose.
In the dimming light, Boys Town prepared for nightfall. On the northern frontier, traffic on Highway 6 dwindled to an occasional car. The boys charged with farming and livestock duties finished their daily work and went to clean up.
Father Gallagher, in his residence, prepared for a special meeting with Sister Klara. He worked thoughtfully, laying out crackers and glasses for wine on the kitchen table, and then readied a plate of cheese and lox.
Gallagher loved this modest residence where for five years he had lived with other young priests who came and went as the Church decreed. But for the past eight months now, he had lived alone.
His last rectory-mate held an accounting degree from Notre Dame that proved to be his ticket out. Less than two months after his arrival, Rome summoned him to study finance at the Vatican.
Gallagher was busy now performing menial chores that rightfully belonged to Sister Klara. He moved deftly sweeping, dusting, cleaning the mud off the back door threshold – a mess that was his own doing. Gallagher hurried to change the sheets on the twin bed in his room.
I should have time to bathe and change clothes before I make evening rounds. I’ll wear a fresh collar tonight.
“Evening retreat just started. Fridays are free time. Come on, let’s go,” Jake urged Charlie.
“Can I bring my guitar?” Charlie asked, closing one of Jake’s girlie magazines. “I haven’t practiced in a couple of days, and who knows? Some of the guys might enjoy a song or two.”
“Sure, bring it,” said Jake. “We’ll try to find a quiet corner.”
Three blocks away, boys drifted into the old gymnasium for evening retreat. For many, this free time was a social necessity. Boys who spent their days in tightly regimented activity require a time to let off steam, talk, and escape through games and comradeship.
The gym that evening was abuzz with the discordant clamor of boys releasing tensions and having fun. At the same time, many checked the doorway, for the expected one was due. They knew he was coming, and they waited, passing the time with basketball, box hockey, and card games. On the gym floor, twenty or more boys knotted in tight groups to talk and watch the doorway.
Charlie’s police record was common knowledge now, a credit to the effectiveness of the boys who dished the dirt. The newest story about the confrontation between Link and Charlie was steamrolling through the little village, fanned by the younger boy whom Charlie had rescued. Most anticipated fireworks between the Link and Charlie. No one wanted to miss it.
Link was there too, waiting for Charlie, choking on rage from the dining room encounter that few had seen. He sat at a table off the basketball court playing gin with his followers, plotting to publically assert his domination.
When Charlie and Jake opened the gym door and entered, the clamor died down. Heads turned, and a soft shushing filled the gym as the notorious bad boy from Indy entered the gym.
From the moment he walked through the doors, Charlie commanded the crowd’s energy. Many of the younger boys were awe-struck. The others looked upon him with a mix of fear, envy, and curiosity. They all observed and agreed Charlie was a sight to behold, walking amongst strangers with the cockiness of a prize fighter.
It was not Charlie’s imposing physique that captivated them, for he was short and thin. Maybe his smile struck them. It was magic to be sure, but his fierce eyes were what they found most unusual. Never had they seen such eyes in a boy their own age. These spellbinding, entrancing portals were something they had never seen.
The crowd shifted back to make room for Charlie, parting for him to pass like the Red Sea parted for Moses.
Charlie moved through their midst toward the front of the gym, toward the exact spot where Mickey Rooney’s character, Whitey, had been elected mayor of Boys Town only ten years earlier in the movie Boys Town.
From a side table, four boys stopped their card game and watched the arrival. Three were captivated by the spectacle. The fourth, the one who boiled with anger, shoved his cards aside and walked away from his cronies in pursuit of Charlie.
Link stepped into the open pathway that was Charlie’s wake and zeroed in on his prey. It would be a good chance to cut the new shrimp down to size, not with brute strength, but with the clever verbal cuts he’d perfected after dinner.
But as he closed the distance to Charlie, Link became conscious of the extent to which the entire room focused on Charlie. The thought hit him that it might not be a good idea to punish an enemy in such a public place. What if the situation deteriorated?
Too many witnesses.
Then Link’s decision to confront Charlie was taken away altogether as the boys ahead spread out closing the pathway and any chance to reach Charlie easily. Link stood blocked, unwilling to shove people aside to reach his quarry.
He retreated to his pals only to find they too had abandoned the table to stand in the throng.
Meanwhile, Charlie took a seat just below the gym’s stage. He removed his guitar pick from its special place and looked at it just long enough to admire the gold lettering that said “Gene Autry.” He began strumming chords under the crowd’s gaze.
