“After mailing his first letter to Manson, Rubacher figured he’d never hear back. Three days later, Rubacher had a response. And Manson was mad. Really mad. ‘You dummy school brained robot. Don’t you know I’m a psychopathic killer?’ But he followed up with a letter of gentle, world-weary apology.”
Sacramento News & Review “Richard Rubacher knows the seductions of Charles Manson. Scattered around the dusty floor of his California home, letters scrawled in the killer’s crude, vaguely literate style woo and threaten Rubacher, enticing him to come closer, look deeper.” Contra Costa Times
“Guess who gets many of Charles Manson’s letters these days? It’s Richard Rubacher, whose father was a numbers runner for the mob in New York. We have two savvy, street smart men squaring off.”
Harper’s Weekly “R&R do you think I care if you git mad. That’s a fool thing to show anyone. They mite think you’re a threat and shoot you like a mad dog.”
Manson to author
“You know what you can do R&R. Go git a drink of water and dump it on your head.”
Manson to author
“Only one non-military and non-political leader got people to kill for him. That person is Charles Manson.” Vincent Bugliosi, Manson’s prosecutor and author of Helter Skelter “Incredibly incredible—Rubacher found out how Manson became ‘the eater of the secrets’—that is, how Manson used his ritual to ‘eat’ the shame, secrets and guilt from his followers. For this ‘act of generosity’ his followers felt free; to show their gratitude they would do anything for him, including ‘killing for love.’”
Dale Metcalf, Esq., Criminal Trial Lawyer, former attorney for Bobby Fischer “If anybody can con a con man, it’s Richard Rubacher. If anybody knows the bright and dark side of people, it’s Rubacher. If anybody can elicit a confession from a man who has not ‘fessed up to his crimes since 1967, it’s Rubacher.
Antonio Pineda, The Magick Papers
“Rubacher disarms people with his profundity, uncanny wit and angelic demeanor.”
John Twigg, former Publisher Metro magazine, Bangkok
CHARLES MANSON’S BLOOD LETTERS
Dueling With The Devil
by Richard Rubacher
iUniverse, Inc.
New York Bloomington
Dueling With The Devil
Copyright © 2009 by Richard Rubacher All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting: iUniverse
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the
views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-3960-4 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-4401-3961-1 (ebk)
Printed in the United States of America iUniverse rev. date:6/4/2009
Table of Contents
How It All Began 1
First Manson Letter 8
Second Manson Letter 11
First Showdown: Enter Elf, Manson’s Commando
With A Hidden Agenda 13 Second Showdown: Manson Sends Hail Mary To
My San Francisco Flat 18
Third Showdown: Tough Dude, Manson’s Hit Man Visits Me 27
Manson Confesses In His Own Words 42
Manson And Timothy Leary 63
Manson And Geraldo 70
APPENDIX 1: Manson’s First Letter 76
APPENDIX 2: Manson’s Second Letter 81
APPENDIX 3: Manson’s Ten Favorite Methods of Seduction 83
APPENDIX 4: Letter From Prison Authorities Ivestgating The Author 85 APPENDIX 5: Mass Murderer & Confessions 86 APPENDIX 6: Girl Sends Manson Drawing Of
Her Masturbating 87 APPENDIX 7: To President Nixon—Here’s All My Money 88
APPENDIX 8: Manson’s Letter On Dispensation From God 89
APPENDIX 9: Poor Little Rich Boy’s Letter 90
APPENDIX 10: Manson’s Bio 91
Photo Gallery 95
Epilog & Next Work 100
Index 105
Other Works by the Author:
JonBenet Knows Evil Love, Writers Club Press Publisher, San Jose, New York, 2000
Thai Touch, Paiboon Press, Berkeley & Bangkok, 2006; 2nd printing 2007
How It All Began CHARLES MANSON--How it all began:
The 1975 Santa Barbara Writer’s Conference
(NOTE: See Appendix 1 for Manson’s actual letter.) As a result of making contact with California State prisoner B33920, my girlfriend refused to come to my flat in San Francisco. Nor could I see her at her place. None of my friends stopped visiting me. Such is the fear invoked by Charles Manson.)
“R&R, I can let you live. Then again, maybe not. Sweet dreams.”
Manson to author Little did I realize that my life was going to be changed in such an unexpected and dramatic manner when I attended the Santa Barbara Writer’s Conference in June 1975.
In that summer the big Manson book Helter Skelter was published. The featured speaker was Curt Gentry, the co-author of Helter Skelter.
I sat in the first row of the auditorium, listening to Curt Gentry, a likeable person in his mid-thirties, talk about his experience in writing the book about the murders of the eight-month pregnant Hollywood star, Sharon Tate and the other unfortunate victims who happened to be visiting Sharon that fateful night of August 9, 1969. They were Abigail Folger, the coffee heiress; her Polish boyfriend; Jay Sebring, the celeb hair stylist and Steve Parent, the nineteen year old caretaker of the estate.
Gentry was in obvious discomfort when he said, “Manson has unbelievable persuasive abilities. He will get the prison guards to unlock his cell. He will walk out of his prison a free man.”
