Before He Became a Monster: A Story Charles Manson's Time at Father Flannigan's Boystown

by Lawson McDowell

  Gallagher’s guilty heart quickened.

  He’s back to the accusations he made yesterday!

  “Your confessions have nothing to do with me,” Gallagher said sharply. His tone was defensive.

  “Sure they do. They have everything to do with you. You’re why I came today. I thought maybe we’re a lot alike. I’ve seen you operate.”

  “What are you talking about?” Gallagher flared.

  “I saw the way you were playing goo goo eyes with Sister Klara in the cafeteria. I saw it when you made that little eye contact with her. Saw it again at Mass this morning in front of the whole church. It’s plain as day what’s going on. I know what’s in your mind while you’re laying on that blue blanket in the back bedroom. I know why you have a wash cloth on your bed table.”

  Gallagher gasped.

  “Seriously, can you imagine anything more irritating to God than a horny priest?” said Charlie, naively joking to cut the tension.

  Charlie’s words left Gallagher horror-struck.

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! He does know. This is a nightmare.

  Gallagher shifted nervously.

  Silence overtook the confessional. Charlie leaned back with his head against the wall, feet propped on a railing by the entrance curtain. He waited for the priest to speak.

  In the priest’s booth, Gallagher slumped in his seat, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His mind tumbled. Near as they were physically, they were a universe apart in their thoughts.

  Charlie wondered why his honesty had silenced Gallagher. Was what he had done really so bad? Was he unforgivable in the eyes of this priest? If Boys Town couldn’t forgive him, what chance did he have?

  Gallagher was more uncertain than ever about what manner of human was on the other side of the wall. He felt anguish knowing a new arrival, a young boy, could so quickly torment him. Thoughts of demons swelled again.

  ‘I know what’s in your mind,’ he told me. Can he see? Is it possible? No one could suspect my weakness for Klara.

  On the other side of the screen, Charlie waited for Gallagher to speak. He noticed the sweet smell of the prayer candles in the musty church air.

  “Hey, Father. Do you think Heaven smells like incense and candle wax? I’ll bet that’s what most of the guys here think.”

  “Why are you here, Charles?”

  “I’m here because I wanted to see if we could understand each other better. I’m a lot like you. I’m just not of your world.”

  “Are you trying to torture me?”

  “No. I thought I should tell you, you may have screwed up if you’ve fallen in love with Sister Klara. I know she’s a looker, but she’s already married to Jesus, you know.”

  Gallagher brushed Charlie’s comment aside.

  “Just to be candid, Charles, I harbor concerns that you are possessed by a demon. Is there a demon that controls you?”

  “It sure smelled like it in church, huh?” Charlie laughed. Then more serious, “Padre, that seems like a strange question to ask a kid. No one controls me, not schools, not cops, not priests. I call my own shots.”

  “Who are you?” Gallagher asked. It was a blunt question that showed total misunderstanding for the boy.

  “I’m nobody. I never grew up, never had parents. Mom was just a girl herself who had a kid she didn’t want. I never knew my father. Never went to a real school very long. I raised myself, taught myself what I needed. I’ve faced life or death on my own. It’s made me hard, I guess. Nothing personal, Father, but you’re weak. In my mind, I’m older than you, maybe a hundred years older.”

  Dejection entered Charlie’s voice.

  “I guess it was too much to expect you to understand me.”

  They paused for a moment to regroup, and when the priest said nothing, Charlie filled the dead air.

  “Here’s how we’re different. You’ve always been provided for. When you needed help as a kid, you called for your mother, and now you call for the bishop. You’re soft. You can’t help it. It’s not your fault. You just are. Me? When I need help, I pick up a tire iron in the alley and solve my own problem. That’s why I’m strong. I make my own solutions. I’m not from your world.”

  Doubts intruded into Gallagher’s thinking.

  Maybe the archbishop is right. Maybe there is no demon after all. End this confession. Pray. Meditate. Perhaps God will provide the answers before my world blows up.

