The Vampyres Of New York

Vol.1, Clip 7

A Novel

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Expecting Lessing to get busy organizing legal defenses I more confidently approached Ragnar. As he would be on the line, that is more open to suspicion, I decided to drive over to Newport to view the site of the famous Folk Festival. Newport was a big event in younger days, the site where Dylan went electric shocking the Village folk crowd.

A few years back in twenty-fifteen or so a lot of video stuff was released covering those several years along with a bunch of CDs of Dylan’s nightclub appearances, Carnegie Hall and things. What shows up visually and aurally is quite different from the written accounts. Anyway I wanted to walk over the grounds.

Clearly we were being tailed so we took a couple of evasive measures just to let them know we knew they were there and then I forgot about them. There was a nice breeze in from the sea so Ragnar and I walked into it; I hoped the wind might muffle any microphones directed at us and at any rate they would be directed at our backs.

Me: So, Ragnar, I had a talk with Lessing. He definitely wants to do something to address the racial imbalance. He’s actively working to organize some lawyers and judges who sympathize with our plight. They intend to protect any Whites arrested as ‘domestic terrorists’ or whatever; either get the cases dismissed outright or delay them or if possible have them fall through the cracks as they say.

Ragnar: That’s interesting. So?

Me: Well, maybe I’m wrong Ragnar, but I have the feeling that your gym group might be grumpy about the race war and the lack of affirmative action against it.

Ragnar: We’re not happy with what’s going on, that’s for sure.

Me: Yeah. This might be the right time to get something going.

Ragnar: Like what?

Me: Oh, you know, securing the streets so they’re safe for wife and family. A little neighborhood ethnic cleansing to clear out unwanted elements and replace them with suitable people for instance. Kind of a White no-go area to match that of Harlem and the Moslems surrounding Wall Street, for instance.

Ragnar: You know how far that would get.

Me: That’s what I’m saying Ragnar. No charges would be filed or if they were they would be nullified by legal procedures. A certain care would have to be taken but action could be pretty well denied. Intimidation rather than actual violence just as with the Mexicans, Syrians and Negroes. We all know who to get rid of unwanted Whites, don’t we?

Ragnar: Farquhar would cover our backs?

Me: That’s what I’m saying. And if any of you know policeman, which I’m sure you do, they can take their time arriving, if they leave the station. They know how to obfuscate procedures. I’m sure they would appreciate safe neighborhoods for their families, cleansed schools without racial terrorism.

You’re all body builders so put on a scowl and terrify intruders into cleansed neighborhoods. Levey donations on business owners who will no longer be bothered by roving groups of thieves. They’re all losing ten or fifteen percent minimum to those guys and maybe paying protection. Guarantee them no shop lifting, no gay activists and it should be worth a few hundred dollars a month plus the ability to relax a little. Chat them up, see what racial discord is costing them and strike a deal. That way you’ll cover your expenses with a little over.

As front line freedom fighters that would be only fair. Talk to your buddies Ragnar. See where they stand. Let me know and we’ll get some effective offensive moves going. Reclaim the streets and then move on from there.

Ragnar: You’re sure Farquhar will perform?’

Me. Well, Ragnar, your gym is public, why don’t Lessing and I come down on some Saturday and chat while you’re pumping iron. You have ten pound weights for the amateurs don’t you?

Ragnar: Ten pound weights? Yeah, for the kids. OK, great. You two are the leaders?

Me: No, Ragnar. We’re both down the list a ways. We’re just organizers. The big guys prefer to be incognito.

That was a little white lie but I and I’m sure Lessing wanted to stay in the background as far as possible. It would be best to organize on standard conspiratorial lines.

I relaxed on the drive back to Manhattan but my brain was working. Little did I suspect but the next day would be a life enhancing experience. Nordstrom’s Department Store was beginning its grand opening for its first Manhattan store so I decided to go up and see how things were working out. Nordstrom’s was a Northwest chain that began in Seattle so I thought I’d see if they could handle the Big Bagel.

The outside of the store was magnificent while crowds of people pressed through the banks of doors. It seemed likely that more people would want in than the store could handle. Amazingly the limousine seemed to announce that an important personage was within so that when I stepped out the crowd parted to let me in. Smiling benignly left and right I strode to the doors as though by divine right. Once inside though I became common place jostling and forcing my way through the crowd.

It may not be true but it seemed like the retail store was the church of the age. While people seemed to be buying, for myself, I couldn’t see how they could examine the merchandise so quickly. Pushed hither and thither I was scarcely aware of what department I was in. And then…I saw her standing there. She was tall and willowy, probably seventy years of age, right for me and deep chested, always a top criterion.

Her head was lowered as though her gaze was fixed steadfastly on something on the floor. She seemed oblivious to all around her, one could almost mistake her for a manikin. Then it occurred to me that she was catatonic, devoid of volition. She was mine for the taking.

I walked over, slipped my arm around her waist and said: Come Darling, you are found. She was lost inside but made no resistance as I applied a slight pressure allowing me to guide her through the crowd. Ragnar concealed his surprise at my appearance with her but leading us to the Limo, I put the woman inside following her.

I studied her intently as Ragnar threaded through the dense traffic. I thought I recognized her problem. When I was in the Orphanage I had withdrawn into myself at one point. Unable to resist or change the intolerable conditions I was facing I shrunk down against the wall of the dormitory withdrawing inside my mind with no intent of ever coming out.

The house mother pleaded with me and I heard her but gave no outward indication of hearing. I don’t know exactly what caused me to relinquish my attitude, perhaps the thought of being transferred to another institution and that might clearly be worse than the one I was in. At any rate I came out and resumed my life.

I thought that probably was the woman’s situation. Something about the Nordstrom situation catalyzed past influences in her life causing her to give up. I thought possibly I could bring her back especially as I knew she could hear me. I had a plan I had been nursing for a long time; this would be a good time to try it. It was a dream come true.

I knew what she represented to me. She was the living image of the Anima I desired. Recent developments had left me Anima voided causing me psychological discomfort. Now I had found her, she who I needed, she was mine and I was determined she wouldn’t get away. I watched her quietly working out my method. I believed I had to be successful within three days or she would probably be beyond reach forever. And then what could I do with her.

I escorted her past Ottmar and into the elevator. She wasn’t difficult to steer but she stopped in her tracks when the forward pressure was removed. Thus she stopped in her tracks without lifting her her gaze from the floor as I worked through the first set of keys. Opening the entry door I moved her into the little vestibule while I manipulated the keys for the inner door.

That done I moved her into the living room and left her staring out toward the Staten Island view. Coming back, I placed a chair behind her and invited her to sit down. I knew she could hear but she was incapable of responding so I backed her into the chair, took her purse from her and seated myself on the couch facing her.

I wasn’t clear what to do next. Finally I said: Darling, you were lost but now you are found. I have rescued you. As I expected, this elicited no response. As it was now well after lunch I decided she needed a bite of something. As loving care might be as useful as anything else I led her into the dining room telling her I was going to make her some soup. Sitting her down I had no qualms about leaving her as I knew she was incapable of moving. Cooking up some Cream of Squash which was a nice bland soup I next faced the dilemma of how to get her to ingest it as she refused to or was unable to grasp the spoon.

Filling the spoon halfway I pried her lips open and slipped the spoon into her mouth tipping her head back so that she involuntarily swallowed as she was apparently hungry. As I fed her I began to speak soothingly to her using ideas I had developed earlier. I still had no idea of who she was but…

Me: Al right, Darling Girl, I think I know what the matter is and I was sent to rescue you. The great goddess Hera saw that you were in danger. She sent me to save you before the authorities picked you up and took you to Bellevue. Once in there the gods only know what would have happened to you. They would have injected you with horrible drugs or even subjected you to electro-shock therapy. You would have been destroyed. Once you’re in the hands of the authorities you’re lost but you were fortunate that Hera was watching over you and I found you.

I am a priest of the cult of Hera. My name is Partly Wright. Hera has invested me with the power to restore you to health. I love you and you’re safe in good hands but you will have to follow the cleansing and purification ritual. In your condition it may take three days but perhaps less depending on how injured your mind is.

As I hope you know, but if you don’t I’ll tell you: Hera is the goddess who protects and aids women. She has a long history. Her home was in the Greek city of Argos. For a great period she reigned there with her consort Heracles, this was in the days before the Patriarchy. In her period, the Matriarchy, she reigned with her consort Heracles. Their relationship was known as the marriage between the Sun, Heracles and the Moon, She. Her name meant She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. In point of fact I was deputized by that earlier Sun God Heracles as male administering to Hera’s daughters of which you are one.

When the Great Cataclysm came, the arrival of the Patriarchy, the ancient harmony was shattered. Unable to resist the warriors of the Patriarchy Hera lost her place and freedom becoming subordinated to the Patriarchic great god Zeus. You may be sure she made a troublesome wife for him.

Heracles was torn from her side and cast down from the abode of the gods to become a mere human while others squabbled for his place as avatar of the Sun. He was subordinated to the role of a mere human while being given onerous tasks that were thought impossible to achieve in the hopes of dishonoring him forever. Heracles with the covert aid of his former wife was made of sterner stuff fulfilling all the tasks.

To make the story shorter after a lifetime of trials and tribulations he died but with an enormous reputation that had to be taken into account. More from shame and embarrassment than from desire Heracles Patriarchic gods made him a demi-god and gave him the role of doorman for the godly abode of Olympus. But, let the dead past bury its dead. For you and me here that has no effect, but you should know.

I will now give you a small glass of wine as a symbol of the power of the Sun and then we will begin the cleansing and purifying lustration.

I looked for any signs of recognition concerning my account but could notice only a slight relaxing in the tension she was under. I deemed that a positive sign indicating that with care she could be reached and rescued.

I thought her problem was obvious. As she appeared to be about seventy when the mind begins to go through changes becoming a little less elastic that her defenses against all the abuses we endure got in the way and she failed to make a small transition at which time she sank into a serious depression which is what this catalepsy is, at least mine was. Somehow the joyous ecstatic atmosphere at Nordstrom’s opening contrasted too strongly perhaps with her growing depression and she sank into catalepsy on the spot. This was serious but early enough so that I was positive she could be saved. I would have to be at a peak of form I have never attained before however.

I gave her a couple sips of the wine, a mere sip actually given more as a form of ritual, a suggestion, to hopefully gain her confidence. Then I raised her from the chair leading her to the shower in the bathroom. In the modern taste the bathroom was a little temple in green marble perhaps three hundred square feet. Why the modern mind has made so much of the bathroom is unclear to me. Along the way I began to explain to her the necessary legend or myth of Hera that gave the lustration sense.

‘Listen carefully, Darling Girl, for this is how you will be saved. In those days our patroness Lady, Hera, was as well as the protector of women the goddess of life, as you may know. This was represented by the annual cycle of birth in Spring and the death of vegetation in Fall. Of course, the earth is revived by the rains bursting forth once more in the virgin Spring. This is symbolized in Astrology when Ganymede as Aquarius pours forth the water from his urn on Hera characterized as Virgo the Virgin.

In another telling the great goddess Hera every Spring bathed in the waters of the spring of Kanathos thus restoring her virginity. We are now going to replicate that ritual using the water of this shower. Water, as is well known, is a purifying agent. Thus as a priest of Hera I through She will restore you to a state as of virginity.’

While speaking I had been disrobing the woman to reveal a gorgeous well formed figure with stunning breasts. The ravages of time could not be fully resisted but she was a perfect example of what a woman of seventy should be. I adjusted the shower just above warm verging into hot then, as the woman still had no volition I had to lift her legs over the lip of the shower. It may have been my imagination but I thought she responded to the water.

Taking the bar of Creed soap, Creed is among the finest made and my favorite, I began to lave her neck, massaging carefully, moving down her body at the same time intoning: By the power invested in me by Our Lady Hera the crimes, indignities, insults and injuries this lovely woman has endured in life are washed away. Any guilt she mistakenly carries is cleansed from her soul, mind and body. She is returned to her original virginal state.’

As my hands caressed her lovely curves I thought I felt a relaxation of the muscle tension. As she had not yet raised her head I ventured further telling her that she could see the soiling made from her body go down the drain, a pale grey color. Her eyes did seem to focus.

Then lifting her head, I concentrated my gaze into her lovely golden eyes, a golden green, to see that they were clear exhibiting no trace, as far as I could see, of her temporary insanity. Using my soaped finger I caressed her cheeks washing away the makeup, although expertly applied, to reveal a clear vibrant complexion. She had apparently, curiously, avoided the sun as there was little damage to her face and her exquisite body.

Amazingly there was little wrinkling other than the slight sagging of her cheeks from the pull of gravity. Her mouth was neither small nor large, although for my tastes it could have been a little larger, while her lips retained almost youthful form while beginning to narrow.

Having completed the conjurations and lustration I led her from the shower as she still lacked volition, to carefully pat her down with a snow white towel.

That completed I led her back to the bedroom. I put her in the shirt I had worn the day before then lay her down on the bed. Speaking softly I said: Darling Girl you will now sleep a deep and dreamless sleep until the morning sun comes up. Your sleep will be dreamless but your unconscious mind will absorb the ritual of Hera you have just performed while your mind will repair and reorder any injuries you may have received leading to your catalepsy.

You will wake refreshed and be able to resume your active life. Now, close your eyes Darling Girl and sleep. Sleep the all healing sleep.’

At this point she visibly relaxed with closing eyes, ‘Sleep , Darling Child of Hera, sleep.

As she appeared to be asleep I closed the door leaving it slightly open. I then went to get her purse to see who I was dealing with.

Being a New Yorker she had no driver’s license but she did have a medical insurance card. You can imagine how stunned I was to learn her name was Angeline Gower. I had once been rescued by a woman named Angeline Gower. After high school when I was in emotional shell shock from my rotten childhood I took to the highway ending up in the Grand Traverse where I blanked out in a coffee shop only to return to consciousness ten days later in Angeline’s magnificent bed in a shack out in the woods. Angeline was almost in the condition I was from an equally rotten childhood still she managed to nurse me to health and save my life. I’ll add to the details when Ange (short for Angeline) wakes up tomorrow.

So, she was Angeline Gower II whose life I was now saving. She wasn’t broke, her billfold contained six hundred fifty-two dollars with a checking account balance of near one hundred thousand dollars so it wasn’t ticket price shock at Nordstrom’s that put her into catatonic shock.

Looking further I found a Bar Association card so she either was or had been a lawyer. From that I deduced her catatonia was sexually related probably from a too casual attitude from her fellow lawyers or perhaps worse. After all, the sixties, seventies and eighties had been very degrading for women, not that they didn’t embrace the period calling it freedom. She must have numerous stories of legal sexual misconduct. I could have obtained a force with which to control lawyers and judges in Angeline. She must know dozens of women in her situation and they would know hundreds of lawyers and judges.

Otherwise her bag was an eight thousand dollar Chanel with all accoutrements equally expensive. Heck, the crappy short haircut probably cost five hundred a session not to mention the makeup brands most of which I had never heard of and I follow the fashion magazines.

Alright. I would have to see if she was with the living on the morrow or still one of the walking dead. It was getting late and I hadn’t eaten so I made up a pastrami, corned beef and ham sandwich, emptied out a can of Campbell’s Chunky Potato and Bacon soup that I ate at a leisured pace. I had come across a nice Chateau Ste. Madeline, Cassis appellation, that proved a pleasant complement to my, well, repast.

