Max argued that Leslie has admitted her part in the killing of Rosemary LaBianca, but her psyche was so badly impaired by the cult’s use of psychoactive drugs for her to have meaningfully formed the intent. Without a will of her own, Leslie found herself at Waverly Drive that night for no other reason than to obey Charles Manson’s commands. He was the one with a clear motive for planning these torturous crimes. And it was Charles Manson and Tex Watson who brought the knives and guns, not Leslie Van Houten. Max’s defense was that Leslie had paid the price of her youth behind bars (many of those years in solitary confinement) for what awful madness she let herself in for. She’d expressed her sincerest remorse for what happened. What more could she do to prove she deserved a chance at redemption?
* * *
Leslie called after midnight on Saturday the 8th of April. She and Linda Grippi had returned to Santa Barbara to look at more places we might want to live if she got to stay out with another hung jury—assuming I was accepted into graduate studies. A couple big “maybes,” but not seeming so far out of reach as before. I taped the phone call on my tape deck.
“Will you accept a collect call from Leslie?” the long-distance operator asked me.
“Yes, of course,” I said, yawning into the mic.
“God, I didn’t even hear it ring…I just picked it up to see if there was a dial tone. What were you doing?” she asked.
“Reading the last act of Othello. How about you?”
“Day dreaming about livin’ in Isla Vista. Aren’t you glad that I called?”
“Where are you exactly?” I asked.
“We’re at the motel. Linda and me drove all around IV today. Oh...there are some fine places, Peter. There were some that had these overgrown yards that I could fix up so neat...I could plant the neatest gardens in them. Oh, and this one...this one had this sunroom. And there’d be room enough for an office where it’s quiet and private. It’s real old and run down, but you know...it’s just the kind that I want. I’m sure we can have it real soon. Should I go talk to the agent tomorrow?”
“Did you cash the check I put in my letter? Is that enough, or maybe I should send another in case you need more?”
“No. Not yet. Maybe it will be waiting at Mom’s when I get back tomorrow. We’ve got to be back by seven. Karlene’s goin’ to be in town and wants me to go to a concert with her at the Roxy. Remember? I told you I was going to go to a concert with her and some friends?”
Just as well that I didn’t recall. Besides, I wasn’t a fan of one hit wonder Warren Zevon at all. But, had it been another Rick Danko reprise, I might have envied those who went tagging along.
“Oh, never mind that now,” she said, practically reading my mind full of sorrows. “I’ll call you back when I find out what’s what. You hang up first. Here’s a kiss...Smack! My darling, don’t ever doubt my love for you…not for an instant. Not ever. Please know that I love you. Say you believe me.”
The line that leapt off the page in response came from what I’d been reading before falling asleep. “I’ll see before I doubt...when I doubt, prove...and on the proof there is no more but this...away at once with love or jealousy!”
You can guess which character said that.
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” Leslie had every right asking.
Before we hung up, I suggested, “I think it means it’s hard to be wise and in love at the same time, Desdemona.”
Didn’t I know it?
18
Jurors Debate Fate
The first week back to West Hill Collegiate, I was feeling displaced and all out of sorts—just counting the days and punching the clock. Word was out among the teachers that anyone hired in the last two years was going to be put on “surplus” status come the end of the school year. That had a lot of people uptight. And I think some of them mistook that for the reason behind my palpable angst. Someone said they’d seen the principal, Mr. Budd, leaving “Notice of Surplus” memos in everyone’s mailbox. Certainly this caused a bit of a stir among all the rookies but one. I felt badly for my friends on the bubble, but, as far as my own future in the Scarborough Board of Education was concerned, I would have paid them to let me off early. I wished I’d thought of it sooner.
We were into the second week of Romeo and Juliet when Mr. Vice Principal, George Peck, came into my sixth period class to conduct an impromptu “teaching inspection.” In keeping with the methods I’d practiced when teaching Othello, we approached the play back-to-front. However, I consciously neglected to explain to my “superior” why we were into the final act of the play in week two instead of week ten. I was still mixing things up by comparing both final acts to each other, turning both plays into comedies. I wasn’t confused. I was experimenting. So I introduced the day’s lesson as follows:
“Romeo thinks Juliet is dead from the poison. So, brokenhearted, he drinks the poison himself. Then, Juliet wakes up and finds Romeo dead, so she commits seppuku with his dagger.”
To confuse our uninvited guest even further, I directed alternate endings. “Let’s try to read our parts as a comedy of errors,” I said, “not as a tragedy.”
That really took Mr. Peck over the edge. He sure left in one heck of a huff. I wasn’t worried. Though the kids seemed to think that I should be.
“Oh, boo-hoo,” I trembled, “what if Peck leaves a nasty note in my mailbox?”
I froze with mock horror by bringing my hands up to cover my mouth. Not every kid in the room was laughing. But I was.