  “We need to end this session,” Gallagher announced abruptly.

  “Okay,” Charlie said. “I seem to be doing most of the talking anyway. Maybe I should grant you absolution. Wouldn’t that be a kick?”

  “Go, Charles.”

  “See ya soon, Padre.” Charlie said.

  The boy, society’s unwanted, emerged from the confessional neither aching with disappointment, nor crushed by rejection, but still glowing in optimism. Having progressed beyond armed guards and jail cells, he knew he may have stumbled with Gallagher, but had not fallen. The hunger for a better life endured.

  Gallagher cancelled the rest of the confessions and retreated to the sacristy to think.

  In Charles Manson and Sister Mary Klara, God had given him harsh tests. His commitment to the priesthood was failing, and it saddened him. He knew he must face Charles again soon to alter the boy’s direction, whether demon-possessed or not. He knew too he must face a resolution on his forbidden love.

  He prayed, anguished in indecision.

  Domine, dirge nos. Domine, mierer nobis.

  Lord, direct us. Lord have mercy on us.

  Charlie stepped out of the church and looked skyward at the tall bell tower.

  It was strange, he thought, how in less than three days the forbidding tower had changed to a gleaming symbol of hope.

  Sure, there had been places in Indiana that emanated an aura of wholesome goodness, but not like Boys Town. He liked it here and would do his best to adapt.

  Charlie’s plans were about to change.

  A mile away on Highway 6, the sun caught the broad glass of a slow-moving Cadillac’s windshield and shot a beam of light that caught Charlie’s attention.

  Charlie looked toward the highway and felt a strange emotion course through him. He stood still and erect for a moment, like an animal detecting the presence of a predator. He couldn’t identify what he felt and paused to stare at the car that stopped momentarily at the Boys Town entrance, and then moved on.

  Charlie turned and walked to the dorm.

  Three miles later, the big Cadillac turned around and returned.

  Chapter 37

  The Archbishop’s Advice - Boys Town, April 1949

  After morning Mass at Omaha’s St. Cecilia Cathedral, Archbishop Wisnoski retired to the archdiocese’s private library.

  Inside, a writing table overlooked a well-maintained flower garden. It was his favorite refuge. In this tranquil setting, Wisnoski dialed the number for the Immaculate Conception chapel in Boys Town.

  With any luck Sean will be finished with confessions. Maybe I can catch him preparing for evening Mass.

  The archbishop’s concern about Gallagher had become one of his most prevalent worries. The problems with Father Gallagher did not seem serious, but they were troublesome.

  Gallagher was still astir over Charles and was beginning to fret over Sister Klara when the phone rang.

  The archbishop. No one else would call this number on a Sunday afternoon.

  “Father Gallagher speaking,” he spoke into the phone.

  Wisnoski’s tone was fatherly.

  “Ah, Sean. I’m glad I reached you. How are you?”

  Gallagher masked his turmoil.

  “It seems my work is never done, Excellency. I am reviewing the paving contracts.”

  “This is a day of rest, Sean. Go be with the boys,” Wisnoski chided mildly.

  “I will be finished here shortly.”

  “I called to see if there are developments with the two problems we discussed yesterday. Sister Klara, I believe?
Tell me about her, Sean.”

  “I’ve stayed away from her, but my heart aches with love. And with guilt.”

  “Yes,” Wisnoski acknowledged. “Lust for the flesh is pedestrian. As humans, it is a temptation that never leaves us. I will help you through this challenge over the next few weeks.”

  “Thank you, Excellency.”

  So trusting was Gallagher of the archbishop that he felt comfort in the promise. Had he realized the nature of the archbishop’s intended help, he would have been devastated.

  “And the Boys Town demons?” Wisnoski continued. “Are they under control today?”

  Gallagher noticed the archbishop’s tone. It was almost mocking, a tenor that resurrected unpleasant memories from school days. There was no time to analyze the archbishop’s underlying drift.