Angeline seemed to sleeping peacefully or perhaps she was comatose. Anyway, I crawled in beside her, overwhelmed by her beauty. Don’t get any idea I took advantage of her because I intended her for my Anima and to violate my Anima would be to violate myself. I’m no masochist. I did however fold the cover back to gaze for a few moments at her magnificent breasts and wild strawberries. I’m only human as the weasels say.

True to my suggestion her eyes opened with the sunrise but she didn’t seem to be aware so I got up to make some poached eggs and toast to supplement my meager takings of last night.

I had just sat down at table when I looked up to see Ange standing there in the nude. It was going to be a good breakfast. She stood there with one hand on her hip the other extended above her leaning on the door jamb, or arch way rather. My eggs tasted great. A slight smile appeared on her lips as she studied me attentively.

Then she said: May I have some eggs too?

Nice voice, lovely voice, cultivated but not ostentatiously so, no Eleanor Roosevelt.

‘Sure Angeline, sit down. How many would you like, two or three?’

‘Three.’ She sighed languorously.

‘I’ll be three minutes, the water’s already boiled.’

‘Thank-you. Is your name really Partly Wright?’

‘You think that’s funny, Ange? Yes it is. Mother had a sense of humor as I never tire of saying. You’ve been going through my pockets?

‘I took that liberty.’

‘Yes, well, and is your name really Angeline Gower?’

‘What’s funny about that?’

‘Nothing, only a while back, a long time now I knew an Angeline Gower up in the Grand Traverse.’

‘Grand Traverse, Michigan?’ Angeline said freezing in her tracks as I had on looking at her medical card.

‘Um hm, yes, many years ago, back in nineteen fifty six but you can’t be her, she was several years older than me so you’d have to closing in on ninety.’

Ange: My mother was in Grand Traverse, working at a restaurant at that time. She used to tell me of an ungrateful boy she rescued at that time but his name wasn’t Partly Wright.’

Me: ‘No. I was in my Dewey Trueman phase at that time.’

Ange: ‘That’s the name! You’re Dewey Trueman?’

Me: ‘No. I’m Partly Wright. Dewey Trueman died on the Grand Traverse.’

Ange: ‘Mother used to say that she woke up one morning and you, or this Dewey Trueman, was gone.’

Me: ‘Yes, that’s true. But that Angeline Gower didn’t have a daughter and she wouldn’t have been your age, Ange.’

Ange: ‘She never mentioned me to you.’

Me: No. She never talked about her past life at all and I really wasn’t in any kind of mental condition to be overly curious.’

Ange: ‘Hmm. Mother was in pain herself when you knew her. I’ll tell you her story if you like.’

I signified yes but I was getting very uncomfortable myself feeling like I would go into shock. It was déjà vu flickering past like film frames in very slow motion, I thought I might lose it. Suddenly I could pick my old Angeline’s features in my new Angeline’s face. Synchronicity bulbs kept flashing in my mind mentally blinding me. I put my head down dug into my eggs. Ange said nothing watching me, when I put my head up I had tears in my eyes that I couldn’t conceal. I guess that softened my new Angeline.

But Ange had brought up the memories of my old Angeline for which I had always harbored guilt. As had happened to me before while writing old memories had called up only what I can call a mental rash that is so overwhelming I had to take to bed, so now this rash arose and I had to go to bed until it passed which if the past was any guide might be one or two days. I explained my situation to Ange that only caused her to giggle as she followed me into the bedroom seizing my hand on the way.

Removing my clothes I crawled into bed. Ange watched me giggling away then after I got into bed hopping up on it sitting on her heels still coyly giggling. But it wasn’t the giggling of a grown woman but more of a ten or eleven year old girl. Then I realized that she hadn’t fully recovered but though retaining her mental attributes of her age she had slipped into the emotional state of a child, as I was to learn, before she had surrendered her virginity, that had happened as I was to learn when she was sixteen.

Apparently in my cleansing ritual of the previous evening when I returned her to a mental virginity she had interpreted it as one level of consciousness literally; thus she was of two minds. Now she set about to seduce me as an eleven year old would do but her mind was shadowed by her current age and experience.

I was reluctant to engage as I wasn’t sure Ange was competent, on the other hand I couldn’t refuse without fear of offending her and perhaps losing her. After all I had joined her in marriage as the Sun and Moon. I don’t live in quandaries so we consummated our marriage. The combination of an eleven year old and post-menopause woman was a strange experience that I will never forget or regret.

At any rate we were now one. And then a strange thing happened. Relaxing in the glow Ange suddenly said to me in a sort of eleven year old baby talk: you remember you said your goddess had sent you to cherish and protect me?

Now I was frightened; what was coming next?

‘Yes.’

‘I want you to revenge me on a man who hurt me.’

Ooh, what had I gotten myself into: Yes, Angeline, who is he and what did he do?

‘He’s Judge Merivale Adelstein and he raped me more than once.’

‘What kind of judge, Ange?’

‘He’s a federal judge and he’s a horrible man. He treats us women like we are his sex slaves. He has to be punished.’

I quickly agreed, I even had formulated a plan in an instant. Angeline had said ‘us girls’, that meant several and if he used his position to compel sexual favors he was in very deep doo-doo, no statute of limitations, instant destruction. And if he was doing it very likely other judges were while it might be possible to uncover a system of abuse among the legal firms. Depending on things this knowledge could give us, the Serapion Order, nearly complete control over the legal establishment.

‘You said ‘us girls’ Angeline. Do you know the names of the other women?’

‘Of course, we used to get together and compare notes. What are you going to do to him, walk up and punch him in the nose?’

‘First I have to find out who he is but then I’m not sure punching him in the nose is a suitable punishment, he merits more than that.’

‘I’ll say he does. What are you going to do?’

‘Well, I won’t be doing anything in the next couple of days Ange but I might be able to get him by the short hairs within a week to ten days.’

‘Pooh, short hairs, how’s that going to hurt him?’

‘Short hairs is just a saying Ange, meaning causing him great pain as in saying ‘cut him a new asshole.’

‘Oh, I don’t know that one either.’

‘I’m surprised, but, Ange, can you draw me up a list of these other women, addresses and phone numbers if possible.?

‘I thought you said you loved me, that I was your Anima.’

‘Nothing has changed Cara Mia. I’m not going to make passes at them. Lessing and I have an operation going and this information clinches it for us.’

‘Lessing? Lessing who?’

It occurred to me then that as both Ange and Lessing were lawyers she might know him. ‘Lessing Farquhar. Miles and Lady’s friend.’

‘Lessing Farquhar is a lawyer. How do you know him? And Lady and Miles sound like the Carmichaels.’

I forgot I had never mentioned the Carmichaels. ‘Lessing is a friend of Lady and Miles, so I met him through them.’

‘How do you know the Carmichaels?’

‘I guess I haven’t had time to tell you. This is the Carmichael’s condo. I’m house sitting for them while they’re in Europe for a year. Ange, now you’re a lawyer so you don’t betray confidences do you?’

‘No. You aren’t in trouble are you, Partly?’

‘No, no, no, no. Lessing and I belong to an Order. The New Serapion Order. We’re a kind of a revolutionary group. You’re not an Obamite are you?’

‘I’m whatever you are Partly. I am your woman, you can’t get away.’

‘Oh good, that’s the way I feel about you too Ange. So, anyway your revenge on Judge Adelstein will come through his subordination to our uses. If you were his sex slave he’s now going to be your slave. He will jump when you say jump. He’s the guy that’s angling for the Supreme Court isn’t he? You must be aware of dirty work he’s involved in. Probably bought stock using insider information?   The guy’s walking on gilded splinters.’

‘Oh sure, that’s the least of it.’

Me: ‘Great. Listen Ange I want you to get some rest. You’re still a little wired from your catatonia. And tomorrow I want you to draw up the list. We have to move fast. Helzapoppin’, as they say.’

‘You rest. I’m going to go up to your place and pack some clothes for you, get your makeup. Is there anything else you need Darling.’

Ange: ‘I’m happy here with you Partly, I don’t need any clothes. I don’t want to leave.’

Me: ‘I know Darling Girl. I’d like this to go on forever too but reality will intrude soon enough. We may have to go out together, clothes will be more important then. I won’t be gone very long. Just long enough to get some things for you. I never have anyone come up here, there will be no deliveries, no reason for anyone to come up so, in on the off chance someone knocks, don’t even get up. You’ve got a phone, my number is at the top so if you feel any anxiety, call. This won’t take long. Fifty-Sixth Street is your address, right? OK Honey, rest for a while, let your mind heal.’

Ragnar had the limo ready. Not too many minutes later I was in front of Angeline’s building.

‘Come on up Ragnar. I’m sure I’ll need help carrying.’

Angeline was only on the eighth floor. Ange only had double locks, thank goodness, and only one door. The condo was surprisingly large, tastefully if sparsely decorated. Showed a clear mind or a capable decorator. There was a feeling of longing about the place, a picture with a far away horizon over the couch.

‘Better take her computer down Ragnar, that will probably be needed.’

Bagging her makeup wasn’t a problem, at least I didn’t think it was but stuffing a couple suitcases with clothes was more difficult than I thought. I didn’t know anything about mixing and matching and those feminine things. I made sure she had enough underwear then stuffed a bunch of skirts, slacks, blouses and sweaters into the suitcase thinking Ange was right, I was out of my depth.

I snapped the suitcases shut as Ragnar returned. He took one and I took the other. As I was locking up one of those booming voices of authority growled: Who the hell are you?

I turned to see a vision from my childhood. A hated one. The fellow wasn’t big, only about five-five but he stood tall, occupying his space securely. He looked like one of these world war posters where Uncle Sam is rolling up his sleeves for a fight. He had on a pair of those massive wing tips that look like you’re trying to leave a big foot print. New too, minimal creases. The guy probably threw them away before they looked even a little worn. The green plaid sport coat over a pair of black pants was atypical. Hadn’t seen that one before. I didn’t know his name but then he didn’t need one. As I said: I knew the type.

He glared at me too proud in his inner powers to ask me twice.

I had to choose the right personality to gain the upper hand. I chose to be confident, cool and distant, a quieter tough: ‘What business is it of yours? Who are you?

‘Don’t get wise with me.”

‘I think you’re talking to the wrong man Friend. Move aside.’

‘This isn’t your apartment; I know the woman who lives here.’

I looked at his face more closely. He was Jewish. Then it hit me. This was Judge Marivale Adelstein.

‘So do I. Come on, let’s go Ragnar.’

‘Ragnar? Lady Carmichael’s chauffer?’

Good god, he knew the Carmichaels. Christ. I was going to have to talk to him. Ragnar looked my way for directions.

‘Yes it is, Judge Adelstein. Hello, I’m Partly Wright. I’m house sitting for the Carmichaels. Nice to have met you. We have to go now. I’ll talk to you later.’

While he stood staggered that I knew his name Ragnar and I walked away quickly. Behind me I could her him snort: Which part? I really hate that stale joke.

I dragged the suitcases into the apartment. I looked up to see Angeline, back to me, looking over her shoulder smiling. She wasn’t nude anymore, she had put on a pair of Lady’s four inch spikes. Not unattractive but disconcerting.

‘I got up to look out the window.’

‘Oh. You’ll never guess who I met at your apartment Angeline.’

‘Merivale Adelstein.’

I was wrong on that one. ‘My, you’re prescient. How’d you get it first try?’

‘He always comes over and bugs me about this time. I don’t know how to dump the guy. I’ve insulted him, called him names, the guy’s impervious.’

‘It will work this time. Nice shoes. Shall we have a glass of wine my lovely?,

‘OK. I’ll get it.’

I sat down on the divan, accepted the glass of wine Ange offered and sat back as she cuddled up close to me. I almost fainted.

‘You know what I can’t understand Partly dear?’

‘How you got here?’

‘No. Second chance. You keep saying that I’m your Anima. I don’t know what that means. Is that like sweetheart or something?’

‘Oh, no, Ange. It’s much more intimate than that. Have you read any psychology? Freud or Jung?’

‘Not much psychology and I’ve heard the names but I don’t know much about them.’

‘OK. I’m sure you’ve heard chat about a man’s feminine side?’

‘You’re not bi-sexual Partly? I couldn’t stand that.’

‘No, not at all, wholly male. The way you’ve heard it is a misunderstanding of the right side of the brain. A man’s feminine side as I understand it is the right side of his brain that carries the Anima. It comes from the ovum, a man’s X chromosome. The left side come from his y chromosome. A woman has two X chromosomes so she doesn’t have a masculine side, just what Freud in his crude way called penis envy, in other words, a longing for what is missing, that is, the y chromosome’

‘Well, I do understand penis envy.’

‘Sure, Well Gloria Steinem was wrong when she said a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle. She was way out of her depth; a woman needs a man like a fish needs water is more correct. Gloria almost made a Freudian slip.’

‘Ooh, that’s good. I understand that now that I’ve found you, Partly.’

Flattered? Wow! I didn’t know who was writing this script but I was sure glad I was the star of the movie.

Me: ‘Steinem’s remark reminds me of the old poem called Evolution by Langdon Smith. It begins:

When you were a tadpole

And I was a fish

And side by side on the ebbing tide

We sprawled through the ooze and slime,

Or skittered with many a caudal flip

Through the depths of the Cambrian fen,

My heart was rife with the joy of life

For I loved you even then.

After a few eons and transmogrifications the pair are sitting in New York at Delmonico’s, more or less like here Ange, high above the vulgar streets of New York. The poem goes on:

…here tonight in the mellow light

We sit at Delmonico’s

Your eyes are deep as the Devon springs,

Your hair is dark as jet,

Your years are few, your life is new,

Your soul untried and yet,

God wrought our souls from the Tremadoc beds

And furnished them wings to fly;

He sowed our spawn in the world’s dim dawn;

And I know that I shall not die,

Though cities have sprung above the graves

Where the crook-bone men make war

And the oxwain creaks over the buried caves

Where the mummied mammoths are.

Thus we linger at luncheon here

Over many a dainty dish,

Let us drink anew to the time when you

Were a tadpole and I was a fish.

‘Oh, that’s a lively thought Partly but tell me about how I’m your Anima.’

Well, Darling, this is a story not unlike Smith’s poem of Evolution. It requires    some imagination to put things into the perspective I’m going to give.

Biologically it is a fact that you and I as individuals are the result of the union of an ovum and a sperm. They come from two different individuals and though united in what becomes a new individual contribute separate identities. The ovum ends in the Anima and sperm in the Animus.

Now, this may be controversial but both the sperm and the ovum have intelligence and a primitive form of consciousness.’

‘Really, Partly, I’ve never heard that before.’

‘If you think about it Ange Darling it must be true. No organism can move without some form of intelligence or consciousness. Otherwise no organism could identify and find food. And yet the sperm released into the vagina can locate the ovum in complete darkness and finding the ovum violently and savagely attacks it forcing its way in against what must be formidable resistance. Hence in remembrance of which sexual union itself is a violent act by the male against the passive female. Once inside the sperm losing its tail occupies the ovum expelling everything except the mitochondrial DNA. I’ve seen a picture of the result and what you have is a sun nestled up against a quarter new moon. This is strangely replicated by the Sun and Moon once every nineteen years hence the marriage of the sun and moon of folklore or myth. That marriage is an obvious replica of the union of the sperm and ovum. There will be those who will laugh but I maintain the myth of the marriage of the sun and moon is a remembrance of the union of the sperm and ovum.’

