Helter Skelter: The True Story of the Manson Murders Page 22

  Late in February, Manson’s probation officer was visited by an irate parent, +Ralph Samuels, from Detroit. Samuels’ daughter +Jo Anne, nineteen, had come to California in response to an ad for an airline stewardess school, only to learn, after paying her tuition, that the school was a fraud. She had $700 in savings, however, and together with another disillusioned student, +Beth Beldon, had rented an apartment in Hollywood. About November 1959, Jo Anne had the misfortune to meet Charles Manson, who introduced himself, complete with printed card, as “President, 3-Star-Enterprises, Nite Club, Radio and TV Productions.” Manson conned her into investing her savings in his nonexistent company; drugged and raped her roommate; and got Jo Anne pregnant. It was an ectopic pregnancy, the fetus growing in one of the Fallopian tubes, and she nearly died.

  The probation officer could offer little more than a sympathetic ear, however, for Charles Manson had disappeared. A bench warrant was issued, and on April 28 a federal grand jury indicted him on the Mann Act violation. He was arrested June 1 in Laredo, Texas, after police picked up one of his girls on a prostitution charge, and brought back to Los Angeles, where, on June 23, 1960, the court ruled he had violated his probation and ordered him returned to prison to serve out his ten-year sentence. The judge observed: “If there ever was a man who demonstrated himself completely unfit for probation, he is it.” This was the same judge who had granted him probation the previous September.

  The Mann Act charge was later dropped. For a full year Manson remained in the Los Angeles County Jail, while appealing the revocation. The appeal was denied, and in July 1961 he was sent to the United States Penitentiary at McNeil Island, Washington. He was twenty-six.

  According to staff evaluation, Manson had become something of an actor: “He hides his loneliness, resentment, and hostility behind a façade of superficial ingratiation…An energetic, young-appearing person whose verbalization flows quite easily, he gestures profusely and can dramatize situations to hold the listener’s attention.” Then a statement which, in one form or another, was to reappear often in his prison records, and, much later, in post-prison interviews: “He has commented that institutions have become his way of life and that he receives security in institutions which is not available to him in the outside world.”

  Manson gave as his claimed religion “Scientologist,” stating that he “has never settled upon a religious formula for his beliefs and is presently seeking an answer to his question in the new mental health cult known as Scientology.”

  Scientology, an outgrowth of science-fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard’s Dianetics, was just coming into vogue at this time. Manson’s teacher, i.e., “auditor,” was another convict, Lanier Rayner. Manson would later claim that while in prison he achieved Scientology’s highest level, “theta clear.”*

  Although Manson remained interested in Scientology much longer than he did in any other subject except music, it appears that, like the Dale Carnegie course, he stuck with it only as long as his enthusiasm lasted, then dropped it, extracting and retaining a number of terms and phrases (“auditing,” “cease to exist,” “coming to Now”) and some concepts (karma, reincarnation, etc.) which, perhaps fittingly, Scientology had borrowed in the first place.

  He was still interested in Scientology when his annual progress report was written that September. Furthermore, according to the report, that interest “has led him to make a semi-professional evaluation of his personality which strangely enough is quite consistent with the evaluations made by previous social studies. He appears to have developed a certain amount of insight into his problems through his study of this discipline. Manson is making progress for the first time in his life.”

  The report also noted that Manson “is active in softball, basketball, and croquet” and “is a member of the Drama Club and the Self Improvement Group.” He had become “somewhat of a fanatic at practicing the guitar.”*

  He held one fairly responsible job eleven months, the longest he held any prison assignment, before being caught with contraband in his cell and reassigned to janitorial work.

  The annual report that September took a close, hard look at the twenty-eight-year-old convict:

  “Charles Manson has a tremendous drive to call attention to himself. Generally he is unable to succeed in positive acts, therefore he often resorts to negative behavior to satisfy this drive. In his effort to ‘find’ himself, Manson peruses different religious philosophies, e.g., Scientology and Buddhism; however, he never remains long enough with any given teachings to reap meaningful benefits. Even these attempts and his cries for help represent a desire for attention, with only superficial meaning. Manson has had more than the usual amount of staff attention, yet there is little indication of change in his demeanor. In view of his deep-seated personality problems…continuation of institutional treatment is recommended.”