When he was ready, he began singing, not softly or timidly, but with the clear, strong voice of a recording artist. His first song, “I’m Looking Over a Four Leaf Clover,” filled the building with a new, exciting sound, his own animated, churning-guitar version. It was a voice meant for bigger things than evening retreat at the Boys Town gym. He was clear, on pitch, loud—extraordinary. Almost immediately, those who had not already done so stopped what they were doing. Across the gymnasium, no one played basketball or box hockey. No one talked. No one queued up for the water fountain. All focus was on Charlie, and he drank it in like mother’s milk.
The boys pressed toward the stage.
From hours of practicing alone in his rented room, his guitar playing
was exceptional, matching his voice. Everyone recognized it and tapped their toes in time.
Midway through the song he stood, mounted his chair, and stepped onto the gym’s stage. It was an arrogant move that few people have the magnetism to pull off. For Charlie, giving people a better view was the natural thing to do.
By the end of the first song, no one thought of Link; no one wanted a fight. No one wanted anything other than Charlie. They were mesmerized.
Charlie sang the latest songs by the most popular singers of the day: Nat King Cole, Bing Crosby, Perry Como, and Frank Sinatra. He knew all their songs and sang them well. But he brought the house down with his own rendition of Spike Jones’ new song from the previous year: “All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth.”
Charlie’s personalized arrangement struck a chord, driving at the heart of the needs of two hundred boys. They rollicked with delight to the perfect message. Charlie was an instant hit.
All I want for Easter are some Boys Town girls
Some Boys Town girls,
Yes, some Boys Town girls,
All I want for my guys is some Boys Town girls
Then we can have happy Easter!
He sang with gyrating hips, holding his guitar low, a gesture correctly interpreted as the representation of an erect phallus. Eight years before Elvis Presley captured the world with similar stage presence, Charlie began his short reign over the residents of Boys Town.
They didn’t know the word “enchanting,” but that’s how they found him. They stood captivated by his music, his stage persona. They had never heard of musical groups with strange names like The Beach Boys or The Grateful Dead, yet had they been told that someday Charlie would rub shoulders with famous people, they would have believed it as they believed the sun would rise in the morning.
Jake, who had been with Charlie since his arrival, was smitten more than any boy in the gym. He watched the performance from nearby, mouth agape that his roommate, his new friend, had the entire audience, including himself, spellbound.
A block away, Father Gallagher burst through the door of the freshly cleaned rectory at full stride.
Once I check on the boys at retreat, the dorm captains will make sure the school is put to bed for the evening. Slow down. No need to break a sweat. I’ve got time. She’ll be there right on time.
He forced himself to a slower pace.
Passing the garage, Gallagher glanced in the door to see Hiram still hard at work under the hood of a pickup truck. A shop light hung from the open hood illuminating Hiram’s face.
That Hiram is a good kid. Hard worker. He’ll probably have his own garage someday.
Gallagher lifted two fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle to catch Hiram’s attention.
When Hiram looked up, they waved. They had always gotten along well and liked each other, but Gallagher did not stop to talk. Important plans were pending.
A brisk block later, Gallagher entered the school doors. In the long hallway, where normally the rancorous company of two hundred boys echoed, he heard nothing, none of the joyful sounds of basketball, dodge ball, or energetic talk. There was only silence.
Apprehension swept through him, and with each step grew to increasing panic. He immediately assumed the entire flock must be missing. Gallagher quickened his pace.
That faint sound. Is it music?
He flung open the gym doors expecting emptiness. Instead, he came into the midst of two hundred stone silent boys surrounding Charlie, enraptured by guitar riffs and a huge singing voice emanating from the small body.
Gallagher’s reaction was heart-wrenching shock. He gasped, air scraping harshly over his vocal cords, but the sound of it was lost to the crystal clear voice on stage.
Gallagher felt a clutter of emotions, but mostly disbelief as he witnessed the amazing voice. He stopped and stared along with everyone else. The music continued.
The voice is so beautiful, yet it does not match the body. The guitar skill does not match the age. The attention he draws is unnatural. What should I say? He has done nothing wrong. My God. Who is this boy?
Charlie finished the song, his fifth, with a dramatic high note and emphatic guitar chords. For a moment after he stopped, there was a ringing echo in the air. Then from the right side of the gym, a lone boy began clapping. Then another joined, followed by all who were lucky enough to witness what they considered genius. The cheering started and filled the gym.
Gallagher stood with the rest of them, not clapping or cheering, but amazed and uncertain how to interpret what he had seen.
Charlie spotted him standing at the back of the gym still framed by the doors. He held up his hands for quiet.
When applause and cheers died away, Charlie’s eyes connected with the priest. Charlie gave a wink, like the one he gave in the dining hall.