I remembered that Hemingway was fond of saying, during his days of covering the Spanish Civil War, that he could smell death the day before a person died on the battlefield. While I did not have that kind of psychic sense, I could feel the vibration of fear. “If Manson couldn’t con the guards to unlock his cell,” Gentry continued, “he certainly will influence the parole board to make him a free man.”
The SRO crowd of fiction and nonfiction writers gasped at this gloomy assessment.
I was intrigued by Gentry’s perspiring face and his constant looking at the back doors, combined with his hunched shoulders resulted in me glancing at the back of the auditorium.
“If Plan A failed I’m convinced Manson will con the parole board into releasing him,” Gentry echoed his previous thought.
Once again, horror evoked in the audience. It took me back to 1969. My brother Ronald, a cop on the LAPD, told me on the phone that the entire city of Los Angeles and the neighboring towns were in a state of panic. “No one knows who the next victims will be,” he said.
My brother told me the police and sheriff departments had cancelled all vacations. No one reported in sick. Even those on sick leave suddenly found themselves in robust health and
went back to work. Instant recovery on the basis of hysteria induced by Manson. My brother’s private security business flourished. He had a contract to cover Jack Nicholson’s sprawling home, which was foot patrolled by two off duty LAPD officers, packed with the standard issued .38 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver—a six-shooter with a four-inch barrel. It was an around-the clock operation for Nicholson and other luminaries in the industry.
“What power Manson has,” Gentry intoned. His hand gripped the podium so violently that he almost launched it into the air.
Once again the young co-author of Helter Skelter glanced at the back door. Instinctively, I turned my head, convinced that Manson, with axe in hand might be in pursuit down the center aisle, ready to chop Gentry into pieces.
Gentry’s fear exploded into our consciousness. Six years after the murderous rampage Charles Manson and his family still succeeded in evoking fear. “What power Manson has,” Gentry sighed. ”As Bugliosi pointed out to the jury during the trial, Manson is the only non-military and non-political leaders to have people kill for him.”
Gentry paused, allowing the thought to penetrate us.
“What’s even more astounding is that he got intelligent teenagers and young people to ‘kill for love.’”
IN THE COCKTAIL LOUNGE that night I sat in a booth, studying the grizzly photos in Helter Skelter on display on a nearby table. I sipped my gin martini with three olives. .
“Hello Richard,” Gentry said, “I’m ready to answer your questions. With a drink in hand, a Cuba libre or something similar, he sat opposite me.
I thanked him for remembering his promise to grant me a private interview after he finished signing books in the hotel’s lobby.
“You want to know what it was like to interview Manson,” he said, enjoying his drink.
“I never interviewed him,” Gentry answered his own question.
“How did you write the book?” I asked.
Gentry told me he interviewed family members, friends and the police. He also poured over thousands of court transcripts.
“How can a writer get a full picture of a character without talking to him?” I asked.
Gentry was sheepish.
”That means Manson hasn’t spoken for himself since the trial six years ago,” I said.
Gentry nodded.
I admired him for his honesty and making himself vulnerable to me, a stranger.
A MESSAGE TO UNKNOWN WRITERS. At the farewell gathering Barnaby Conrad, the founder and MC of the Santa Barbara Writer’s Conference, made an observation that impressed me. Sharing the stage with Barnaby was Gentry.
“One way for an unknown writer to catch the attention of a publisher,” Barnaby said, “is to work with a famous—“
“—or infamous person like Charles Manson,” Gentry said.
The audience laughed. I thought it was a brilliant idea. Its simplicity staggered me.
When I returned home to San Francisco I was seized—bothered would be a more accurate word—with a compulsion that I unconsciously acted upon. I went to City Lights Bookstore and bought a copy of Ed Sanders work, The Family. The book’s cover showed Manson sporting a beard, with a menacing look. Manson in his well-known satanic stare.
At the cashier I noticed the clerk with a ponytail was holding a copy of The Rolling Stone magazine with Manson on the cover.
He placed the issue on the counter. The photo was a close-up of Manson with flowing long hair. His dreamy expression created a saintly appearance.
The clerk then noticed my copy of the demonic Manson on the front cover of The Family.
“Two personalities combined in one soul,” the clerk said. Unlike Jekyl and Hyde, Manson’s bright and dark sides are not hidden from each other.”
At home I focused on a scene in the Ed Sanders book. The setting is a clearing in a forest. It is nighttime. A bonfire roars. Teenage boys and girls, shoulder-to-shoulder, danced around the fire. The shadows cast a surrealistic glow. The girls and young women are in bras and panties; the boys in shorts.
Off to the side, orchestrating the happening is a vibrant Manson, clad in tailored buckskins. The familiar “hippie bus” is visible a few feet from Manson. The females discard their bras and toss them into the fire. The boys and men roar their approval as their eyes feast on the youthful flesh illuminated by the flames. The females giggle.
Manson takes a pack of cigarettes. Before he can light up, three females are at his side, carrying torches to light his fire. He inhales, delights in the view of bare breasts and the attention.