Les moved out of Linda Grippi’s tiny apartment and into my old room at Judy’s condo on Micheltorena Street, #306. One Friday night in May, when Les and I had prearranged a time for me to call her, Jennifer Frutig picked up the phone to say that Leslie and Judy had gone out on a date to the movies. Leslie called the next night to tell me that the Sly Stallone blockbuster she’d gone to with friends had really sucked. I didn’t ask whom, besides Judy, she went with. I tried to act nonchalant. But inside, my jealous heart phantoms of dread were still stirring. I worried all the time if I might lose Leslie to someone else who treated her better than I did.
“Anything new and exciting happening in court these days?” I asked, grinding my molars.
“Max and Kay are still getting into it… Hey! Know what cool thing the judge said today?”
“I’m too tired to guess. Was it a good or a bad thing?”
“He said, ‘Hold ho! Gentlemen, have you forgot all sense of place and duty?’ Isn’t that great?”
“That is good,” I laughed. “You know Ringer’s the one who subpoenaed Nixon to testify about Watergate. He tried Ehrlichman and Liddy. Did either Max or Kay signal a recognition of where that quote was from?”
“No. They both kinda looked puzzled. Ringer just rolled his eyes and assumed he was the only one who got the joke.”
“You know which play that line comes from?”
“It’s Othello, right?” she said.
“Right. Only it’s not Othello who delivers the line. It’s Iago, who’s pretending he’s for peace when it’s really him who started the fight.” (I hoped this wasn’t an omen.) “What were Max and Kay fighting about anyway?”
“You remember Snake...Diane Lake? She was going on about how tired she is of being dragged back in again to testify about things she’s been trying to forget. The fighting was about something she said I said. Who can remember?
“Here’s something else though...I plan on writing an opinion piece for the Times that has to do with teachers who bring very young children into the courtroom. I think twelve and thirteen year olds are too young to hear about the heavy gore in the coroner’s reports. That’s irresponsible. I’m going to ask Max to speak to the judge.”
“How is old Max holding up to the tag team of Kay and Fulgoni?”
“I think he’s been
much more effective in this trial than the last time. We’ve been able to put some important things more out front...things that show there were different planes of involvement...like the fingerprint man. He said that definitely the prints in the bedroom were wiped with something different than with what was used in the living room and kitchen. Kay has been trying to put me in places I never was. And Harold True, the guy Charlie and Linda Kasabian met who used to live next door to the LaBiancas, turns out...even though he testified as to how illiterate Charlie was and everything...when he met him, he was interviewing Charlie for his Master’s thesis. Know what on? On people who had seen visions of Christ. And guess what? It was the judge who brought all of that out! That’s a good sign, I thought.”
“What kind of influence does the judge have with the jury? What do you think is their impression of him so far?”
“It’s hard to know what the jury thinks about anything,” Leslie said. “Ringer keeps asking something extra of every witness to help them out. Maybe the jury can see what he’s tryin’ to figure out. Like he said to Linda Kasabian...‘You mean to tell me that you went with a gun and knives and you didn’t know anything was going to happen? You mean to tell me you didn’t see the bolt cutters, and you mean to tell me that you went the second night knowing full well what was going to happen?’ He isn’t treating her like a saint and me as a tramp. Which is what Stevie Kay always does.
“Kay reads from a script. He’s such a faker. Today he got lost repeating himself and going in circles. The judge had to step in and clarify what was going on for the jury. And, then, the judge asked Linda, ‘Did Charlie ever talk about philosophers or people he might have read?’ and she said, ‘No.’ Which is a lie. She’s such a sad little lady. But this guy, Judge Ringer, he is really getting into it…I’m really feeling positive about him. I’m sorry we had to have a jury in front of him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m sure I’d get manslaughter with him as my only judge,” Leslie said matter-of-factly.
“Then, why didn’t Max counsel that option?” I asked, still startled by the thought.
“Because that’s too much pressure to put on someone in his position. That’s what I’ve been told. It’s like… I talked to a couple of the attorneys that hang out in his court and they said, as fine a judge as he is, everybody in this business has selfish goals.”
“You think there might be too much pressure because of the publicity?”
“Even if he wanted to let me go, he’d probably have to cave in at the end. But he seems to be doing the best he can though. Man, it’s clear to me that what he’s sayin’ is that by law I’m guilty of manslaughter, not murder. I feel like that anyway. And there’s something else. It kind of creeps me out though.”
“What’s that?”
I wondered how much creepier things could get.
“Both Stephen Kay and Dino Fulgoni are deliberately trying not to question one single witness about the effects of the drugs and Charlie’s mind-pounding ‘Helter Skelter’ into our heads. It’s something they’ve gone out of their way to avoid. I can’t quite figure that out. Everyone knows the story.
“Hey, honey, did you get any of my letters? I started writing again,” she said. “Though some of it will sound moody ’cause I was upset when I wrote them. I wish we could just lie in and talk about things in private. I always feel there may be someone else listening in.
“You know I can’t wait to feel your arms around me and have your lips kissing mine gently. You want to know something else? Nothing has ever seemed so right or more natural to me than being with you. I want you to know that. It’s the truth. I’m yours, and that’s all there is to it.”