Ange:   ‘I’m not laughing Partly dear, but honestly, I’ve never heard that before, I’ve never even imagined it but that would mean the sperm had consciousness before it was ejected.’

Me: Remembrance comes from the union combined with the fact of the marriage of the Sun and Moon. But intelligence and consciousness begins with the creation of the sperm obviously before it is ejected which means that the parent organism must program it to do what it has to do hence the sperm knows beforehand and follows directions. Furthermore it had to be lucky to have the closest proximity to the ovum while amidst an intense competition for the prize. You can see pictures of the ovum surrounded by sperm burrowing away. Does the female select from her suitors which to embrace or let in? These are serious questions.

Obviously the fittest doesn’t always win the prize as fully one fifth of the zygotes self-abort while some real monsters reach fruition. Few are ever as physically perfect and as beautiful as you are Ange and fewer still are endowed with intelligence of the kind you have. And look at us, eighty and seventy years old and we’ve found each other. A miracle of miracles.

Two different strands of DNA bond together with the ovate side taking its position on the left side of the body while the spermate takes the right. The union is seldom perfect, differences in hands and feet, left and right side of the face betray the past of the ovum and sperm.

To bond the two sides together the left half of the brain migrates to the right hemisphere of the brain while the spermatic hemisphere assumes a position on the left.

Now, as to the Anima Angeline:

When Freud and Jung examined the problem each came to the conclusion that men had an Anima, that is a female side, and women had an Animus or male side. I have come to the conclusion that they were only half right. As I see it the sperm is the Animus and each sex has one while each has an ovate Anima. If you think about it this has to be true because each contributor has a separate identity. It is the ‘marriage’ that makes them one. This is also reflected in the old marriage ceremony of man and woman where the two are declared one.

At the lower end of the system it terminates in the gonads while at the upper end, or the brain, I can only explain it by saying that there are loose ends that make up the Animus or Ego as the psychiatrists explain it and on the ovate hemisphere the Anima- that is in both men and women. In women the spermatic X is still the Animus. The female also has a left side but it is a X and not a y hence she has the equivalent of two Animas only one is active and the other passive.

Now, don’t laugh at me, but in the horned animals such as bull and ram the loose ends manifest themselves in horns. Man subconsciously recognized this when he chose bulls and rams to symbolize the male. The goddess was always personified as a woman but the god as a bull or ram. In many representations certain gods are portrayed with horns while Dionysus may have horns or show the bull’s hoof.

As the child develops he adopts characteristics of male and female models, these clothe the Anima and Animus. If your models are good I suppose your outlook is bright or brighter than if they aren’t. In my case my Anima models were terrible. They were formed by my mother and Gaines. Thus I had to dig myself out from under a load of feces to be as balanced as I am now while I have never been able to shed my negative outlook completely. There is still the touch of the sad sack about me that at my age I will never be able to shed.

However with the aid of Dr. Anton I have been able to deconstruct both my mother’s and Gaines baleful influence returning to a simulacrum of childhood innocence.

Angeline: Is Dr. Anton your psycho-analyst?

Me: So to speak Ange. He’s actually an alter ego existing only in my own mind. The great Dr. Anton Polarion.

Ange: (muffling a giggle) You talk to yourself?

Me: Yes, of course. How else can you integrate knowledge or solve problems? Dreams are just a form of talking to yourself. If you learn to dream properly you can resolve all kinds of problems. In terms of memory method I assigned my psychological studies to an imaginary person named Dr. Anton Polarion to work out my problems subconsciously and then notify me of the results.

Once again, if you think about it Ange, you will find subconscious projections of that sort are quite common. The Confessions of St. Augustine is a much revered book; it only makes sense if you believe a human can talk to an imaginary god and get answers. In point of fact Augustine was talking to himself much as I do with Dr. Anton except that I’ve always gotten better answers than Augustine ever got. Writing is talking to yourself and working out problems. That’s really the only way it can be done.

Of course if you walk down the street babbling out loud people are going to think you’re nuts. Don’t do that.

Still, Charles Dickens was frequently seen by his wife gesticulating as one of his imaginary characters and voicing his thoughts out loud to get them right on paper. So, as I say Dr. Anton extrapolated my Mother Constellation and separated it from Gaines and then separated both from my Anima while elucidating it so that I can understand my past correctly. Would you like to hear what my mother did to me, her own child?

Ange: Yes. But first who is Gaines and what does he have to do with your mother.

Me: William C. Gaines published comic books like Tales From The Crypt. His relationship to my mother comes from the way his comics portrayed women. His comics were quite misogynistic but very sexually stimulating. When my mother put me in the Orphanage it created a reaction such as that women could not be trusted.   My mind combined that with Gaines misogynism thus the two were twined on my Anima.

OK Ange? But bear in mind that a woman is only a woman who becomes a mother through necessity. Not all women are cut out to be mothers, mine wasn’t. Mine dealt me the kind of poker hand that a player looks at once and folds but I couldn’t fold, I had to play that crummy hand.

I know nothing of my mother’s girlhood. As I was born in May when she was twenty she must have been nineteen when I was conceived. I have seen a picture of her when she was eighteen; in that picture she looks grim and troubled. I suspect she was pregnant with me when she married. If so this would have been the first of the grievances she assigned me.

She must have graduated high school in nineteen thirty-six thus her girlhood was lived during the Depression. She never spoke of the period but she and that whole age cohort lived in almost a paralyzing fear that it would return all their lives. My father must have had a terrible time finding a job as in his desperate need to provide for us both he joined Roosevelt’s Civilian Conservation Corps. Thus, at work in the forests he was gone for long periods however sending most of his wages home. My mother was not wise in her use of them.

Rather than remain idle she dated at least one man who impregnated her in the back seat of a Chevy in the parking lot of a grocery store. My father came home to find her in that state. As you can imagine he was crushed when he got the news. He insisted she tell him who the guilty party was but in the way of women she refused to name his name. My father then began slapping her around but she still refused.

As I was standing against the wall watching I became distressed finally jumping on his back as he stood over her when she lay after having been knocked down. My father was at a loss of what to do. My mother warned me to run. My father said that no, he would never hurt his son.

I had stopped the beating but my mother got up and placed me against the wall telling me not to interfere and then lay back down to resume the beating.

Her astonishing reaction had a profound effect on my personality. Her action was totally incomprehensible to me. As my mother developed my father became more distraught. And then the little bastard was dropped. I presume my father walked out at that time because he was not around anymore and shortly thereafter my mother, myself and the little bastard moved out of our house and in with her parents.

Ange: Why do you call your brother ‘the little bastard’ Partly? That seems harsh.

Me: Perhaps it is Ange but he is not my brother, he is an, what you might call, Illegal immigrant. You have to consider the psychology of my mother. She was one of that lot that thinks the woman can do no wrong. Therefore she laid the blame for her infidelity on my father. Then his treatment of her, hitting her and then leaving, was an unreasonable response in her mind so she transferred her resentment of my father on to me, a constant reminder, not of her shame, but his unreasonableness.   She did whatever her female wiles permitted to injure my psyche, twist it, pervert it, thus becoming an evil presence on my Anima that over the years nearly completely debilitated me. From my experience my Anima had completely failed me leaving me distraught and incapable of responding properly.

From the time the little bastard was born she showed him preference over me, her first born. That is an unforgiveable sin. You can see that, can’t you Angeline?

Ange: I can certainly understand how you feel.

Me: I hope so. I only saw my father once after that. When he called at my grandparents. In the interim my mother had done everything to make me hate and fear my father. He must have found a good job, this last meeting must have been sometime in nineteen forty-one because he brought me this wonderful green corduroy suit with a stoplight badge on the pocket. I was apparently psychologically affected because in later years I wore a lot of corduroy and I still own a green corduroy sport jacket; it’s in the closet if you want to look at it.

Ange: How can you remember so precisely Partly? How old were you in nineteen forty-one, two or three?

Me: I’m two and half years older than the little bastard and while I remember the incidents dating it is merely a matter of reconstruction beginning from nineteen thirty-eight. I did have a lot of trouble disentangling the incidents and putting them in order but auto-suggestion and dreaming cleared that up. Took a while though.

Anyway, my father called me to him and I wanted to go but my mother had a hypnotizing threatening gaze fixed on me and I didn’t know what she would do if I disobeyed her so I didn’t go to him.

‘Oh, you’ve made him hate me.’ My father said.

Then my mother astonished me: she lied straight out. She said she hadn’t. First she refused to allow me to rescue her from a beating and now she told a bare faced criminal lie. My father turned, crushed, and walked out much to my mother’s satisfaction. I never forgave her of ever trusted her again.

What she did to my father next I have no memory of and can only guess. In Michigan during my entire childhood and youth people constantly threatened to put someone they didn’t like in the insane asylum. Apparently all a family member had to do was make a complaint and have the unfortunate committed. Once in you never got out. Of course it was more difficult for strangers to do that but still possible.

I have no idea what my father did, perhaps he was in despair at losing his son, whatever he did his mother had him committed, I’m assuming for being violent and was probably put down as criminally insane. My mother took great pleasure in testifying against him citing the beating he gave her but probably not the cause. He spent the rest of his life in Traverse City. One day decades later I got a call from her saying significantly: He’s dead. He’s dead, just like I was a fellow conspirator. ‘Who’s dead?’ I demanded. ‘Him.’ Came back the reply. ‘Your father.’ Lord. I’d forgotten all about him but that is a woman’s violence and vengeance. I learned a lot about women from mom.

Ange: All women aren’t like that Partly.’

Me: Perhaps not Ange but that doesn’t change my situation but that notion of responsibility is part and parcel of every woman. The man is always guilty. Besides when she had my father put away I remained as a living reminder of her guilt, or his, if she maintained that point of view. She somehow transferred her feeling of virtue to the little bastard while quietly punishing me.

As I say the last time I saw my father was in nineteen forty-one. I don’t know when my father was committed to Traverse City but in late 1943 she placed me with foster parents or rather perhaps as a boarder with a family named Smith where I remained until shortly after VE day in May of nineteen forty-five. Then I was transferred to a woman named Johnson not very far from my grandmother’s.

Ange: Where was your little brother at the time?

Me: Oh he came along to disrupt my life, the little prick, as a part of, I guess, collateral damage.

Ange: Did she ever visit you?

Me: I don’t ever remember seeing her at Mrs. Johnson’s but she came by maybe two or three times at the Smiths. She always wore real nice clothes. I could never understand why she didn’t have a little more in clothes money for me. Anyway, suffering rejection at the Smith’s just when I was beginning to trust them unsettled my mind and with problems caused by entering a new school a month or so from year’s end I began to become very morose. I suppose it was then that I acquired a depressed state of mind.

Mrs. Johnson could only take so much. She asked my mother to remove me. It was then that the horror of horrors struck. She put me away in the orphanage. I could never really place where the orphanage was in later years but it was only three or four blocks from my grandmother’s.

Ange: That’s close. Did she ever visit you? Take you overnight or anything?

Me: No. I didn’t see her for several years. She was always the hardest of hard hearted women. I used to roam all over in those years but it never occurred to me to go in that direction.

I was there in the orphanage for two years, nineteen forty-six to nineteen forty-eight. I don’t know if you understand what it means to be in an orphanage but it completely declasses you, places you lower than the Negroes in the social scale, you become a non-person, invisible. Carry the scars for the rest of your life in one way or another. A real soul shattering experience.

According to orphanage policy they farmed you out to foster homes at the age of ten, another really horrible experience I escaped because my mother remarried in nineteen forty-eight. I was pretty independent by that time so I knew I was in for it but I thought it was only eight years so I could manage it. As I look back I’d have to say I didn’t. By graduation time I was a basket case unable to function.

My mother’s method to torment me was to frustrate and deny me, to prevent me from enjoying my life at all. I have no idea how she talked about me but I was amazed when just before graduation a bunch of us were talking about what we were going to do. I mentioned I wanted to go on to college when a girl I hardly knew scornfully told me that I was not that I was going into the Navy for twenty years and could come back as a Chief Petty Officer. I asked her where she got that and she said my mother told her. I don’t know how she knew my mother but sure enough within a matter of days my mother took me to the recruiting office and signed me up. A couple weeks later and I was gone.

Thus she had me safely stowed away in the equivalent of the insane asylum for life just like my father. I might as well have gone to foster parents, it couldn’t have been any worse.

The problem with the Mother Constellation was I couldn’t find the motive for her hatred but as she and Gaines occupied my Anima I had no control of the right hemisphere, my Anima had completely failed me. Fortunately Dr. Anton was able to untangle the two stands of Gaines and my mother so that my Anima was freed. The final reckoning occurred just a couple weeks before I saw you standing there in Nordstrom’s and I recognized you as what my Anima should have been all along. In conventional terms: Love at first sight.

Ange: I don’t remember that Partly. I only have vague memories of you taking to me in the shower. How did I get there?

Me: Well, I came up for the Nordstrom’s grand opening and wandering through the high fashion department I saw you standing there almost as though you had a sign around your neck reading Rescue Me. When I got closer I realized that you must be catatonic. I put my arm around your waist and said: Come with me, Darling Girl. Gave you a little tug and led you to the limo.

Fortunately you were not yet beyond the range of contact so I was able to bring you back to consciousness. Since then you’ve been recovering well. Do you remember anything about the Sun and Moon?

Ange: Yes. There was a god and goddess and they married us. Is it true then that you are my husband and I’m your wife.

Me: Yes, it is Darling. You might say a marriage made in heaven. I’ve got you babe in my heart and on my mind and here beside me.

Ange: Alright. I don’t know how it happened but you have been in my dreams Love.

Me: And you mine. Now Sweetheart would you take the time to tell me your story. How did you get into that catatonic state?

Ange: I don’t know if I should. You might not like me so much then.

Me: Oh nonsense, Angeline, life is difficult at best. Let the dead past bury its dead. The way is forward. Let’s make our future the best years of our lives. You can’t make me stop loving you. You are part of me.

Ange: Well, alright.

 

Continue to Clip 8.

 

 

 

Henry Ford And The Jews

Remembering The Amalekites

 

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Breitman, Richard and Lichtman, Allan J.: FDR And The Jews, 2013, Belknap Harvard

 

To quote, p. 184:

Theodore N. Kaufman

Theodore N. Kaufman

In early 1941, Theodore N, Kaufman, the Jewish proprietor of a small advertising firm in Newark, New Jersey, self-published a small book that called for sterilizing all German men and women, [NB: this is a plan for the genocide of the German people.] and dividing up Germany among neighboring states. [Thus completely erasing Germany from the face of the earth.] An alert corps of Nazi propagandists saw in Kaufman and his book the perfect foil for myth making. They transformed this obscure self-publisher into the precedent of a bogus “American Peace Federation”, a leader of ‘international Jewry,” and a close associate of Judge Samuel Rosenman, FDR’s speechwriter and confidant. On July 24, 1941 the headline of a front-page story in the central Nazi newspaper, the Volkisch Beobachter, blared: A Monstrous Jewish Extermination Plan: Roosevelt’s Guidelines.” The story claimed that President Roosevelt had inspired Kaufman’s Germany Must Perish, and personally dictated key sections. Two months later the Nazi propaganda ministry published a pamphlet that cited Kaufman’s book as proof of an international Jewish conspiracy to exterminate the German people, abetted by Roosevelt and Winston Churchill. It said that Germany faced a stark choice with an obvious answer: “Who should die, the Germans or the Jews?”