  “I have backed off somewhat on my demon theory,” Gallagher said, “yet there are signs the Manson boy is having a profound impact on our campus.”

  “Is that so?” the archbishop asked.

  “For example, our herdsman reported that Manson stunned the food processing class yesterday in the manner he dispatched an animal. Then only this morning, he disrupted Mass.”

  “How so, Sean?”

  Gallagher’s explained how Mass had been dismissed early, how Charlie had upset the natural order of things. His account was trustingly candid.

  The priest’s honesty reinforced the archbishop’s judgment.

  Sean is on the wrong path. It’s disappointing but unsurprising.

  “While I have softened a bit, I still believe it is possible we may need a full exorcism here,” Gallagher finished.

  And he’s still focused on exorcism.

  “Frankly, Father,” Wisnoski began, “I have heard nothing that would lead me to consider an exorcism. I can’t go on allowing you to believe hordes of demons run rampant in the world. We believe in them, of course, but they are rare. Most real demons were driven back to Hell when the Kingdom of God arrived with Jesus and the new covenant. I want you to reconsider your views about Manson. He’s the product of a terrible childhood.”

  Gallagher was silent a moment too long. He was obligated to acknowledge the archbishop’s advice, but his heart resisted.

  The archbishop shifted in his seat with annoyance. He spoke, sternly now.

  “Just to be clear, Father, and take heed, it would be a terrible injustice if I were to order an exorcism or if you were to punish this boy too quickly. You must change your thinking. Let the demons go. Work with the boy. Be patient with him.”

  “I will try, Excellency,” Gallagher said slowly. “I hope I have the time needed to change him. He has such impure views of the world, he may be beyond help.”

  “My goodness, Sean. You speak as if you believe the boy is the Antichrist.”

  Gallagher remained silent.

  If he’s not the Antichrist, I don’t want to meet the real thing.

  The big Cadillac that had passed earlier returned and pulled off the highway a little too fast, causing the tires to squeal in protest. The driver hit the brakes hard before passing the pylon. He got a closer look, but couldn’t recognize any words except one. The word he spelled out loud brought an evil grin and rush of adrenalin: “B-O-Y-S.”

  That spells ‘boys’. This must be the right place.

  Spider looked up the hill at the daunting collection of buildings and construction projects. He moved his foot off the brake and allowed the Cadillac to roll slowly ahead as he calculated his next move.

  If I’m lucky, I’ll find the little bastard walking around and nab his ass in the next fifteen minutes.

  Spider moved up the hill; malevolence searching for quarry.

  Approaching the heart of the campus, the Caddy rounded a corner and overtook two boys. They carried baseball gloves and happily tossed a ball between them as they walked along the road. One boy was black.

  Well, what have we here? Look who’s waiting for me.

  The boys stopped tossing the ball as the Cadillac’s long hood slid up alongside them. They turned to see the driver and stared into the manifest eyes of evil. They were startled momentarily, but recovered to greet the visitor with a smile.

  “Good morning, sir,” the black student said. “Do you need directions?”

  Spider had seen Hiram before with his old man at the pool hall. He saw this boy was not Hiram and coldly turned away without speaking. The Caddy moved on, leaving the two boys wondering about the stranger.

  When the Cadillac was out of earshot, the boy who had been closest to the road found this voice first.

  “Holy shit! Did you see that guy? I thought we were going to get mugged.”

  “Or shot,” said the other.

  “You ever seen anyone so scary?” the first asked.

  “Not since Halloween.”

  “If we see him coming back, we’re ducking into the bushes.”

  “Guaranteed,” the second answered.

  Spider eased the car past the dining hall.

  Maybe I should ‘a asked them punks about Hiram. Should ‘a said, ‘I’m his mama’s brother come to pay a visit. Here for a little surprise.’

  Spider continued rolling slowly through the campus looking at students, looking for the office.

  Best I said nothing to those turds. Stay with the boss’ plan. Follow his orders. Talk to the preacher man.

  He reached the barns, saw no one and turned around.

