Kerry Thornley - The Dreadlock Recollections

A couple of other times he spoke of what, perhaps because of the way it was phrased, sounded more credible. "Kerry, the Fascists are now experimenting with advanced thought control techniques. You know, there are Fascists in this country. Among them is Henry Luce, who publishes Time and Life magazines. They are planning to build a society comprised of nothing but human robots, with transistors installed in the backs of their heads, so that they will be absolutely obedient to subliminal messages."

"Yeah. There are people who say it can't happen here. But I guess it can."

"Remember the saying about how you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink?"

"A friend of mine in high school used to say, 'You can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be lead.'"

With characteristic unfairness, Brother-in-law seemed annoyed at the irrelevance of my remark.

He found my comments about Germans equally irritating. "Every now and then we have German tourists at work, where I wait tables at the Sheraton-Charles. They're so rude and crude," I said, borrowing one of Slim's favorite expressions. "They blow their noses in the cloth napkins and leave olive pits in the ash trays. When they want a waiter, they snap their fingers. They talk loud. I don't like Germans very much," I added, feeling brave.

"You cannot, however, generalize about a whole race from a few examples."

I couldn't believe my ears!

"And there are things about the Germans, Kerry, that are quite admirable. They are very precise people, in both their music and their devotion to science. In that sense they are highly civilized, real sticklers for perfection."

"Yeah, I guess that's true."

"Kerry, one of Nelson Rockefeller's sons went on an expedition in the jungles of New Guinea and vanished. I wonder what ever happened to him?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Kerry, you know, criminologists say that a strand of hair is a more certain method of identification than a fingerprint."

"I read that in Dick Tracy's Crimestopper's Textbook ," I replied, adding that I had also learned from the same source that the best murder weapon was an icicle, because it melts afterwards and cannot be used as evidence.

Once he spoke of the People's Republic of China, a very mysterious, bellicose foreign power in those days. "You know, Clare Booth Luce is in favor of diplomatic recognition for Red China."

"No, I didn't realize that. Hell, she supports Goldwater. I don't get it."

"It's true, though." After a pause, he added, "You know, loyalty to the State is expected above loyalty to your own family there."

"Yeah. I saw a picture of a statue once in a book in the library of a little boy in Communist China who reported his own parents to the secret police."

"Those are the values they foster there. They've got so many millions of people to work with that their values have to be different than ours."

"I don't see what difference the number of people makes. That is altruism at its worst extreme, if you ask me."

"Kerry, I've got a close friend in the New Orleans police department. He knows I'm a burglar. If I ever get in trouble, I can rely on him for favors."

"Yeah, they ought to call the New Orleans police the Blue Mafia. Did I tell you about the time I got put in jail for nailing posters to telephone poles? I never saw such rotten conditions and such open corruption in my life. I'm tempted to write a book about it."

"Kerry, when I take over the country, how would you like to be Secretary of Defense? You are a strong believer in national defense. You would be able to travel everywhere in the world, and that's something I know you would like. I think you'd make a very good Secretary of Defense."

"Yes. I'd probably like that job."

"Then it's settled. When I take over, you will be my Secretary of Defense."

Slim was looking at me and laughing.

"And who do you recommend for President, after we kill Kennedy and Johnson's term expires?"

"Barry Goldwater," I answered without hesitation.

"Don't talk to me about that raving Red," Brother-in-law said with a laugh. "I think Nixon ought to be our man, because Nixon is unprincipled. A man without principles is easy to manipulate. We want somebody we can control, Kerry." I was amused to hear Goldwater called a "raving Red." Brother-in-law seemed to be making fun of himself, of the extremity of his own paranoia and right-wing views. Little things like that always made everything else he said seem less menacing.

There were many subjects of discussion about which my memories are vague due to distaste. Barracudas and moray eels were among the themes he would dwell on much too long for my comfort. Among the only undersea creatures that attack humans without provocation, they seemed of particular fascination to him, as I would sit there fidgeting and trying to change the topic to a more pleasant one.

Another depressing subject was Hughes Aircraft, of which he spoke quite often, although I do not recall the details of what he said, something, I think, about a project invasive of human rights. All that remains in my mind here is a surrealistic visual impression that seems purely imaginary in origin, though associated in his words somehow: greasy airplane parts and scraps of aluminum in a vacant lot. Brother-in-law was forever dwelling on the mundane when he was not preoccupied with the depressing or the bizarre.

"Kerry, have you ever heard the saying, 'Let George do it?'"

In retrospect I wonder if this was a veiled reference to George DeMohrenschildt who, according to his own statements just previous to his death, was involved in the assassination conspiracy.

At that time I was unaware that a man named George DeMohrenschildt was involved in Dallas in discussions with Oswald that could easily have resembled Brother-in-law's talks with me. At least, Oswald seems to have talked with DeMohrenschildt alone at length, and he seemed to come away from those discussions with an attitude that was as ambivalent toward him as mine was toward Brother-in-law.

Sometimes I was successful in returning digression for digression, particularly in the realm of stories about weird people. My tales of Southern California's ample lunatic fringe seemed to entertain Brother-in-law.

Besides Daniel Fry's UFO watchers, there was a religious cult in Box Canyon under the leadership of a Messianic ex-convict calling himself Krishna Venta, until his followers assassinated him.

"Another input into the mind of Manson was provided by a religious cult, The Fountain of the World, located West of the Spahn Ranch in Box Canyon near the Santa Susanna fire department. He was very impressed with the Fountain and spent a lot of time visiting it.

"…The Fountain was formed by a holy man named Krishna Venta who died by violence. The family grooved with the violent history of the Fountain. The religious retreat occupied subterranean chambers and caves wherein they did their thing. As the cult progressed, dissension ensued and parties unknown blew up the founder, Krishna Venta, and nine of his followers, with forty pieces of dynamite placed in the catacombs. This occurred in 12-10-58, whereafter the Fountain struggled onward and was still thriving when Manson discovered it," according to Ed Sanders on pages 110–111 of The Family.

As I remember it now and told it to Brother-in-law then, Krishna Venta had been blown away by the very men who died with him, whose wives he had been making it with. An eerie tape recording explaining their motives was headlined in the newspapers as "voices from the dead", a gift to history the assassins had been kind enough to contribute before destroying themselves and their Messiah.

"That man had it made," I said. "Not only was he fucking all the women, but he had required all his converts to sign over to him all their earthly possessions when they joined. He said he was not born of woman, because he didn't have a belly button. I figured he must've gotten plastic surgery."