 

This is a very interesting paragraph from B&L’s very interesting book. While trueish on the face of it, it does distort the reality. It is interesting that Kaufman came from Newark as did our time’s own Philip Roth with his book, The Plot Against America. Roth of course repeated Kaufman’s themes in his book. Newark’s Jewish colony seems to have been quite insular incubating strange notions about Jews and Whites.

 

As to the absurdity of Kaufman’s insignificance and his possible collaboration with, if not  Roosevelt’s administration at least,  elements within it, possibly including his Secretary of the Treasury, Henry Morgenthau, it may be more plausible than B&L’s coyly laughing it off.  Kaufman’s ‘Germany Must Perish’ closely resembles Morgenthau’s post-war plans for Germany which may be a total coincidence, of course. Nevertheless there it is.

 

While Kaufman may have been an obscure nutter he appears to have been fronting for some not so obscure people. Contrary to B&L’s assertion that the Germans ‘transformed this obscure self-publisher into the president of a bogus “American Peace Federation”‘, it appears that Kaufman, a criminal, who was arrested along with his father for robbery in 1934, in 1939 did form an American Peace Federation. In the same year he argued in a pamphlet against American interventionism. The pamphlet contained this remarkable passage:

 

A possible plan to Congress…Have us all sterilized….If you plan on sending us to a foreign war, spare us any possibility of ever bringing children into the world- into this country of ours.

 

By 1941 apparently having re-considered ‘our’ being sterilized he transferred his anxiety to the Germans. Nor was his book Germany Must Perish a futile self-publishing effort. Several newspapers reviewed it in their columns as well as the pre-eminent national news magazine the mighty Time of Henry Luce itself. Nor was the review unfavorable. If the Germans picked up on Kaufman’s book it was most likely because of the Time review, which once again, was not unfavorable or condemnatory.

 

Time’s review must have been encouraged from someone from within the administration, possibly Rosenman as the Beobachter suggests, or Henry Morgenthau. It is not impossible then that the Beobachter was correct in suggesting that FDR himself had an interest in the project, or in suggesting that Rosenman was involved. After all Nazi spies were said to be in the administration, not that any have been identified by name.

 

As is absolutely clear, in 1941 Kaufman was demanding the extermination of the German people as well as the effacement of Germany from the Earth.

 

Is the Beobachter’s claim then that there was an ‘international Jewish conspiracy’ to exterminate the German people as ridiculous as B&L suggest?

 

The Beobachter posed the question: “Who should die, the Germans or the Jews?” If that was the choice then in the so-called holocaust the Germans employed the favorite Jewish device of the pre-emptive strike and therefore are guilty merely of getting the first lick in, in a war that was begun in 1933 when the Jews declared war on them and then through Kaufman announcing  a plan to exterminate Germans. Why wouldn’t the Germans kill the Jews first?  Where is the injustice in that?

 

Of course, the Jews lacked a military arm of their own so it was necessary for them to find someone big enough to knock the Nazi bully down for them. In this instance they chose Roosevelt and the US. Now, the Jew Irving Berlin chose at this time to introduce his song God Bless America in which he adjures his Jews to ‘stand beside her [America] and guide her’. What is Irving Berlin talking about? He’s talking about the same thing: Germany Must Perish and the US is going to do the dirty work guided by the Jews.

Noel Ignatiev- Harvard Genocidist

Noel Ignatiev- Harvard Genocidist

 

Now, moving ahead to the present. The Jewish program as proclaimed by the ‘nutter’ Noel Ingnatiev, at the time a full professor at Harvard University, is that ‘Whiteness’ must be eliminated from the earth. So, moving from Germans to all White people the Jews are calling for the genocide of all Whites. Once again, they haven’t the population to do this while to act would destroy their credibility and possibly, although I doubt it, bring destruction of the Hitler kind down on their heads. For the task of destroying ‘Whiteness’ they have enlisted the Negro population of the US as their shock troops. Although the paramilitary actions of Negroes against Whites are suppressed by the media which are owned by the Jews daily paramilitary actions are being carried out somewhere in the US.

 

Thus, from the Wilson administration to the present the Jews have followed a carefully orchestrated program of destruction of Whites as Henry Ford indicated in his articles of the International Dearborn Independent. You can see why the Jews wanted Ford destroyed. If he had gone on from strength to strength rather than being emasculated the course of history might have been very different.  Stand by Henry Ford.

 

Reconstruction- Phase Two

by
R.E. Prindle

Reconstruction is America’s unfinished revolution….
-Eric Foner

Reconstruction was not just something that happened after the Civil War; it was and is a program, a policy, a desideratum of the Left. Now that we are well into Barry Obama’s second term impersonation of a president of the United States we have to ask ourselves, is the increased social unrest of Negro on Aryan crime and inexplicable increasing frequency of crazy Whites shooting up schoolrooms and movie theaters coincidental? Or is it evidence of a second phase of Reconstruction. The changing of America from White to Black?

It should be obvious that the American Civil War only used Negro slavery as a pretext to continue the English Civil War of the seventeenth century. The participants were the same- the Roundheads of New Anglia and the Cavaliers of Wessex.

The Roundheads had never shown an aversion to slavery at any other time in their history. Indeed, during the East Anglian interregnum the Anglian leader, Oliver Cromwell, rounded up tens of thousands of Irish and sent them to the West Indies to live and perish as slaves cheek by jowl with the Negroes from West Africa. Irish slaves were especially profitable as they cost nothing while the purchase of Negroes from their African chiefs was a costly enterprise limiting profitability.

From the other side of the Atlantic it was those enterprising New Anglian Yankee traders who bought from the African chiefs and foisted their surplus cargo on the American colonies. Let us never forget that Negro slaves were bought and sold in the Anglian colonies of New Anglia while White slaves, politely called Indentured Servants as they hadn’t been purchased were prominent in all the colonies.

So slavery was not all that repugnant to the Roundheads of New Anglia; what was anathema to them was their old Cavalier enemy from England in the South.

By 1865 the Anglians ranging across the entire Northern tier of States had been become sanctimonious.

It was not to end slavery they fought but to exterminate their Southern Aryan adversaries. Thus the draconian measures taken in Reconstruction to make the Negro supreme over the Aryans. Thus Thomas Dixons post-Reconstruction plea to the Anglians to remember that the Southern and Northern Whites were Aryans and to pledge never to slaughter each other again for the benefit of Negroes. The Anglians took every possible means to subordinate Whites to Negroes. True savagery rather than an attempt to actually reconstruct society on an equitable basis- whatever equitable could mean in the circumstances.

The majority of American Negroes were imported after 1800. A great many from say 1820 to 1860. That means they were fresh from the jungle, mere savages, with no familiarity with civilized procedures and conditions, such as for instance, freedom. They had always been slaves, always. Freedom was a strange White condition so foreign to them that they didn’t actually know what it meant. They had no idea what freedom meant except that Whites appeared to have it. Enfranchising such people on a basis of equality with civilized people then was an egregious crime.

Indeed, while enfranchisement was being forced on Sourthern Whites, States of the Anglian North such as Michigan and Ohio and most others legally excluded Negro enfranchisement by new laws. Ever the hypocrites, Liberals.

From 1866 to 1877 then, Southern Whites fought a continuation of the Civil War to preserve their freedom from Negro-Anglian domination. With help from Northern sympathizers they were successful in this as official Reconstruction was terminated in 1877 while Jim Crow was established to preserve Aryan supremacy.

Oh, I know, Negroes, Anglians and some others find the notion of White Supremacy as repulsive. But, there are others who find Negro Supremacy, Jewish Supremacy and what have you just as repulsive, perhaps Judaeo-Negro Supremacy even moreso.

The point is: there will always be the Top Dog. There is no reason that the Top Dog shouldn’t be White rather than Black or Jewish piebald.

Now, the Civil War did not end in 1865 nor did Reconstruction actually end in 1877. As Eric Foner expresses it they were unfinished revolutions, still in progress today. Both efforts just went underground.

The Negroes still long to be Top Dog which the Anglians, now Liberals, long that they should be. The Southern White has been replaced by the Aryan as the adversary that is to be destroyed. If one accepts that Jim Crow was fully operative by 1900 then the Negro-Jewish-Liberal counteroffensive began in earnest at that time.

During the next fifty years from 1900 to 1950 the effort was to erode and destroy Jim Crow. This effort effectively succeeded in 1954 with the Supreme Court Brown vs. The Board Of Education decision. The decision of the Court was the opening shot of the Second Civil War of Jews, Liberals, and Negroes against the Aryans; hence the Anti-Aryan Hate Laws to disenfranchise the Aryan male.

These laws are unconstitutional as they violate the right to equal protection of the law. As it now stands all other races and classes are protected against the apparently all powerful White male but the Aryan male is legally unprotected on a basis of inferiority in direct violation of equity and the Constitution.

Thus the Aryan male is deprived of the right of self-defense much as was the Negro Slave. So far the Aryan male has chosen to suffer the indignities rather than right the wrong. This was not always the case. In a situation perhaps more dire than today the Aryan males of Louisiana chose to protect themselves and theirs. As William A. Dunning in his Reconstruction, Political and Economic of 1907 relates the story, pp. 248-49:

Quote:

The conservatives (Renamed Domestic Terrorists by 2011) of (Louisiana), large numbers of whom were organized in semi-secret and military societies known as White Leagues, had been quiescent since Grant’s formal recognition of Kellogg in the spring of 1873. The radical government maintained a formal existence, but with no moral and little material support from the White population. In September of 1874, Kellogg undertook to seize a lot of arms which the White Leagues of New Orleans had purchased. The result was a pitched battle between the league and the police, mostly Negroes, who were organized and equipped as soldiers. The police were totally defeated and dispersed, and the radical governor took refuge in the custom house and protection of the Federal troops.

Unquote.

That appears to be the situation we’re headed into now as the Negro government of the United States has bought and distributed billions of rounds of ammunition and millions of automatic weapons with the apparent intent of subduing the legally unprotected Aryan males while beginning the attempt to disarm them.

If the Negro government expects less from current Aryan men than the response of the men of New Orleans he may wish to re-examine his intentions. Let history be the guide. History has shown the futility of force to achieve social goals. One deplores the possibility of armed defense by the Aryans but one is guilty of weakness of mind to suppose they will docilely submit to being enslaved which is the next step down from disenfranchisement.

I advocate nothing, no massa I just be speakin’ trut’ to power, humbly, massa, ever so humbly, o’ cose, but due caution in provoking what history shows to be the inevitable result should be considered. Not even the Soviet Union with all its brutal power could maintain itself against the justified will of its subject peoples. Remember Mussolini and his lamp post, Hitler and his bunker. Vengeance is mine says de lawd.

Edgar Rice Burroughs And The Revolt Against Civilization
A Review Of
Lothrop Stoddard’s Eponymous Title

by

R.E. Prindle

Lothrop Stoddard

Lothrop Stoddard

Stoddard, Lothrop: The Revolt Against Civilization: The Menace Of The Underman, 1922, New York, Charles Scribner’s Sons, First Edition.

In the name of our To-morrow we will burn Rafael
Destroy museums, crush the flowers of art,
Maidens in the radiant kingdom of the Future
Will be more beautiful than Venus de Milo.

Quoted by Stoddard p. 202

A perennial problem in Burroughs’ studies is what did he believe? Was he a racist? Was he an anti-Semite? Was he an irredeemable bigot? Shall we just say he was not of a contemporary Liberal frame of mind. If you listen to Richard Slotkin author of Gunfighter Nation and a professor at Case Western Reserve at the time he wrote his book a couple decades ago, Edgar Rice Burroughs was an evil man responsible for all the evil in the US from 1912 to the present. Slotkin even sees him responsible for the My Lai massacre of Viet Nam.

Himself a Communist Slotkin can overlook all the crimes of the Soviet Union in which tens of millions were exterminated to find the ultimate evil in the killing of a few dozen people in Viet Nam.

Slotkin, who rampages through his history disparaging any non-Liberal writers as atavistic bigots firmly attaches Burroughs’ name to two scholars, Madison Grant and his Passing Of The Great Race of 1916 and Lothrop Stoddard and his historical studies of the twenties. He considers the two hardly less evil than Burroughs. To someone less excitable, perhaps, or lessLiberal, the two writers have written responsible and astute studies. I certainly think they have.

When I first read Slotkin I rejected the notion that Burroughs had been influenced by either. Ten years on I have to retract that opinion. It is now clear that Burroughs read both while being heavily influenced by Lothrop Stoddard, especially his 1922 volume, The Revolt Against Civilization. While the studies of both Grant and Stoddard would at best supplement Burroughs already developed opinions The Revolt can easily be seen as a template for Burroughs’ writing after he read it. While the study complemented his own developed social and political opinions I am sure that Stoddard’s explication of the history provided Burroughs with many new facts. Based on its opinions that appeared in ERB’s novels I would place the reading somewhere about 1926 or 1927.

Contrary to what some admirers want to make him ERB was what today would be considered a very conservative man, today’s Liberals would be anathema to him. He was decidedly anti-Communist, a Eugenicist, while not bigoted he was not a Negrophile or Semitophile. He was essentially a man with a social and historical outlook that was formed before 1900, a pre-immigration outlook formed while the Indian wars were still in progress. In short he was a man of his times.

Thomas Dixon Jr. to whom he is often compared was one of the most successful writers of the period who carefully examined both the Civil War and Reconstruction as well as the growing Socialist/Communist movement. He was not a bigot as he is always construed but a man of his own people. Burroughs was influenced by his work and thought well of him. He did not abhor him. ERB read many of Dixon’s novels and admired the movie based on his books, The Birth Of A Nation. He sympathized with Henry Ford in his struggle for the welfare of America and read the Dearborn Independent, Ford’s newspaper. In short, Burroughs was a stand up guy.

Now, what evidence is there he read The Revolt Against Civilization: The Menace Of The Underman? Let’s begin with this quote, p. 34 et seq.

Quote:

Down to that time the exact nature of the life process remained a mystery. The mystery has now been cleared up. The researches of [August] Weisman and other modern biologists have revealed the fact that all living beings are due to a continuous stream of germ plasm which has existed ever since life first appeared on earth and which will continue to exist as long as any life remains. This germ-plasm consists of minute germ cells which have the power of developing into human living beings. All human beings spring from the union of a male sperm-cell and a female egg-cell. Right here, however, occurs the basic feature of the life process. The new individual consists, from the start, of two sorts of plasm. Almost the whole of him is body plasm – the ever multiplying cells which differentiate into the organs of the body. But he also contains germ- plasm. At his very conception a tiny bit of the life stuff from which he springs is set aside or carefully isolated from the body-plasm, and forms a course of development entirely its own. In fact, the germ-plasm is not really part of the individual; he is merely its bearer, destined to pass it on to other bearers of the life chain.

Now all this was not only unknown but even unsuspected down to a short time ago. Its discovery was in fact dependent upon modern scientific methods. Certainly, it was not likely to suggest itself to even the most philosophic mind. Thus, down to a generation ago, the life stuff was supposed to be a product of the body, not differing essentially in character from other body products. This assumption had two important consequences. In the first place, it tended to obscure the very concept of heredity, and led men to think of environment as virtually all important; in the second place, even where the importance of heredity was dimly perceived the role of the individual was misunderstood, and he was conceived as a creator rather than a mere transmitter. This was the reason for the false theory of “the inheritance of acquired characteristics,” formulated by Lamarck and upheld by most scientists until almost the end of the nineteenth century. Of course, Lamarckianism was merely a modification of the traditional ‘environmentalist’ attitude: it admitted that heredity possessed some importance, but it maintained environment as the basic feature.