“Girls, are you ready to serve your men?
The females attending the master squeal and return to the others at the bonfire. The other females drop the males shorts and lowered their heads to the males who were about to be served.
“He had created a Garden of Earthly Delight,” I entered in my third notebook. I would include the quote in my first letter to Manson—that is, if I decided to make my fantasy into a reality by exploring the psyche of Charles Manson.
I reviewed another choice quote that would also find its way into that imagined letter to the man who terrorized southern California during his killing spree of twenty-plus people. “You cannot experience water until you jump in to taste it and swim in it.” Manson to a family member, from Helter Skelter.
My obsession was to “break the Manson code.” When that’s done, I will have access to his heart and mind.
On my way to work as a disability analyst for the State of California, I was traveling on the Oakland Bay Bridge, enroute to the office in Oakland. I heard the radio announcer say, “Tonight at eight, Charles Manson talks to our TV anchorman from San Quentin. More details after these messages.”
The rest of the bulletin announced: “This is the first television interview that the mass murderer has granted since the Sharon Tate murders six years ago.”
The news excited me. Perhaps it meant that the Manson muzzle would finally be removed and he would speak for himself.
At work, I was walking past the office of Dr. Landau, one of the two staff psychiatrists. He was talking to Analyst Dayton. I stopped cold upon hearing Dr. Landau talk about Manson being on TV tonight. I sauntered into the psychiatrist’s office and interjected, “Are either of you going to watch Manson tonite?”
Yes for the psychiatrist.
“Analyst Rubacher,” Analyst Dayton said, “I’m not going to spend time listening to that loony.”
I told Dr. Landau I would be interested in his reaction to the interview tomorrow. Promptly at the ten o’clock evening news I pressed my tape recorder and waited for Manson to break his self-imposed silence.
I saw the mass murderer sporting a scraggly beard and an unkempt mustache. He sat in his chair, looking lifeless. A comfortable distance away from the diminutive figure of the psychopathic killer sat the burly-bellied TV reporter in his late 30s or early 40s.
From the camera angle it was obvious the reporter dwarfed the prisoner. The camera panned to a beefy young guard who stood erect, gazing at Manson. The camera caught another huge guard. He also was alert to any possible surprise from the prisoner whose eyes were focused on the floor.
THE INTERVIEW WAS GOING NOWHERE . The reporter, in a confrontational style, recited the names of the people killed in cold blood during those two nights in August six years ago.
“Mr. Manson, you had no remorse in 1969. Have you come to a different view six years later?”
“Come on, Manson,” I said, “I have to hear your favorite word so I can break your code.”
Instead of responding with words, Manson slowly inched his way to the reporter. I watched Manson open his arms—body language designed to promote intimacy. A non-verbal ice breaker. To me, this gesture was designed to send out vibrations of warmth and caring.
Manson continued to inch his chair closer to the solemn-faced reporter. “Man, I have empathy for you,” the convicted killer spoke in a soothing tone.
I waited to see if the reporter would melt a
nd speak from his heart.
Instead, he responded by moving his chair away. Manson halted his progress. This journey to intimacy was doomed.
To add more ice water to the scene, the reporter placed his hand to his face, exhibiting another sign of anxiety.
That’s when I saw how imaginative Manson could be. He said, “Man, I’ll enter your world if you allow me to.”
The reporter tilted his chair backward. Manson, disappointed, sighed; he dropped his hands to his side.
Regaining his composure, the reporter said, “I understand you get mail from admirers.”
Manson nodded. He took a pack of Camel cigarettes from his top pocket and removed a smoke. A match flame appeared from one of the guards. Manson lit up, scratched his beard and cupped his cigarette in his hand after taking a drag.
I mimicked Manson’s cupping the smoke; I mimicked his deliberate inhalation and the slow exhalation. He savored each simple pleasure. Finding bliss in the ordinary. Making the ordinary extraordinary...
“The warden told me you receive some two hundred letters a month.”
“More like three hundred. You see, children from all over the world connect with me.”
He took a long slow drag. I did likewise with my imaginary smoke.
“Lost children from Poland, Germany, Australia, and America.” The reporter stifled a yawn. “Uh-huh.”
“A witch in London writes regularly. She--”
“Did you say a witch in London?”
“Leave me your business card. I’ll send you one of her letters and a picture of her in a witch’s outfit.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that. Ummm, how many of the letters are hate mail?”
“No hate mail.”
”Mr. Manson, did you say you get no hate mail?”
Charlie answered by blowing a “zero” smoke ring. He took pleasure in watching the “zero” cloud drift to the reporter.
I thought he was imaginative and playful.
After the commercial break the reporter stood outside the gate of Big Q. The concrete walls and gun towers loomed in the background “We’re told,” the reporter spoke into the camera, “that Manson is shuttled back and forth to three prisons in northern California. San Quentin, Folsom and Vacaville. He’s rotated every two years to one of the three. Officials told me this is done to protect the mass murderer from inmates who want to kill him to gain instant notoriety.”
Charles Manson's Blood Letters: dueling with the devil Page 1