  On October 1, 1963, prison officials were informed, “according to court papers received in this institution, that Manson was married to a Leona Manson in 1959 in the State of California, and that the marriage was terminated by divorce on April 10, 1963, in Denver, Colorado, on grounds of mental cruelty and conviction of a felony. One child, Charles Luther Manson, is alleged to have been of this union.”

  This is the only reference, in any of Manson’s records, to his second marriage and second child.

  Manson’s annual review of September 1964 revealed a clear conduct record, but little else encouraging. “His past pattern of employment instability continues…seems to have an intense need to call attention to himself…remains emotionally insecure and tends to involve himself in various fanatical interests.”

  Those “fanatical interests” weren’t identified in the prison reports, but at least several are known. In addition to Scientology and his guitar, there was now a third. In January 1964 “I Want to Hold Your Hand” became the No. 1 song on U.S. record charts. With the New York arrival of the “four Liverpool lads” the following month, the United States experienced, later than Great Britain but with no less intensity, the phenomenon known as Beatlemania. According to former inmates at McNeil, Manson’s interest in the Beatles was almost an obsession. It didn’t necessarily follow that he was a fan. There was more than a little jealousy in his reaction. He told numerous people that, given the chance, he could be much bigger than the Beatles. One person he told this to was Alvin Karpis, lone survivor of the Ma Barker gang. Manson had struck up a friendship with the aging gangster after learning he could play the steel guitar. Karpis taught Manson how. Again an observable pattern. Manson managed to get something from almost everyone with whom he associated.

  May 1966: “Manson continues to maintain a clear conduct record…Recently he has been spending most of his free time writing songs, accumulating about 80 or 90 of them during the past year, which he ultimately hopes to sell following release…He also plays the guitar and drums, and is hopeful that he can secure employment as a guitar player or as a drummer or singer…

  “He shall need a great deal of help in the transition from institution to the free world.”

  In June 1966, Charles Manson was returned to Terminal Island for release purposes.

  August 1966: “Manson is about to complete his ten-year term. He has a pattern of criminal behavior and confinement that dates to his teen years. This pattern is one of instability whether in free society or a structured institutional community. Little can be expected in the way of change in his attitude, behavior, or mode of conduct…” This last report noted that Manson had no further interest in academic or vocational training; that he was no longer an advocate of Scientology; that “he has come to worship his guitar and music” and, finally, “He has no plans for release as he says he has nowhere to go.”

  The morning Charles Manson was to be freed, he begged the authorities to let him remain in prison. Prison had become his home, he told them. He didn’t think he could adjust to the world outside.

  His request was denied. He was released at 8:15 A.M. on March 21, 1967, and g
iven transportation to Los Angeles. That same day he requested and received permission to go to San Francisco. It was there, in the Haight-Ashbury section, that spring, that the Family was born.

  Charles Manson was thirty-two years old. Over seventeen of those years—more than half his life—had been spent in institutions. In those seventeen years, Manson had only been examined by a psychiatrist three times, and then very superficially.

  I was surprised, in studying Manson’s record, to find no sustained history of violence—armed robbery age thirteen, homosexual rape age seventeen, wife beating age twenty, that was it. I was more than surprised, I was amazed at the number of federal offenses. Probably ninety-nine out of one hundred criminals never see the inside of a federal court. Yet here was Manson, described as “criminally sophisticated,” violating the Dyer Act, the Mann Act, stealing from the mails, forging a government check, and so on. Had Manson been convicted of comparable offenses in state courts, he probably would have served less than five years instead of over seventeen.

  Why? I could only guess. Perhaps, as he said before his reluctant release from Terminal Island, prison was the only home he had. It was also possible that, consciously or unconsciously, he sought out those offenses that carried the most severe punishments. A third speculation—and I wasn’t overlooking the possibility that it could be a combination of all three—was a need, amounting almost to a compulsion, to challenge the strongest authority.