Unquote.

Now there you have the argument of God in Tarzan And The Lion Man of 1933 nearly word for word. I hink it unlikely that ERB actually read Weisman who published following 1900 and who ERB may never have heard of, so his source was in all probability Stoddard.

Stoddard’s presentation nicely straddles the change of consciousness from the nineteenth to the twentieth century. It sounds a trifle naïve to our ears but was cutting edge at the time. Weisman’s theories were a big step in the direction of the discovery of DNA a short 26 years after Stoddard’s study.

It is important though to remember that more than fifty percent of the US population today rejects the concept of evolution while being more Lamarckian in outlook than might be supposed. We are as a whole not quite as advanced as we think we are.

As a quick affirmation of the influence of Stoddard on ERB on pages 95-96 he gives an account of the famous Jukes family of degenerates that appeared in ERB’s 1932 novelette, Pirate Blood.

Stoddard was well aware of what was happening historically and presently and one can see that he passed that understanding on to ERB. Almost as though writing today, on page 237 Stoddard writes:

Quote:

Stressful transition is the key-note of our times. Unless all signs be faulty, we stand at one of those momentous crises in history when mankind moves from one well-marked epoch to another of widely different character.

Unquote.

Extremely prescient observation in 1922 while his study has been borne out in detail. The chapter titles give a clear outline of the contents:

1. The Burden Of Civilization
2. The Iron Law Of Equality
3. The Nemesis Of The Inferior
4. The Lure Of The Primitive
5. The Ground Swell Of Revolt
6. The Rebellion Of The Underman
7. The War Against Chaos
8. Neo-Aristocracy

As can be easily seen novelists such as Rider Haggard, ERB, Edgar Wallace as well as many others from 1890 to the 20s were grappling with the problems indicated by the chapter titles.

The natural tendency in humans is to be rather lax in mental activity. Precision calls for an active mentality and concentration. Not everyone is capable of this, yet, beginning in the nineteenth century such mental qualities were increasingly necessary. Such disciplines as Chemistry and Physics didn’t allow for personal vagaries or individual style. One couldn’t bend the disciplines to one’s own desires, precise measurements were necessary requiring mental concentration. A little bit off and who knows what might happen. In a way then the Overman and Underman were created. Either you could or you couldn’t and if you couldn’t you slipped beneath- an Underman. Higher civilization was impossible for you.

Edgar Rice Burroughs

Edgar Rice Burroughs

Burroughs addressed this problem continually. In his character Tarzan he resolved the problem giving his creation a split personality, in a loin cloth he was one man, in a tuxedo he was another. Two separate gorillas in one and always a beast. In real life society split into two possibilities- the Over and Underman.

Worse still scientific methods were able to measure the ineffable, the unseen. In chemistry sub-tiny atoms were able to be detected and their sub-miniscule weights actually measured. Measurement is the bane of the Underman. A Mole contains 6,022 x 10 to the 23rd power of atoms, an incredible incomprehensible number that still might weigh 12 grams or less. Astonishing. Beyond the comprehension hence belief of the Underman. As the process can’t be seen it can’t be believed.

In human intelligence the Englishman Francis Galton began to devise measuring devices of intelligence in 1865 shortly after Darwin announced Evolution in 1959. Thus uncertainty about mental capacity was eliminated. As Stoddard calls it, The Iron Law Of Inferiority. Biology and measuring excluded something like eighty-five percent of the population from the ranks of the most intelligent. Without that high measurement of intelligence 85% of the population was automatically excluded from the possibility of higher attainment while at the same time being prejudged.

Big strapping fellows, all man, were relegated to manual labor while wimps like perhaps, John D. Rockefeller, became billionaires. Not right, the big strapping fellows said, but not measuring up in intelligence, which they couldn’t see, they were condemned to the shovel for life.

Intelligence measuring tests were improved between 1865 and 1920 although not as accurate as could be desired. Men entering the armed forces in WWI were an excellent testing group. Of 1,700,000 tested intelligence levels were fairly accurately determined. It was then discovered that only four and a half percent were very bright with another seven or eight percent bright, while the huge bulk were C+ to C- descending from there.

One imagines Burroughs read this with extreme thoughtfulness.

So, now as the bulk of the good things were going to those who could do, what were those who couldn’t do about it? The great issue since 1789 has been equality; the Underman demanded equality as a first condition. He could organize. He could sabotage. He could rage. And that is what the Underman has done.

The Communist Party was formed. And what was their chief demand? Equality. Absolute equality. As they couldn’t rise to a natural equality then the only other feasible solution was to bring the Superior intelligences down to their level. Thus they raged against that great equalizer, education. Screw science, screw physics, screw chemistry, screw biology. Who needed what you couldn’t see and that especially included intelligence measuring?

One of ERB’s bete noires was the I.W.W.- The Industrial Workers Of The World, syndicalists. Imagine his reaction when he read this:

Quote:

Viewed in the abstract, technical sense, Syndicalism does not seem to present any specially startling innovations. It is when we examine the Syndicalists’ animating spirit, their general philosophy of life, and the manner which they propose to obtain their ends, that we realize we are in the presence of an ominous novelty,- the mature philosophy of the Under Man. This philosophy of the Under-Man is today called Bolshevism. Before the Russian Revolution it was known as Syndicalism. But Bolshevism and Syndicalism are basically one and the same thing. Soviet Russia has really invented nothing. It is merely practicing what others had been preaching for years- with such adaptation as normally attend the putting of theory into practice.

Syndicalism, as an organized movement, is primarily the work of two Frenchmen, Fernand Pelloutier and Georges Sorel. Of course, just as there were Socialist before Marx, so there were Syndicalists before Sorel. Syndicalism’s intellectual progenitor was Proudhon, who in his writings had closely sketched out the Syndicalist theory. As for Syndicalism’s savage, violent, uncompromising spirit, it is clearly Anarchist in origin., drawing its inspiration not only from Proudhon but also from Bakunin, [Johann] Most, and all the rest of that furious company of revolt.

Georges Sorel

Georges Sorel

“Revolt!” This is the essence of Syndicalism: a revolt, not merely against modern society but against Marxian Socialism as well. And the revolt was well timed. When, at the very end of the nineteenth century, Georges Sorel lifted the red banner of Syndicalism, the hour awaited the man. The proletarian world was full of discordant and disillusionment at the long dormant Marxian philosophy. Half a century had passed since Marx first preached his gospel, and the revolutionary millennium was nowhere in sight. Society had not become a world of billionaires and beggars. The great capitalists had not swallowed all. The middle classes still survived and prospered. Worst of all, from the revolutionary viewpoint, the upper grades of the working classes had prospered, too. The skilled workers were, in fact, becoming an aristocracy of labor. They were acquiring property and thus growing capitalistic; they were raising their living standards and thus growing bourgeois. Society seemed endowed with a strange vitality! It was even reforming many of the abuses which Marx had pronounced incurable. When, then, was the proletariat to inherit the earth?

The Proletariat! That was the key word. The van, and even the main body of society, might be fairly on the march, but behind lagged a rear guard. Here, were, first of all, the lower working class strata- the “manual” laborers in the narrower sense, relatively ill paid and often grievously exploited. Behind these again came a motley crew, the rejects and misfits of society. “Casuals” and “unemployables”, “down-and-outs” and declasses, victims of social evils, victims of bad heredity and their own vices, paupers, defectives, degenerates, and criminals- they were all there. They were there for many reasons, but they were all miserable, and they were all bound together by a certain solidarity- a sullen hatred of the civilization from which they had little to hope. To these people evolutionary, “reformist” socialism was cold comfort. Then came the Syndicalists promising, not evolution but revolution; not in the dim future but the here and now; not a bloodless “taking over” by “the workers” hypothetically stretched to include virtually the whole community, but the bloody “dictatorship” of The Proletariat in its narrow revolutionary sense.

Here, at last, was living hope- hope, and the prospect of revenge! Is it then strange that a few short years should have seen revolutionary Socialists, Anarchists, all the anti-social forces of the whole world grouped under the banner of Georges Sorel? For a time they went under different names syndicalists in France, Bolshevists in Russia, I.W.W.s in America but in reality they formed one army, enlisted in a single war.

Now, what was this war? It was, first of all, a war for the conquest of Socialism as a preliminary to the conquest of society. Everywhere the orthodox Socialist parties were fiercely assailed. And these Socialist assaults were formidable, because the orthodox Socialists possessed no moral line of defense. Their arms were palsied by the virus of their revolutionary tradition. For however evolutionary and non-militant the Socialists might have been in practice, in theory they had remained revolutionary their ethics continuing to be those of the “class war”, the destruction of the “possessing classes” and the “dictatorship of the proletariat.”

The American economist, Carver, will describe the ethics of socialism in the following lines: “Marxian Socialism has nothing in common with idealistic Socialism. It rests not on persuasion, but on force. It does not profess to believe, as did the old idealists, that if socialism be lifted up it will draw all men to it. In fact, it has no ideals; it is materialistic and militant. Being materialistic and atheistic, it makes no use of such terms as right and justice, unless it be to quiet the consciences of those who still harbor such superstitions. It insists that these terms are mere conventionalities; the concepts mere bugaboos invented by the ruling caste to keep the masses under control. Except in a conventional sense, from this crude materialistic view there is neither a right or wrong, justice nor injustice, good or bad. Until people who still believe in such silly notions divest their minds of them they will never understand the first principles of Marxian socialism.

“Who creates our ideas of right and wrong?” asks the Socialist. “The ruling class. Why? To insure their domination over the masses by depriving them of the power to think for themselves. We, the proletarians, when we get into power, will dominate the situation; we shall be the ruling class; we shall determine who is right and wrong. Do you ask us if what we propose is just? What do you mean by justice? Do you ask if it is right? What do you mean by right? It will be good for us. That is all that right and justice ever did or ever can mean!
Unquote.

People ask what Burroughs believed? Was he a racist? Was he an anti-Semite? Well, Burroughs’ beliefs can be extrapolated from the above quote as well as Stoddard’s whole book. If Burroughs could have expressed himself concisely he would have written The Revolt Against Civilization. You don’t have to look any further.

There could be no more ardent anti-Communist, anti-Socialist, anti-IWW than ERB. The book was published five years after the Russian Revolution, a mere three years after the narrow quelling of the Communist disturbances of 1919 while in 1922 the Harding administration was putting the finishing touches on the suppression of that Communist revolution in the US. Make no mistake the crimes of 1919 were part of an American Bolshevik revolution. Things would not return to what Harding called normalcy but it would be a reasonable facsimile that would endure until the engineered great crash of 1929 opening the way for the Communist revolution of FDR in the US.

These were perilous times ERB was living in no less than those of today. One can’t be sure when Burroughs read Revolt but many of the same themes almost in quotation were employed in his 1926 novel The Moon Maiden. And from the Moon Maiden he went to the more sophisticated approaches of his great political novels from Tarzan At The Earth’s Core to Tarzan And The Lion Man.

As Stoddard thinks the Underman breeds at a very fast rate while the Overman limits his family the obvious consequence is that people of intelligence decrease rapidly in relation to the Underman. Of course Stoddard has all kinds of tables and charts to prove his point. As this was published in 1922 the results are heavily skewed to prove the English are the top of the heap; a result not uncongenial to Burroughs’ sensibilities.

One imagines that as of induction time in 1917-18 a great many of the recent immigrants at least had underdeveloped English language skills that affected the results but at this point it no longer matters; the general idea has been proved sound.

As we have a war between the Underman and the Overman and make no mistake, as far as Sorel and the Syndicalist/Bolshevik ideology goes it is a war to the knife, it may be asked what Stoddard’s formula for the Overman’s success might be.

This returns us to the Underman’s great fear that science, that is objective analysis supported by an array of facts will condemn him to the virtual condition of servitude. It might be surmised that this is an intolerable but inescapable conclusion unless education and science are destroyed reducing the more intelligent to the masses.

 

Stoddard then relying on Darwinian and Weismanian evolution and the notion of Eugenics introduced by Francis Galton resolves the problem by ending the reproduction of the ‘defective’ classes, that is, forced sterilization. Forced sterilization was actually employed. It is interesting that he never brings in the issue of race thus on the surface his book is neither racist for anti-Semitic. However as the book assumes that the superior intelligences are English or Nordic the text qualifies as anti-Semitic in Jewish eyes and hence has been placed on the Jewish Index Of Forbidden Literature.

One may be horrified at the Eugenic solution to the intelligence problem but one must be equally horrified at the Underman solution to their Overman problem. Liquidation is more horrifying than sterilization and Liquidation was employed by the Underman in Russia and will be employed again if they can consolidate their gains in the US and Europe today.

The problem is that while being founded in reality it is impossible in execution. The human mind is too subjective to be trusted with such a great responsibility. Many statues were placed on the books commanding forced sterilization and many such were executed.

Schools classes were organized based on supposed mental aptitudes. How objectively I will demonstrate by my own example. Until Jr. High in my home town schools did not systematically differentiate based on mental capacity, however at the end of the ninth grade just before I.Q. testing in the tenth there were three options, Trade School for those deemed not of academic ability, in other words destined for the labor force, and once in high school a division between business, that is white collar, and college prep. This was still a process of self-selection thus I signed up for high school however someone changed my papers to trade school.

Thus when I showed for classes at high school, I was told I was enrolled at trade school. Now, this was the fight of my life, and for it. I was told I was in trade school and to get out. I said I wasn’t leaving and sat down where I waited for four days for the situation to resolve itself. My argument was that the law required that I be given an education and it wouldn’t be at trade school. Whatever the behind the scenes machinations were I was reluctantly allowed to enter but they then insisted it would be business level while I demanded college prep. With an unexplained prescience I was told that I would never go to college so I should be in business. Nevertheless I won that struggle too.

I am sure that if enforced sterilization had been possible at the time I would have been compelled to undergo it.

Now, here’s the kicker. Came time for I.Q. tests and I placed in the upper four percent. I have no idea what the reaction to that was although my critics had to tone down their act. So human passions invalidated the whole Eugenic idea.

In other words there is no equable solution to this terrible human dilemma.

In that sense the solution offered by Aldus Huxley in his famous comic novel Brave New World is of some interest. In Huxley’s story he enlists science, chemistry, to produce different levels of mental competence. The zygote is nurtured in test tubes while at certain levels of development certain chemicals are introduced limiting the development of the fetus. Thus the labor problem is solved by creating classes only capable of menial tasks. The upper classes are bred like race horses to various degrees of excellence. Huxley was tongue in cheek to be sure but, actually the only solution to this otherwise insoluble problem.

Stoddard didn’t introduce any ideas to which Burroughs wasn’t already familiar and in agreement. At best Stoddard’s superb research and explication clarified ERB’s understanding for him. I don’t know how familiar he was with Georges Sorel. Today Sorel is unknown except to specialists although I am beginning to see his name pop up so with the Communist regime of Barack Obama perhaps the way is being prepared for Sorel’s extreme measures of exterminating the Overman.