  Charlie had just entered the dormitory room after Confession and was ready a fun afternoon.

  “Where’s Hiram?” Charlie asked, finding Jake alone.

  “Got called to the garage again,” Jake answered. He set his well-worn comic book aside. “The farm master’s truck blew a water hose.”

  Charlie was about to say, “Okay, we’ll wait for him,” when Diablo appeared below the window, complaining of loneliness. The irritating yowling moved Charlie to raise the window and let the disagreeable creature in.

  Raising the blinds, Charlie immediately saw the shiny Cadillac passing slowly by the dormitory, the frightening driver leaning forward on the steering wheel, searching. The Illinois license tags caught Charlie’s attention. It was an ominous sign. His nostrils flared as he absorbed the scene.

  “Tell you what, Jake,” Charlie announced unexpectedly. “I need to go out and take care of a small chore. If Hiram shows up, wait here for me. I’ll be back in a bit. And take care of my precious cat while I’m gone, hey?”

  By the time Spider completed his second round of cruising the campus, he had decided in which building he was most likely to find a priest and drove boldly to the chapel.

  Okay, preacher. Now it’s your turn.

  Spider parked near the office door and slithered inside the chapel, his knife and pistol concealed.

  Go easy, now. Give ‘em that lovin’ uncle speech just like the boss said. Get the boy. Keep your temper. Don’t blow it.

  In the sacristy, Gallagher had just discovered two empty wine bottles behind the Holy Virgin’s statue. He stood pondering, a bottle in each hand, when he heard the side door open.

  Stepping from the sacristy, Gallagher turned the corner toward the office and ran face to face into Spider’s gold tooth and crooked smile.

  “Good afternoon,” Gallagher said. He noted the man’s unusual appearance. He eyed the scar on Spider’s cheek and wondered at its cause.

  “My name is Franklin Hubert,” Spider lied convincingly. It was the assumed name that Boog had given him. “I’m trying to find my little nephew Hiram.”

  Gallagher was an accommodating host for Boys Town.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hubert,” he said. “Let’s step into the church office. We can sit and talk.”

  From that point, Spider delivered Boog’s script perfectly, presenting himself as Hiram’s uncle, “here to make sure the boy is doin’ alright.”

  He almost produced a tear in reminding Gallagher about the terrible death of his sister, Hiram’s mother, and how the boy’s fathe
r was murdered in a hail of bullets.

  “I brought presents from his little cousins and news about his father’s murder. I got papers from the judge.” Spider said.

  Gallagher was convinced and accepted the story.

  “I always am comforted when concerned relatives make the effort to check on the more unfortunate members of their family. It gives the boys confirmation that people care for them. It shows them they are not alone in the world.”

  Clues that should have alerted the priest to deception were lost to the weight of his own preoccupations. Spider’s ruse worked.

  For a moment, the priest considered searching for Hiram himself before realizing that finding Hiram during Sunday afternoon free time might be daunting.

  “Mr. Hubert, we’ll have to wait until tomorrow to arrange for your visit. We’ve no staff today, and there is no way to know where Hiram is. I suspect he is out on one of the Sunday field trips. We can arrange for a nice visit tomorrow. Weekdays are more orderly here.”

  Spider’s face twisted in frustration, but he quickly forced a look of benign disappointment. He had no choice, really. If the boy was away on a field trip, it would be a terrible mistake to rough up the priest.

  “That’s my bad luck,” Spider offered. “I’ll come back tomorrow. No problem.”

  Spider had no intention of waiting until morning. Instead, he planned his own search for Hiram.

  Chapter 38

  Douglas County Health Center – August, 2012

  Maggie returned to the hospice center the next day.

  The stories confused her. She wasn’t sure if Charlie was insane, wound too tightly, or just a good actor given to occasional bouts of intensity. Maybe the old man had a point about Charlie’s bizarre behavior being a small man’s best control tactic.

  “I can’t stay long tonight, Dad. Jim and I are committed to a charity dinner. I can’t let you bring me to tears,” she smiled.