  I was a long way from understanding Charles Manson. Though I could see patterns in his conduct, which might be clues to his future actions, a great deal was missing.

  Burglar, car thief, forger, pimp—was this the portrait of a mass murderer?

  I had far more questions than answers. And, as yet, not even a clue as to the motive.

  NOVEMBER 24–26, 1969

  Although Lieutenants Helder and LePage remained in charge of the Tate and LaBianca cases, the assignments were more jurisdictional than operational, since each was in charge of numerous other homicide investigations. Nineteen detectives had originally been assigned to the two cases. That number had now been cut to six. Moreover, for some odd reason, though there were only two victims in the LaBianca slayings, four detectives remained assigned to that case: Sergeants Philip Sartuchi, Mike Nielsen, Manuel “Chick” Gutierrez, and Frank Patchett. But on Tate, where there were five victims, there were only two detectives: Sergeants Robert Calkins and Mike McGann.

  I called Calkins and McGann in for a conference and gave them a list of things I needed done. A few samples:

  Interview Terry Melcher.

  Check the fingerprints of every known Family member against the twenty-five unmatched latents found at 10050 Cielo Drive.

  Put out a “want” on Charles “Tex” Montgomery, using the description on Inyo Deputy Sheriff Cox’s August 21, 1969, F.I.R. card (M/C/6 feet/145 pounds/slim build/ruddy complexion/born December 2, 1945). If the case breaks before we arrest him, I told them, we may never find him.

  Show photos of every Family member to Chapman; Garretson; the Tate gardeners; and the families, friends, and business associates of the victims. It there’s a link, I want to know about it.

  Check everyone in the Family to see who wears glasses, and determine if the pair found at the Tate murder scene belongs to a Family member.

  “How do we do that?” Calkins asked. “They’re not about to admit it.”

  “I presume you talk to their acquaintances, parents, relatives, to any of the Family members like Kitty Lutesinger and Stephanie Schram who are willing to cooperate,” I told him. “If you can check out the glasses with eye doctors all over the United States and Canada, you can certainly check out some thirty-five people.”

  This was our initial estimate of the size of the Family. We’d later learn that at various times it numbered a hundred or more. The hard-core members—i.e., those who remained for any length of time and who were privy to what was going on—numbered between twenty-five and thirty.

  Something occurred to me. “You did check out Garretson, didn’t you, to see if those glasses were his?”

  They weren’t sure. They’d have to get back to me on that.

  I later learned that although Garretson had been the first—and, for a time, the only—suspect in the murders, no one had thought to ascertain if those glasses, the single most important clue found at the murder scene, belonged to him. They hadn’t even asked him if he wore glasses. It turned out he sometimes did. I learned this in talking to his attorney, Barry Tarlow. Eventually I was able to get LAPD to contact the police in Lancaster, Ohio, Garretson’s home town, where he had returned after his release, and they obtained the specifics of Garretson’s prescription from his local optometrist. Not even close.

  From the evidence I’d seen, I didn’t believe Garretson was involved in the murders, but I didn’t want a defense attorney popping up in court pointing a finger, or rather a pair of eyeglasses, at an alternate suspect.

  I was also curious about whom those glasses belonged to.

  After Calkins and McGann left, I got in touch with the LaBianca dectectives and gave them similar instructions regarding the photos and the Waverly Drive latents.

  Five of the Manson girls were still in jail in Independence. LAPD decided to bring them to Los Angeles for individual interrogation. They would be confined at Sybil Brand but a “keep away” would be placed on each. This meant they could have no contact with each other or with anyone else LAPD designated—for example, Susan Atkins.

  It was a good move on LAPD’s part. There was a chance that, questioned separately, one or more might decide to talk.