At any rate I have come to the opinion that Richard Slotkin is correct in thinking the Burroughs had read and was in accord with both Madison Grant and Lothrop Stoddard. However Slotkin evaluates their work through the distortion of his own Communistic lens which is only valid to those of his point of view.

His view does not make Burroughs a racist or anti-Semite. It makes him an objective and accurate observer and analyst of the situation of his time. As indicated above Burroughs absorbed Stoddard’s information, that point of view and used it to create his wonderful works of the late twenties and first half of the thirties. If one bears Stoddard’s book in mind while reading those novels it will make them make great sense while presenting his view of the political and social situation

Of course the novels are not confined solely to dealing with these issues; Burroughs had a much more far ranging mind, both subjectively and objectively.

Stoddard’s The Revolt Against Civilization is a major study as relevant today as the day it was written. The last ninety years have only borne out his theses. The Revolt Against Civilization is well worth a read, perhaps two. At any rate you will have an accurate idea of Burroughs’ social and political beliefs.

Marianne Faithfull: The Faerie Queene Of The Sixties

by

R.E. Prindle

Chaps. 3, 4,5

Chapter 3

zzzzMarianne1

Of all the performers of the Rock era Mick Jagger and Paul McCartney have been the most successful while I would give the nod of most successful to Jagger. One must admire the way he learned the ropes and then used them to strangle others as he had been strangled. Mick in his own way was the Midnight Rambler and the Street Fighting Man. Don’t think I blame him; you either rule or are ruled. But, one does have to live with the reputation one creates.

Mick began cultivating his image from the beginning. As this story concerns Mick’s relationship to Marianne I will concentrate on aspects of their sexuality. Andrew Loog Oldham made a movie of the Stones’ January 1965 Irish tour. Unfortunately he sold the rights to it along with the Stones 1963-70 master recordings to Allen Klein along with, by the way, the first Marianne Faithfull masters. Klein then became the Stones’ manager.

The movie disappeared into Klein’s archives to surface in November 2012 when the Klein estate released it to DVD. It can now be purchased as I did. The DVD features both the Abkco edit and Oldham’s original Director’s Cut.

Mainly a concert film it also features group member interviews and Richards and Jagger cutting up. While they were horsing around they appear to improvise a song with the lyric: I’d rather be with the boys than here with a stupid girl like you.

While Jagger has always cultivated an ambiguous image he has also announced a record of having had sex with four thousand or more different girls. That’s only eighty per annum over fifty years so I imagine that shows an admirable restraint. Yet, at the same time Mick has always been misogynistic while always seeking to emasculate or squash his closer women under his thumb. In fact Mick probably has a domination or emasculation complex. He may have rather been with the boys but in his competition with them he sought to emasculate or squash them too. One of the favorite forms of emasculation and domination is to take other men’s women from them.

Thus when he took Jerry Hall from Bryan Ferry he quipped he had to do it to save her from going through life as Jerry Ferry. One winces when one reads of Eric Clapton begging Mick not to take Carla Bruni from him. Mick even took one of Eric’s temps, Catherine James from him.

Mick And Chrissie

Mick And Chrissie Shrimpton

Mick And Chrissie Shrimpton

When Mick first enters the scene for Andrew Oldham he is in an alley fighting it out with Chrissie Shrimpton, the model Jean Shrimpton’s younger sister. If one reads more deeply into that situation it shows a very cruel sadistic streak in Mick, quite shameful in a celebrity of Mick’s first magnitude of brightness.

Chrissie began the relationship as a strong willed girl battered by and battering Mick. In that day before the change in sexual mores girls weren’t quite so sexually open so Chrissie didn’t want her parents to know she was shacking up with Mick. They insisted to Mick that they not. As a humiliation tactic to break the girl down he let it be known to her parents that in his eyes she was little more than a common whore and she and they should see it that way too as he was in fact shacking with her.

Gradually the monster beat her down completely destroying her self-respect then, more than publicly, he broadcast his triumph on records and over the radio with such songs as Stupid Girl and Under My Thumb which their whole circle knew referred to her. Dylan would later use the same tactic against Edie Sedgwick when he wrote Like A Rolling Stone to break her down.

Both Chrissie and her parents believed Mick and she were to marry but having crushed her beneath his thumb, as it were, with a toss of his curly locks Mick sneeringly walked away adding insult to injury. Cruel in this instance it became psychotic with repeated use.

Years after word got back to Mick that Chrissie had a bundle of his letters, and, now this is unforgivable, without a word to her he immediately set his attorneys on her threatening an expensive law suit while demanding she return his letters. Even though Chrissie had not intended to publish them, still shaking this long after Mick’s brutal treatment, Chrissie without delay forwarded her letters from Mick to him. Shameful.

Mick And Marianne

 

Mick And Marianne

Mick And Marianne

Mick then turned his attentions to the Guinevere, the Ophelia, the Faerie Queene of pop music, our own Marianne. While I’m sure Mick was somewhat enamored with Marianne I’m also sure he had a couple ulterior motives. Marianne was married to John Dunbar at the time while living with Mick so Mick had the pleasure of emasculating and humiliating Dunbar.

At the same time I’m sure he was envious of Marianne’s fame which was probably greater than his at the time. No room in the spotlight for two. He couldn’t stand that Marianne was getting even more press than himself. Thus he undertook to destroy her career. In the process he emasculated her and humiliated her to an astounding degree.

Marianne and Mick were playing with psychologies in a very destructive manner. The events I am going to describe did incalculable damage to their psyches while altering the direction of their subsequent lives dramatically, especially Marianne’s. Of course, few people seem to realize they have a psychology or how it was formed, what expectations they devised. Those hopes and dreams were more especially dashed when they turned to drugs. That was certainly the case with Marianne.

I don’t know how seriously Marianne took her Medieval interest and reading but she was influenced by her Arthurian studies. Like the most or possibly rest of the generation she was also influenced quite heavily by Alice In Wonderland and Peter Pan, probably both books and movies.

The key for the generation in Peter Pan was his refusal to grow up or accept adulthood. It was quite fashionable at the time to pretend that you would always be young, keep in contact with your ‘inner child.’ I was a victim of the psychosis myself.

At any rate Marianne was influenced by all three. Thus, when she and Mick met she quizzed him extensively on his knowledge of King Arthur to see how much he knew as though that litmus test would seal his fate. Mick passed and Marianne moved in still married to John Dunbar. Thus her life clashed with her Catholic upbringing. At first Marianne had royalties coming in from her records enabling her to maintain a certain independence but gradually the royalty checks decreased making Marianne financially dependent on Mick.

At the same time Mick was under no obligations to Marianne and observed none. How this clashed with Marianne’s Arthurian expectations in an atmosphere of Peter Pan and Alice she doesn’t go into but there must have been a severe disappointment as Mick treated her as a mere possession.

While in California he was the object of desire for all the groupies including the doyenne Miss Pamela- Pamela Des Barres nee Miller- of Frank Zappa’s girl group the GTOs (Girls Totally Ornery or else in reference to the hottest car of the period, the GTO). Miss Pamela as well as the rest of the California groupies studied to come up with better and better more outrageous sexual thrills with which to astonish the boys in the band which easily surpassed the imaginations of the boys in the band including Mick.

Mick returned home and demanded of Marianne that she perform these tricks which astonished Marianne no less than Mick had been astonished. However she believed the tricks degrading. Marianne quite rightly refused to perform them.

But the repertoire of the boys in the band kept expanding so that the home girls were led to view new horizons. Group sex and that sort of thing became the norm.

As with all loosely knit movements or phenomena this sort of reputation brought more and more of the sado-masochistic libertine drug oriented element gradually forcing out the less inclined to sexual erotica just as bad money drives out good money. Rock and Roll became progressively more degenerate from 1964-65 on until it was disgraceful to be associated with it.

Mick and the Stones were leaders of this degeneration whether the Stones embraced sexual sado-masochism personally their public persona was based on it making them leading corruptors of youth and society in general. They did as much or more to change the sexual mores of the present than anyone. Their LP cover for Black and Blue was the apex of this very sado-masochistic misogynistic persona. The cover caused me all kinds of trouble in running my record store.

As one presents oneself so must one be.

Chapter 4

The Redlands Bust.

Many psychologically devastating events happened to Marianne in the years from 1967-70. It is very difficult from this perspective to evaluate some of them. One can’t tell how Marianne’s renunciation of her career affected her mind. After all in 1964-65 and 66 she went from just another teenager to superb success far beyond her expectations financially, while becoming the female idol of the youth of England and a phenom in the US- ultimately the Faerie Queen of rock and roll. That’s really only two short years until the Redlands bust.

In those two years she passed through several sexual transmogrifications. She went from virgin to the most outre of sexual practices. Its all very well to say that this was her decision but as Paul McCartney said of his own experience in Miles’ biography it was impossible for him to resist peer pressure, especially in the use of drugs. He was ‘forced’ to try heroin even though he was dead set against.

So peer pressure on Marianne and any young girl to be sexual ‘free spirits’ was impossible unless you were prepared to accept group rejection. The same with drugs that couldn’t be resisted so that when depression set in she ended up addicted to the greatest depression drug available- heroin. It was up to Mick to give what protection he could. Regardless of current sexual nonsense it us up to the man to guide his woman.

Now, the era began in relatively clean-cut innocence . It was never quite so white bread as it is depicted, trying to escape the sleaziness, even then, was no easy matter. Then as the decade wore on it all got worse, then it got disgusting. First pot, pills and amphetamines, then LSD that came on like a hurricane. LSD more than anything else conditioned you for cocaine that in at the end of the decade, at least on the West Coast where I was. Remember that there was no national consensus in the US
In 1964 or so when the ‘counter-culture’ hit in the Bay Area it was a very local manifestation not shared by the East Coast the Mid-West or even for that matter LA. LA was never hip in the way the Bay Area was. While the Beatles are credited with introducing long hair, when the Charlatans came down from Virginia City they had hair and they must have been growing it long before the Mop Tops showed up.

The West Coast could not tolerate New York groups. Mafia outfits like the Rascals nee Young Rascals and Vanilla Fudge made the West Coast puke. There really wasn’t any place for The Velvet Underground either. Of course the British groups that had their own sound that really couldn’t compete with that of say, The Doors, an LA group. The LA groups being more commercially oriented pretty much shoved the Bay Area groups aside, although were a couple of real successes. I don’t include freak groups like the Grateful Dead as commercial successes. Cults are cults.

But to the point, boy, LSD. Owsley Stanley kept the West supplied and how. By the time of Altamont and Stonewall the atmosphere was really foul. And then it got worse still.

About the time of the Redlands bust society and the police were losing their patience. Kesey and Leary had them terrified. The drug thing kept growing. When one says that marijuana was generational it is true only to the extent that a significant minority of the generation smoked it. The hippies were only a small and despised part of the generation but they, we, made a lot of noise and got a lot of notice. Without the radio, rock and corrupt record companies the Movement probably wouldn’t have broken the bounds of Bohemia. But, the time was ripe for the Bohemian conquest of America. That was led from New York, principally by Andy Warhol.

The records made the Bohemian life seem very glamorous. Thus the cops focused on groups where actually the greatest drug activity was located and the propaganda the strongest. As the groups began to make good and even big, very big, money they were the natural prey of the drug dealers. And don’t underestimate the role of LSD. The groups also chose to flaunt their drug use- ‘I’ve got to be free to put anything into my body and life I want to’, disdaining the law, the police and actually common decency. This was the case with the Stones and it’s the flaunting, not the use, that got them in trouble.

In 1967 they naturally were set up. Brian Jones in an interview, barroom chat actually, with News Of The World reporters boasted of his drug use. The journalists then attributed the statements to Mick, whether from ignorance or design I leave to your imagination.

When Mick read the article he was indignant. As I said, while Mick and the rockers thought they were big because of records, radio and TV they were actually socially marginal and not particularly appreciated. Musicians get no respect outside their own circle.

Rather than evaluate his situation, considering that he was doing drugs and everyone knew it thus making him an obvious target, he foolishly brought suit against the newspaper. You don’t have to be brilliant to know News Of The World wasn’t going to let that one fly. Hey! Hey! What’d I say! Mick was sleeping or day dreaming.

The police wanted to get England’s bad boys anyway. There may or may not have been collusion between the News Of The World and the police but the way the raid was conducted indicates there was.

Shortly before the bust some guy named Schneiderman drops from the sky with a brief case reportedly filled with whatever you required. Mick, Marianne and Keith and a couple others, I will mention in the next section, were having an LSD weekend at Keith’s house, the Redlands. Schneiderman insinuated himself into the party with his briefcase while probably being in the employ of the News informed them and they in turn notified the police.

For Schneiderman allegedly having a briefcase full of drugs there were remarkably few drugs in evidence at the bust. Jagger was booked only for possession of four pep pills bought legally in Italy, while Keith had no drug charges at all except for being charged with ‘knowingly’ providing a place where pot was smoked. Robert Fraser actually had heroin jacks of his own on him but Schneiderman produced nothing from his briefcase and indeed no drugs were visible in it when the police required him to open it. No drugs were seen only packaging that were assumed to contain drugs by the Bohemians. In any event he hopped the first flight to elsewhere.

While Marianne had no drugs concealed on her person her situation was the most tragic of all. The Faerie Queen would lose her official status.

When the cops came calling the crowd was of course flipped out on LSD but then that was always the danger; the cops would come calling when you’re least prepared to deal with them. Come on, this was just one of the hazards of using illegal substances. And naturally, you tend to be flippant, wise cracking and mocking. Very bad behavior in such a situation when maximum seriousness is the order of the moment. It’s not like everyone didn’t live in fear of being busted. They used to call it deep paranoia.

Marianne whose clothes had become wet from walking in the rain laid them out to dry dressing in nothing more than some sort of rug wrapped around her. Well, what is one to think of a nude woman amongst a bunch of men; what is this Dejeuner Sur L’herbe redux? Even if two thirds of them were screaming fairies as they were, how is one to know that and what to think?

It was said that Marianne let her wrap slip giving the coppers an eyeful. Of course the cops were square and the gang was hip but squares outnumber hips by a very large margin while as Roger Miller sings: Squares make the world go round. And a good thing too. Roger said that hips have too much water for their land; this was a gathering of pretty watery people. Oh, OK, my people, but folks you have to be realistic. That’s what hip means in my book.

And then someone probably at News Of The World concocted the story that Marianne had a Mars bar slipped between her legs and that Mick was grazing away at it. Preposterous, wouldn’t you think? Boy, now that was a blow that will getcha and you’ll be down for a long time too. As might be expected Marianne was devastated. Boy, that opened a lot of anfractuosities in her brain. A hit like two trains running in opposite directions at top speed on the same tracks over a two hundred foot high trestle. That’s a big crash and a long way to tumble, buddy.

It ended any hope Marianne may have had of appearing on a stage. Can you imagine stepping up to the microphone and being showered with Mars bars. Oh no, no,no, better to board a rocket ship for…oops…Mars.

Marianne and Mick may have thought they were handling it well but the bile and psycho-somatic reactions entering the sub-conscious aren’t so easily dismissed. This horror was merely added to their childhood fixations.

In the turmoil of the months succeeding this mind wrenching event fixations would only worsen. Of course the intent of the establishment was not so much to succeed in jailing them but making an example of them while hopefully destroying their careers. The bust should have been career destroying but for the generational gap. When a teacher chastises a student the other students smirk but don’t disown him. After busting Mick and Keith the establishment then went after the more fragile Brian Jones, the guy who got this whole thing rolling by shooting off his mouth. If the three could have been jailed they wouldn’t subsequently have been allowed to enter the US or so it seemed. No one could have forecast the incredible changes that were about to occur that essentially placed the Stones above the law.