On the one hand, I longed to hear her say it. But, at the same time, I was suspect the lady doth protest too much. Was she hiding something from me? When Leslie’s letters came, they came two at a time and all out of sequence. I invented all sorts of sinister reasons why her tempers might vary. But, for the most part, she seemed happier day-to-day than I was. I was more up and down. One thing was for certain, we both hated being so far apart physically. We each dealt with it differently. One card she sent contained a poem about having so many things and moments to share, “that would have made you smile and frown, sigh and wonder”—along with a caption where she added “Why must you be so far from me when I need you so…?”
Hello My Love~
I feel so bad about my lack of letters to you lately. But writing is very difficult at this moment. Doin’ hard time. I move from the stress of the courtroom to more and more tension wherever I go. I try to relax and then when I do complete exhaustion takes over. It’s clear something’s missing—it’s you! I long for the summer and starting life over in Isla Vista. It’s time to get on.
I’ve counted the months and now I’m relieved to know it will be only weeks until you hold me close and not let me go. I got some more houseplants this weekend that we can take with us. I also found some string-of-hearts. Remember we saw them in that window in Santa Barbara? I can hardly wait to fix our place up. I think it’s going to be wonderful. We’ll have fun doin’ it together!! Did I tell you that mom is giving us the desk that’s in her garage? It’s pretty big and strong. We sure can use it.
I’m in court right now. Mr. Kay is trying to break Paul Watkins’ testimony. Kay’s upset with Paul admitting the thought-control methods Charlie used and how it affected him also. Now little Paul is into saying he wasn’t able to kill for Charlie. It’s hard to go on hearing this. One moment it looks like the jury sees through it, then the next time it doesn’t. I wish I could write you sunshine-filled rose-hued letters, but we have to face what’s going on and be completely honest about it.
It’s very upsetting. Now it’s a word game between Kay and Paul. But it’s my life that hangs in the balance. Kay, as usual, is pulling a lot of dirty tricks and the jury seem more amused than disgusted. This is why I haven’t written you much about it. It’s so knotted up and depressing. I’m super uptight. The only thing getting me through this are thoughts of us moving to Santa Barbara.
Any word yet from the U of C?
Kay is really getting raw jaw now—trying to make me into the ultimate bad guy. For heaven’s sake now he’s implying that Max and I stayed together when we had to go to Tecopa. He’s so sick! I’ve got to contain myself before I hurt that man with angry words. He even looks like a rat—all nervous and gnawing.
I’m pretty much able to scope everyone’s scene out. I see how Fulgoni plays off of Kay when he trips over himself, and which Max reacts to. They both take the bait. And then Dino comes back in as the knight in shining armor. (Tho’ Judy thinks he looks more like a character from the Dick Tracy comics.) Dino is also really into bringing out the ‘N’ words and Charlie’s ‘Nazi’ junk. What on Earth has this to do with me!? I think it’s just to anger the black juror and the judge who I guess is Jewish. God, honey—the vibes in this courtroom are as vile as can be. See, this is why I haven’t written. This is what you’re missin’. Glad you don’t have to see what it’s doin’ to me.
It goes without saying I wish you were here! It won’t be long…
Man—I’m all Mansoned out. Can’t you see?
I miss you honey~
Your girl~
Leslie-Lou
What was I doing away from her when she needed me? Why was I just as afraid of not giving her space as I was about losing her when I had to let go? There was nothing predictable about being in love in such circumstances. There never is, is there? I certainly wasn’t the least bit afraid of what the school board might do if I skipped and ran straight back to LA a couple months early without a visa. I asked fellow teachers, Greg and Dave, what they thought Peck and Budd might do. The consensus was that they would probably celebrate by getting drunk and calling customs.
The last Friday in May, there
were piles of mail waiting for me when I got home from school. None were from Leslie. But, under a stack of bank statements and other junk mail (including a post card from Tricia sent from vacation in Berkeley), there were two letters from the University of California, Santa Barbara. One was from Dr. G.I. Brown, and the other was from the dean of the graduate school of education. I opened the one from George first.
His letter said he was pleased to offer me admission into the Master of Arts with a view to the PhD program beginning with the New Year. The dean’s letter further informed me that I had been granted a waiver of tuition and out-of-state fees, plus awarded a decent stipend for teaching undergrad candidates in pursuit of their California state teacher’s credentials. Registration was to begin September 18th. I was ecstatic! Felt inside the way it feels when the javelin catches a draft and the nose rises up at exactly the right space and time to make a great distance. Effortless.
Unsurprisingly, I was excited to tell Leslie the news so we could update our plans ASAP. Maybe she was right about things coming together. I called Judy Frutig’s place right away. It was mid-afternoon in LA, but there was no answer. So I called Andy Higgins at the U of T and told him about UCSB and what my plans were. He invited me out for a small celebration at the Brunswick House on Bloor Street West. We met up with our friends Linda Hall, Barb Pike, Doug Byers and Bruce Simpson for pitchers of beer and congratulations. It was a proud moment for me, feeling the fates had interceded and turned the tide in my favor. However, I’d been wrong before. So why was I flirting with Barbara? I’m not a big drinker. I walked away talking with my better conscience.
No Journey's End: My Tragic Romance with Ex-Manson Girl, Leslie Van Houten Page 28