“Hello, Father Gallagher,” he called out across the gym. “Just finishing a short jam session here. Good to see you, Father.”
What if God sent me here to save you, Father?
Gallagher slipped out of the gym, as Link had done earlier. He retreated toward the safe haven of his austere rectory whispering Hail Marys as he walked.
In the refuge of his living room, Gallagher dropped to his knees at a small kneeler under a painting of Jesus and continued his prayers.
Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst women
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now,
and at the hour of our death. Amen.
For twenty minutes, Gallagher prayed. When his panic passed, he drove Charlie from his mind. Now he thought of Sister Mary Klara and a new feeling washed over him.
Gallagher sat at the kitchen table and listened for the soft knock. The only sound was that of his own hopeful heart.
She would come soon. She would seek his comfort and counsel. He absently smoothed his hair.
Chapter 18
Restless at the Dorm - Boys Town, April 1949
By the time he finished working the gym crowd, every boy who had stepped into Charlie’s aura felt he was the most important boy at the school. Their Charlie bubbled with charisma and charm. His penetrating eyes touched them with sincere tenderness and understanding rarely felt in their world.
Charlie and Jake were among the last boys to leave the gym. The night was windy now and much cooler than only two hours earlier. Jake carried Charlie’s guitar case.
“Must be a cold front blowing through. April in Omaha can feel almost like winter,” Jake said.
Charlie picked up his pace against the chilly air. “Be careful with my guitar.”
“No problem,” Jake answered. He hurried to keep up with Charlie, who charged ahead.
Watching Charlie, Jake realized there must be a million things he didn’t know about his new roommate, and so far, there was nothing to dislike. In fact, Jake was beginning to think Charlie was the most exciting thing to touch his life in a long time. The pride of being with the star of the night warmed him in the cold wind.
At the dormitory room, Charlie made an immediate inventory of his worldly possessions. The clothes, candy, and hidden cigarettes were there, untouched.
“Hey! No one stole anything,” Charlie crowed.
Jake flopped onto his bed. “I’m not saying nothing ever disappears around here, but face it, Charlie, we don’t have much that’s worth stealing.”
“Maybe so, but I noticed you hid your candy just as quick as I did. And what about my gold guitar pick? Huh? That’s worth stealing. Trust me, Jake, there’s a lot of bad hombres in the world. You can’t be too careful about the crazies out there.”
Charlie relaxed on his bed. For half an hour he strummed his guitar, toying with a new melody. When he glanced again at Jake, he saw his eyes were closed.
Charlie’s voice pierced the silence.
“Wake up, Jake!”
Jake sat up and shook his h
ead.
“Shit. I must have dozed off. Aren’t you tired? I’m bushed, man.”
“Get your ass out of bed,” said Charlie. “We’ve got things to do tonight. We need to get out. You know, relax a little? Enjoy a little fresh air?” Charlie snapped the latches on his guitar case and stood up.
“But it’s after nine o’clock,” Jake said, yawning. “We’re supposed to be in our room getting ready for bed. We have lights out at ten.”
“Even on Friday nights?”
“Yep,” Jake answered firmly. “We have a nine o’clock curfew every night unless there’s a football or basketball game, or an outing, like Ice Capades tomorrow night. We can’t go anywhere. It’s too late.”
“Do they have bed checks?” Charlie asked.
“No,” Jake admitted as he sat up.
“Then we’re going!” Charlie grabbed his jacket. Irritation was starting to show in his face. “Get up. Right now. Get your butt moving. Whosoever shall follow me shall know my blessing. Come on.”
“This sounds like a bad idea, Charlie.”
Jake pulled on his jacket and turned toward the door.
“Not the door, Jake, the window.”
Jake suppressed a sense of dread and followed Charlie out the window into the shrubs outside.
The night was dark. Threatening clouds hid the moon and shrunk the limits of Boys Town’s boundaries. Jake and Charlie bundled their light jackets tight.
Beside them a cat appeared, barely visible in the light from the window. It rubbed against Charlie’s leg, purring loudly enough for both boys to hear.
“Well, who is this?” Charlie asked bending down to stroke the animal.
“That’s Diablo,” Jake explained. “He the meanest damned cat we’ve ever had at Boys Town. Be careful, you’re about to get scratched. Now it’s my turn to say ‘trust me.’ We avoid this beast like you avoid jail food.”
At that instant, Diablo, still enjoying Charlie’s attention, looked Jake in the eye and hissed.
Before He Became a Monster: A Story Charles Manson's Time at Father Flannigan's Boystown Page 10