Chapter 5

Enter Donald Cammell And His Movie Performance

zzzzMickandCammell

One reads many amusing reasons for the incredible social disintegration of the sixties. One of the most preposterous to come to my attention is the notion that it was caused by lead poisoning.. There’s a hobby horse for you. While I couldn’t rule it out I think lead poisoning would be among the most obscure of reasons. No, the sixties was no more an aberration than was Hitler’s Germany; like the latter it was the result of long historical development, a part of psychological history.

If one reads a good deal with the purpose of understanding the historical background of the sixties things begin to take form. Then if one tries to make one’s intellect rise and float over the information gleaned from that reading patterns will form, a map of the past will appear. Then of course one notes nodes and axons, connections that require further reading and rereading what’s already been read so that a fair approximation of what happened can be more or less confidently stated. Much of it will be subterranean history that doesn’t make it to the history books.

Such is the psycho-sexual mind set that began to develop oh, say, about from 1890 on which a key node was from 1900 to 1920. Western understanding of the human mind developed fairly rapidly from the mid-eighteenth century rapidly gaining momentum after say 1860 and the spectacular doings at Paris’ Salpetriere mental hospital under the tutelage of the amazing Dr. Jean-Martin Charcot.

While his investigations were of a psycho-sexual nature they were not perceived as such except perhaps by a transient student by the name of Sigmund Freud. Sometime after Charcot’s studies toward the nineties people calling themselves sexologists, sex therapists and sex magicians began to appear.

Along with Freud who might be called a sex therapist two leading figures slightly earlier than he were the German Richard von Krafft-Ebing (1840-1902) and the Englishman Havelock Ellis (1859-1939). In the academic scientific or pseudo-scientific manner all three made their contributions although Freud managed to incorporate their discoveries or understandings into his system acquiring preeminence in the field.

Goerg Groddeck and Wilhelm Reich, two of Freud’s disciples also gained prominence in the sex therapist field.

On the religious or supernatural side the most prominent and influential of the sex magicians was the so-called Magus Aleister Crowley and his organization of the Golden Dawn.

With the exception of Krafft-Ebing all were out to overturn European sexual mores, designated disparagingly as Victorian. Of course there was never a time when men and women didn’t behave sexually because…well, how could they? The real goal then was to disturb prevailing sexual mores and replace them with sexual license. This essentially came to fruition in the 1960s when the influence of Freud and Crowley were at their peak. The two principal cultural nodes of the US, New York and Los Angeles, were flooded with European Jewish émigrés of the Freudian school while Aleister Crowley had established himself and his Golden Dawn in Los Angeles.

The corrosive sexual mores of Freud and Crowley were aided and abetted by the rise of the equally corrosive drug use and, of course, ‘lead poisoning.’

Our next object then is to discover who Donald Cammel might be.

Searching For Donald

Cammell is the central figure in this little drama so we will begin with him although even though the Stones biographers don’t delve into these other characters they are integral to the social scene of Mick, Marianne and Keith. It appears that Brian Jones, Bill Wyman and Charlie Watts served a peripherals to Mick primarily and Mick and Keith secondarily. Oldham tried to make himself a third but apparently was incompatible or other interests pulled him in a different direction. By ‘67 he would be out of the picture.

In Marianne’s biography she makes it sound like Cammell was a stranger to the group while actually he was well known to Bob Fraser, and Chrissie Gibbs who were at the Redlands bust and quite familiar with Mick, Keith and Marianne. They all knew each other before the movie began to be filmed.

Cammell was older than the three being contemporary with the first generations of rockers; he was born in 1934 in Scotland. He came from a well to do family immersed in the occult; his father actually knew Aleister Crowley and wrote a biography of him. One may then assume that his father was something of a sex magician as Marianne’s father was a sexologist. It was impossible to escape Freudian influences from at least 1920 through the fifties. So some reference to repression and the unconscious is inevitable.

Cammell’s father was likely familiar with Krafft-Ebing’s Psychopathia Sexualis with its emphasis on psychotic sexual practices. All the sexologists and magicians immersed themselves in bizarre sexual practices. If a reader counters that all sex is legitimate it shows how perverted he or she is. No argument from me, we know where each other stands.

As Cammell was born in ‘34, in ‘44 he would have been 10 and 20 in 1954. Thus he would have been aware of the war between the ages of 4, 5, 6, or so and 10 but perhaps in a muddled and uncomprehending manner but in ‘44 and ‘45 he would have been aware enough to partially comprehend. Certainly when the Big Baby turned Hiroshima to ashes in August of ‘45 something would have registered affecting his mind and outlook.

I was 7 in ‘45 and while I have a clear remembrance of VE Day I don’t have any recollection at all of the Bomb or if I do it had little or no significance to me. I have never had a horror of the A-bomb.

Obviously something other than lead poisoning affected the psyches of the crop of kids from ‘33-’34 to 1942-43. It may have had something to do with the total destruction of the world capped by the Bomb. What a terrific exclamation mark to the end of hostilities. What Cammell’s reaction to this destruction was isn’t clear to me while it probably wasn’t clear to himself.

After the war he experienced rationing during the whole of his teen years. He was probably less affected than others as he became prosperous in his teens on his own as a painter. He was successful as a portrait painter. From the pictures I’ve seen he was more than talented while possibly possessing genius. His mind already exhibited an extreme darkness with sexual confusion easily perceived.

Much of the following information comes from web sites such as the fabulous Another Nickel In The Machine that records the history of London, Sam Umland’s 60X50 and many others. I have not read Umland’s biography of Cammell as yet.

Cammell divorced his first wife and then married a very successful model, the American Deborah Dixon, moving to Paris where they both lived. Cammell apparently was supported by his wife.

Bored with painting, not unlike Andy Warhol, he began to take an interest in film. There is nothing like a movie to exhibit one’s sexual fantasies in real life; indeed a movie is a record of the unconscious. Cammell and Dixon were sexually compatible taking an interest in anything remotely copulatory. Cammell’s first few attempts at filmmaking were not successful or, at least, lacked box office magic.

Along with his lack of interest in painting and his attraction to the movies Cammell gravitated toward the pop world of rock and roll seeking out Jagger. Where was a sexual degenerate to turn? The bad boys of Rock, the Rolling Stones, Mick, Keith and Marianne at least. He found Mick and Marianne’s talked about sexual escapades irresistible. He was undoubtedly attracted by Mick’s dope legend also. Mick claims not to have been an excessive user of drugs, which may be true but I doubt there was anyone at the time who didn’t think he was a heroin addict and druggie par excellence.

As an artist Cammell was acquainted with Bob Fraser and that pop art crowd. Both he and Fraser were known to the infamous crime lords, the Kray Brothers. The Krays, of course, were homosexuals as were Fraser and Gibbs. Mick’s legend is that he is bi-sexual, at least, so there is no reason that he wasn’t sexually involved with the bunch in some manner.

Cammell and Fraser also knew the Satanist and sex magician, the American experimental film maker, Kenneth Anger, as did Mick and Marianne. Fraser introduced Anger to the underground film crowd.

In addition Anita Pallenberg knew Cammell from her pre-Brian Jones, Keith Richard days. She was shown the script in the south of France the year before filming began. So, unless I have seriously misread Marianne’s first auto-biography, Cammell didn’t just show up one day with a movie proposal; it was actually old home week.

Cammell did go on to make an additional three or four movies of which I have seen two, Demon Seed and Wild Side. The last movie has escaped my vigilance so far. Wild Side is a virtual remake or variation of Performance. Demon Seed that I will review in an addendum to Chapter 5 is actually a great movie handling a major sci-fi them to perfection.

Just prior to the beginning of filming in 1968 Mick impregnated Marianne. This is 1968 and if Marianne hadn’t been on the Pill she would have had a number of children now in addition to Nicholas her child by John Dunbar. The question then is why she allowed herself to get pregnant at this time. She was still married to Dunbar so one must think he must have suffered humiliation and emasculation to have another man impregnate his wife. Perhaps Mick’s emasculation genes or maybe just a drug haze.

At any rate Marianne was exiled to Ireland while filming was going on. One can only imagine the anxiety she felt separated from her lover in her condition. One doesn’t have to imagine; she suffered a miscarriage.

Point Blank
The Movie

In 1967 the English director John Boorman had filmed a movie that took
Cammell’s mind by storm. The movie was Point Blank starring Lee Marvin as the protagonist Walker. Cammell recommended that all the cast see the move and bear it in mind. It might be advantageous to review the movie here.

Point Blank was only Boorman’s second effort. Unsuccessful on release it has apparently become a cult classic. His movie is obviously a dream sequence or nightmare. Nothing is real. This indicated by the hero’s name of Walker. He has only one name, no first. No one even knows what his first name could be. The name seemed significant to me but I hadn’t a clue as to what it could mean. Well, you know, when the student is ready the teacher will appear. While writing this piece I was also reading Denis Machail’s 1941 biography of J.M. Barrie, the author of Peter Pan. There on page 190 was the explanation of Walker. Barrie had written a play titled Walker, London. That was a telegraphic address.  Quote:

Two impudent jokes in one, the second even more mysterious then as it is now. For the word ‘Walker’ is still in the dictionary- “interjection (slang) expressing incredulity and suspicion of being hoaxed” but when was it last used? Not during the present century, one would say; yet before that there was a time when it was the very crystalization of Cockney humor. “Walker!” you said, to show that you could never be caught with chaff. It was the standard answer to the attempted leg pull. It was also one of those blessed with with which any comedian could bring down the house.

So now the viewer knows he is being hoaxed and can suspend belief. The plot involves Lee Marvin as Walker who takes part in a heist then is shot by his partner who runs off with Walker’s share or 93,000 and adding insult to injury Walker’s wife. The rest of the story involves Walker trying to retrieve his money forget the wife. The story is told through a series of frustrations to a paranoid Walker. So, we have a dream study of a frustrated paranoid.

The opening and closing settings are the same; the walking or exercise area inside Alcatraz prison. The joke seemingly being that one walks around and around, never getting anywhere while returning to the same place. Cry “Walker” and then start laughing like a Cockney at the joke.

Alcatraz, the Rock, is of course a small island in the middle of San Francisco Bay between the Golden Gate and the Bay Bridge. Established in 1934 it was closed in 1963, so the filming was done in a closed facility and before the Indians occupied the island claiming it as their heritage. The filming was done, then, in vacated premises.

As a dream story it concerns the psychic life of Walker. It’s all going on inside his head. The prison, castle or house represents the psychic the self so that Walker lives a bleak, barren, paranoid inner life.

A helicopter lands in the enclosure, picks up a package and leaves a bundle of money. Walker and his pal Mal (mal, French for bad) kill the messenger while robbing him. Walker is then examining an empty cell signifying his empty life when Mal with Walker’s wife looking on puts a couple bullets in him leaving him for dead while appropriating Walker’s share of the money and his wife. Thus we have some basic paranoia that, of course, might possibly be true. As his wife would say later, Walker just kind of left her cold.

Left for dead Walker somehow recovers while being compelled to take the only way off the island available to him- swim for it. Another grim joke as legend has it that no one who tried ever succeeded.

The rest of the story concerns surmounting the treachery and double crosses Walker encounters in trying to recover his money. He finds his wife, abandons her and takes up with her sister. While he seems a little obsessive-compulsive in the matter, the money in fact represents his lost identity, purpose in life or masculinity. The recovery of the money is central for his personality.

As in the Cockney joke whenever he shows up people exclaim “Walker!” If you’re in on the joke it might be funny. Angie Dickenson makes up the sex interest as Chris as there is no love interest. Just a four letter word in this movie. The three kingpins Walker must knock down are Carter, Brewster and Fairfax. Ironically Carter and Brewster are disposed of by their own team when Walker’s paranoia protects him while the others take the hit meant for him.

The actual climax takes place in Brewster’s house when Walker and Chris have spent the night together, the only consummated sex in the movie. As Walker is walking out the door Chris asks what her last name is. Walker doesn’t know and neither do we. Walker counters, seemingly weakly, does she know his first name. Either check mate or an uproarious joke to Cockneys. But as Walker in joke is a hoax or a put on then it doesn’t matter anyway. Dreams are like that, they follow a different logic than the waking mind.

The denouement returns to the opening at Alcatraz but now Walker is more canny staying out if sight. The drop is made, Brewster calls to him to come get the money. But, as when Walker was supposed to get the money from Carter, after he survived the assassination attempt, the bundle proved to be waste paper, Walker’s paranoia saves him again. A shot rings out and Brewster takes a long walk off a short pier never to return again. Now enter Fairfax who is the head man and the assassin who shot Carter and Brewster and would have shot Walker. Fairfax shouts Walker several times that in another century would have brought the house down.

Walker’s paranoia prevents him from taking what might be money in the bundle but is probably waste paper so that as the bundle of funny paper represents his ego he is left stranded in the haunted empty house of Alcatraz representing his mind for one presumes the rest of his life.

The movie was a box office failure, except for the few like Cammell but holds up well as a psychological thriller. That is what Cammell saw. So, now, he’s basing his own movie ‘Performance’ directly on Point Blank.

Performance

He gathers together essentially the ‘gang’ to make his movie. Even Deborah Dixon took part. He already knew and was friends with James Fox as was apparently Mick, cast as the criminal Chas. Cammell had known Anita Pallenberg in Paris where it is said she formed a brief menage a trois with Cammel and Deborah. Chrissie Gibbs was the set designer…Mick was an old friend, a few outsiders and Cammel had his movie.

Mick sent Marianne to Ireland for the duration. Keith who was shacking with Anita was so unhappy about Cammell’s pairing of Anita with Mick that he found it impossible to visit the set. Instead he brooded outside in his car sending Bob Fraser in to keep tabs until Cammell banned him from the set.

I can’t be sure that Cammell understood the Cockney meaning of Walker but he so admired the character that he based Mick’s role on Walker giving Mick the single name of Turner. No first name. Turner is also meant to be significant. A turner is a sort of acrobat. The word could also be used in the sense of changeling, or perhaps in the homosexual sense or turning a man gay. Turner does turn Chas. from a tough guy to a passive fairy, his sort of changeling. Turner changes the tough hoods into faggots. Probably then that is the meaning of the name. So maybe Cammell was in on the Walker joke.

As the movie is permeated by sex magic and sex as a sort of therapy the influence of Krafft-Ebing, Ellis, Freud and especially Aleister Crowley is very apparent. Kenneth Anger was around at the time while being known to all the participants thus reinforcing the Crowley connection.

All the sex therapists were concerned with aberrant sexual practices that the movie concentrates on. Cammell elaborates the sexual implications of Boorman’s Point Blank, while the decaying mansion obviously represent Cammell’s mind. In the end the sex therapy or magick doesn’t seem to work as Turner turns suicidal obsessed with a death wish.

Boorman’s crime angle comes in through Chas. In order for Fox to appear authentic Cammell actually required him to live the criminal life under the tutelage of a mobster, even to the extent of taking part in actual crimes. Of course, madness is the theme of the movie but even madness can go too far.