  That evening TV commentator George Putnam startled his listeners with the announcement that on Wednesday he would reveal who had committed the Tate murders. Our office called LAPD, who had their public relations spokesman, Lieutenant Hagen, contact Putnam and other representatives of the media asking them to hold off, because publicity now would hurt our investigation. All the newspapers, wire services, and radio and TV stations agreed to sit on the story, but only for one week, until Monday, December 1. The news was too big, and each was afraid someone else would try for a scoop.

  There had been a leak. It wouldn’t be the last.

  On Tuesday, the twenty-fifth, Frank Fowles, the Inyo County DA, called, and we traded some information.

  Fowles told me that Sandra Good had been overheard talking again. She had told another Family member that Charlie was going to “go alibi.” If he was brought to trial for the Tate-LaBianca murders, they would produce evidence showing he wasn’t even in Los Angeles at the time the murders occurred.

  I told Fowles of a rumor I’d heard. According to McGann, a police informant in Las Vegas had told him that Charles “Tex” Montgomery and Bruce Davis had been seen there the previous day, driving a green panel Volkswagen. They had allegedly told someone that they were attempting to raise enough money to bail out Manson; failing in that, they intended to kill someone.

  Fowles had heard similar rumblings among the Manson girls. He took them seriously enough to send his own family out of Inyo County over the Thanksgiving weekend. He remained behind, however, ready to forestall any bail attempt.

  After hanging up, I called Patchett and Gutierrez of the LaBianca team and told them I wanted a detailed report on Manson’s activities the week of the murders. Unlike the Tate detectives, they didn’t ask how to do it. They went out and did it, eventually giving me evidence which, together with other information we obtained, would blow any alibi defense to smithereens.

  That afternoon McGann and Patchett re-interviewed Ronnie Howard, this time on tape. She provided several details she’d recalled since LAPD last talked to her, but nothing that was of help in the current investigation. We still didn’t know who all the killers were.

  Wednesday, November 26. “Hung jury on Beausoleil,” one of the deputy DAs yelled in the door of my office. “Eight to four for conviction.”

  The case had been so weak our office hadn’t sought
the death penalty. Also, the jury hadn’t believed Danny DeCarlo. Brought in at the last minute, without adequate preparation, he had not been a convincing witness.

  Later that day LASO asked my office if I would take over the prosecution of Beausoleil in his new trial, and I was assigned this case in addition to the two cases I was already handling.

  That same morning Virginia Graham decided she had to tell someone what she knew. A few days earlier her husband had visited her at Corona. Whispering through the wire screen in the visitor’s room, she told him she had heard something about the Benedict Canyon murders, and didn’t know what to do.

  He advised her: “Mind your own business.”

  But, she would later state: “I can see a lot of things I don’t say anything about, but this is sick. This is so bad that I don’t know who could mind their own business with this.”*

  Having failed to get an appointment with Dr. Dreiser, Virginia instead went to her counselor. The authorities at Corona called LAPD. At 3:15 that afternoon Sergeant Nielsen arrived at the prison and began taping her story.

  Unlike Ronnie, who was unsure whether four or five people were involved in the Tate homicides, Virginia recalled Sadie’s saying there were three girls and one man. Like Ronnie, however, she presumed the man, “Charles,” was Manson.

  The individual questioning of the five girls took place that afternoon and evening at Sybil Brand.

  Sergeant Manuel “Chick” Gutierrez interviewed Dianne Bluestein, aka Snake, t/n Dianne Lake, given age twenty-one, true age sixteen. The interview was taped. Listening to the tapes later, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  Q. “My name is Sergeant Gutierrez and I’m with the Los Angeles Police Department and I work homicide…. I’ve talked to several of the girls. The girls have been real nice and we’ve had some long, long chats. We know a lot of things that went on over at Spahn. We know a lot that happened other places. We know who is involved, and who is not involved. We also know things that maybe you don’t know, that we’re not going to tell you until the right time comes up, but we’ve got to talk to everybody who was involved, and I think you know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about Charlie and the Family and everybody. I don’t know how tight you are with the Family. You’re probably real tight with them, but somebody’s going to go down the tubes, and somebody’s going to get the pill in the gas chamber for a whole bunch of murders which you are a part of, or so some other people have indicated.”