Chas. has offended the criminal chief, based on the Kray Bros., who has commanded a man hunt to track Chas. down. When he is located he is summoned to his execution. Turner says: Don’t leave me, take me where you’re going. Chas. says ‘You don’t want to go where I’m going.’ Turner: ‘Yes I do.’  Chas. then blows Turner’s head off, gets into the car and the car drives off, as he looks out the window we see Turners face. Thus the turning or change is complete as each becomes the other.

The version now available for purchase or rental is apparently much different from the original. While even the available version is violent and pornographic the original must have anticipated the current pornographic output of Hollywood . While I wouldn’t call Performance tame almost every movie you see today is as or more explicit. At any rate the movie has no redeeming moral value. If you want porn plain and simple, there it is.

The legend has it that the movie changed the lives of the participants. Perhaps so, but perhaps not. Michele Breton was already a lost child and stayed lost. Anita, no stranger to drugs moved into intense familiarity. James Fox, who was criminally mistreated by Cammell, gave up movies for ten years but he says he was already fed up with the seedy side of movie making so perhaps Performance just capped it. Keith? God, what can you say? Who was going to keep him from drugs? If Cammell was already inclined toward suicide he topped himself off in 1996 finally taking Keith’s advice.

But, now, Mick and Marianne. Mick was advised to play himself but Marianne wisely overruled that advice perhaps saving Mick’s sanity but still leaving him off balance. Marianne advised him to adopt some of the fey characteristics of Brian Jones’ character along with some of Keith’s tough guy stance. Not too difficult as that is the way Mick already appeared but it permanently shifted his personality in that skew. Nevertheless Mick has always remained supremely functional.

As to Marianne, how did she relate to Mick’s rejection of her by sending her to Ireland and the subsequent miscarriage of her child. That is a lot of psychological battering. I think that it is certain that as 1968 progressed she was already in a depression and sinking rapidly. While she was able to hold on for another year or so, by 1969 she would be spinning out of control as further events tested the strength of her mind.

 

Only The Strong Survive

Part II

An Examination Of Bridge And The Oskaloosa Kid

As Created By Edgar Rice Burroughs

(Alternate Title:  The Oakdale Affair)

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Part II

Into The Mysteries

(Some capitalization appears in the text that has no significance.  For some reason it just showed up.  I didn’t do it) 

Young Burroughs With His Camera Eye

Burroughs does a good job in the Holmesian sense in this book enclosing mysteries within mysteries. The central mystery is who is committing the crime wave in Oakdale. Having learned from his mentor, Conan Doyle, Burroughs skillfully withholds details to enhance the suspense then disclosing them to reveal the mysteries. The organization of the scheme of crimes gradually unfolds to show that the real Oskaloosa Kid is one of the perpetrators. So we have a clever doubling of a sweet girl posing as the vicious criminal The Oskaloosa Kid. This is obviously a transfer of his Anima identity from the male De Vac/Oskaloosa Kid to the resumption of a female identity for his Anima through the fake Oskaloosa Kid/Gail Prim.

The girl who was seen with the criminals could have been Gail since she had disappeared without a trace never having arrived at her destination. Gail was not the girl seen with Reginald Paynter, who was robbed and murdered, and the crooks. That person was Hettie Penning who was ejected from the car speeding past the abandoned Squibbs place by the real Oskaloosa Kid. Thus symbolically De Vac/Oskaloosa Kid returns his Anima to Bridge/Burroughs.

As indicated Hettie Pening represents the dead early Anima of Burroughs who has here been resurrected. As in all cases of Burroughs representation of his failed Anima she appears to be a ‘bad’ girl but in reality is merely misunderstood. He compensates for himself.

Bridge himself is a mystery man and double. He is a hobo but with great manners and an excellent education. He is definitely a member of the Might Have Seen Better Days Club. The real club was organized by Burroughs when he served as an enlisted man in the Army in 1896.

In this case Bridge is in actuality the son of a wealthy Virginia aristocrat who has left home because he prefers a life on the road. In the framing story of a Princess of Mars Burroughs portrays himself in his own name as a Virginian. In reality Burroughs was declassed at eight or nine by John the Bully and by his father’s subsequent shuffling of him from school to school finally sending him to a bad boy school that Burroughs describes as little more than a reformatory for rich kids.

If one looks at his career he was on the move quite a bit. During his marriage he seldom lived in one house for more than a year or two then moved on.

Just as Bridge will assume his proper identity at the end of the novel so through his writing Burroughs has abandoned the shame of his hard scrabble years from 1905-13. In a sense he is assuming his proper identity with this novel.

Bridge and the Kid joining together at the fork in the road, one is reminded of Yogi Berra’s quip: When you come to a fork in the road, take it, in this case the less traveled dirt road.

I read word for word frequently dwelling on the scenes created. Burroughs is a very visual writer. Standing at the fork in a driving Midwest summer lightning, thunder and deluge storm they can hear the pursuing hoboes shouting down the road. Ahead of them is a dark unknown and a house haunted by the victims of a sextuple murder.

Indeed, Burroughs describes almost a descent into hell, or at least, the hell of the subconscious.

Over a low hill they followed the muddy road and down into a dark and gloom ravine. In a little open space to the right of the road a flash of lightning, followed one imagines by either the crash of deep loud rumbling of the thunder of perhaps if over head the sonic boom of the air splitting and closing, revealed the outline of a building a hundred yards (that’s three hundred feet, a very large front yard) from the rickety and decaying fence which bordered the Squibb farm and separated it from the road.

There are those who say Burroughs doesn’t write well but in a short paragraph he has economically drawn a verbal picture which is quite astonishing in its detail. The house is a hundred yards from the road. In the rain and muck that might be a walk or two or three minutes or more.

A clump of trees surrounded the house, their shade adding to the utter blackness of the night.

That’s what one calls inspissating gloom. One might well ask how any shade can add to utter blackness but one gets the idea. There is some intense writing thoroughly reminiscent of Poe but nothing like him.

The two had reached the verandah when Bridge, turning, saw a brilliant light glaring through the night above the crest of the hill they had just topped in their descent into the ravine, or, to be more explicit, the small valley, where stood the crumbling house of the Squibbs. The purr of a rapidly moving motor car rose above the rain, the light rose, fell, swerved to the right and left.

“Someone must be in a hurry.” commented Bridge.

There isn’t any better writing than that. Another writer can say it differently but he can’t say it better. Just imagine the movie Frankenstein or Wolf Man when you’re reading it. Burroughs did as well in less than the time it takes to show it.

A body is thrown from the speeding car a shot following after it. Bridge goes to pick up the body.

Thus the mystery and horror and terror of the dark and stormy night has been building. Bridge carrying the body which may or may not be alive asks the Kid to open the door.

Behind him came Bridge as the youth entered the dark interior. A half dozen steps he took when his foot struck against a soft yielding mass. Stumbling he tried to regain his equilibrium only to drop fully upon the thing beneath him. One open palm extended to ease his fall, it fell upon the uplifted features of a cold and clammy face.

Yipes! What more do you need? Cold and dripping, half crazed from fear, overwhelmed by the thought he might be a murderer the Kid’s hand falls on cold and clammy dead flesh. Bridge is standing there with maybe another dead person in his arms. The Kid is also aware that the murderous hoboes are hot on his trail.

If that doesn’t get you then somehow I think you can’t be got.

Not yet finished Burroughs builds up the tension. Striking a match from the specially lined water proof pocket of Bridge’s coat they find a dead man wearing golden earrings. Obviously a gypsy but while staring in unsimulated horror they hear from the base of the stairs of a dark dank cellar the clank of a slowly drawn chain as a heavy weight makes the stairs creak.

This is too much for the nerves of the Kid. Burroughs brilliantly contrasts the terror of the unknown in the basement with the fear of the dark at the top of the stairs. You know where that’s at, I’m sure, I sure do. In a flash the Kid chooses the unknown at the top of the stairs to the horror in the cellar.

What do you want?

The hoboes are still slipping and sliding down the descent into the ravine of the subconscious. Horror in front, terror behind. There is absolutely no place to hide. Nightmare City, don’t you think? How could anyone do it better? What do you mean he can’t write? Put the scenes in a movie and everyone in the theatre would be covering their eyes. Itd\ would be that Beast With Five Fingers all over again. Maybe worse. Never saw that one? Check it out. Peter Lorre. Terrifying. Of course I was a kid.

The clanking of the chain recreates an incident in Burroughs’ own life when he had a job collecting for an ice company. He called on a house and while he was waiting he heard the clanking of a chain coming slowly up the driveway. Waiting with a fair amount of trepidation he saw a huge dog dragging the chain appear. ERB backing slowly away forgot about the delinquent bill.

In this case the chain is attached to Beppo the dancing bear but Bridge and the Kid won’t know that until the next day.

They retreat into an upstairs bedroom. Here what Burroughs describes in capital letters as THE THING and IT pursues them. I remember two movies one called The Thing and the other It.

Just when the thing retreats the murderous gang of hoboes enters the house. Wow! Out of the frying pan and into the fire in this night of terrors as the lightning continues to flash and the thunder crash.

Discovering the dead man and as the bear begins moving again four of the hoboes flee while two who were on the staircase being trapped in the house flee into the same bedroom as Bridge, the Kid and the girl, Hettie. Shortly thereafter a woman’s scream pierces the lightning and the thunder then silences as the storm settles into a steady drizzle.

The rest of the night is one tense affair between the murderous hoboes and the Bridge and the girls. Not a moment to catch your breath.

In the morning when they go downstairs the mystery increases when they find the dead man gone and nothing in the cellar. If they’d had Tarzan along he would have not only been able to smell the bear but to tell whether if was black or brown.

After a brief confrontation Dopey Charlie and the General are driven off. Bridge’s relationship with the Kid is then deepened. Even though all the Kid’s reactions are repulsive to the manhood of Bridge he feels his attraction to the seeming boy growing stronger.

Not since he had followed the open road with Byrne, had Bridge met one with whom he might care to “pal” before.

This brings up an interesting hint of latent homosexuality. My fellow writer, David Adams has objected that in my analysis of Emasculation as applied to ERB is that he should have been a homosexual but wasn’t.

There are degrees of emasculation and there are various degrees of psychotic reaction to it. I don’t say and I don’t believe that ERB was a homosexual but there was a degree of ambiguity introduced into his personality by his emasculation. I have touched on this in my ‘Emasculation, Hermaphroditism and Excretion.’

Here we have another example of it as Bridge is experiencing some homoerotic emotion which is very confusing to him as he has never wanted a ‘pal’ before. In hobo lingo I believe a ‘pal’ has a homosexual connotation.

If Burroughs took his ‘inside’ information on hoboes from Jack London’s The Road then Bridge is the sort of hobo London describes as the ‘profesh’, the hobo highest in the hierarchy of hobodom. London always thought of himself as a quick learner, so one doesn’t have to award his statement too much credibility but Burroughs apparently took him at face value.

As London describes the ‘profesh’ he has been on the road so long he knows all the ropes. Unlike the unkempt bums he realizes the importance of a good front and always dresses neatly. But he is hardened and capable of committing any crime.

While Bridge is obviously intended to be a ‘profesh’ he is neither criminal nor does he dress to put up a good front.

Another category of hobo London lists is the ‘road kid.’ These are young people just starting on the life of the road. The ‘profesh’ would often take one of more of these road kids under his wing as his fag, as the British would say, or in Americanese, a ‘pal.’ In other words a homosexual relationship. Thus this displays ERB’s sexual ambiguity which David couldn’t locate in my psychological analysis of ERB’s emasculation. In this case the ambiguity will be resolved and explained when we learn that the Kid is the beautiful young woman, Abigail Prim, and both Bridge and Burroughs heave a sigh of relief.

Nevertheless ERB is discussing homosexuality in an open and natural way that couldn’t be missed by the knowing and which may be unique for its time. But then, remember that one of ERB’s hats in this story is that of the Alienist, so that in these pages we are deep into the psychological abstractions and Doyle’s mystery stories as influences.

Now comes the time for breakfast. Someone has to ‘rustle’ grub. We have already learned in ‘Out There Somewhere’ that Bridge doesn’t rustle food, he rustles rhyme. Nothing has changed. The Kid goes out to get breakfast and when she comes back with the goods, true to form Bridge bursts forth with several snatches from H.H. Knibbs which surprisingly the demure Miss Prim recognizes. What has she been reading?

How might this apply to Burroughs’ own life. Let’s look at it. Burroughs was enamored of How to books but in his heart he must have considered them a fraud. Willie Case will soon pick up his copy of How To Be A Detective which he finds completely inapplicable to his circumstances. He also has the good sense to throw the book away reverting to his native intelligence which may be a subtle comment on How To books by Burroughs.

ERB always considered himself of the executive class. After his humiliating experience trying to sell door to door he never attempted it again. Instead as a master salesman he preferred to write how to sales manuals for others to use as they went door to door selling his line of pencil sharpeners or whatever while he sat in the office waiting for orders. Hence in his own life he was the ‘rustler of poetry’ or manuals while others rustled grub in the door to door humiliation of the actual selling. Here the Kid will do the door to door gig. ERB always makes me smile.

In this case in what may be a joke the Kid just buys the goods from the homeowner reversing the roles.

There are those who insist Burroughs can’t write but I find his stuff wonderfully condensed getting more mileage out of each word than anyone else I’ve ever read. Just see how he describes breakfast.

Shortly after, the water coming to a boil, Bridge lowered three eggs into it, glanced at his watch (an affluent hobo) greased one of the new cleaned stove lids with a piece of bacon rind and laid out as many strips of bacon as the lid would accommodate. Instantly the room was filled with the delicious odor of frying bacon.

“M-m-m-m!” gloated the Oskaloosa Kid. “I wish I had bo- asked for more. My! But I never smelled anything so good in all my life. Are you going to boil only three eggs? I could eat a dozen”

“The can’ll only hold three at a time,” explained Bridge. “we’ll have some boiling while we are eating these.” He borrowed the knife from the girl, who was slicing and buttering bread with it, and turned the bacon swiftly and deftly with the point, then he glanced at his watch. “Three minutes are up.” He announced and, with a couple small flat sticks saved for the purpose from the kindling wood, withdrew the eggs one at a time from the can.

“But we have no cups!” exclaimed the Oskaloosa Kid, in sudden despair.

Bridge laughed. “Knock an end off your egg and the shell will answer in place of a cup. Got a knife?”

The Kid didn’t. Bridge eyed him quizzically. “You must have done most of your burgling near home,” he commented.

The description of the breakfast between the time Bridge looked at his watch and when the three minutes were up was delightfully done. I could smell the bacon myself while I especially like the detail of swiftly and deftly turning the bacon with the knife point. The knife seemed to have disappeared between the bacon and knocking the end off the egg.

Nice details aren’t they? You’d almost think Burroughs had actually done things like this for years. There’s enough blank spots in his life that he may have had more experiences of this sort than we know about. Take for instance the three days in Michigan between the writing of Out There Somewhere and Bridge And The Oskaloosa Kid. He says it took him twelve hours by train on four different lines to return to Coldwater from Alma. It is not impossible that he was hoboing back for the experience. He knew that he was going to write Bridge And The Kid next; might he not have been picking up local color?

Likewise in Bridge And The Kid he mentions the road from Berdoo to Barstow with seeming familiarity. Had he met Knibbs and the two embarked on a few days road trip as the expert Knibbs showed him some of the ropes?

I don’t know but there is something happening in his life which has not been explained.

Perhaps also the hoboism which appears in 1915-17 in his work when by all rights his success should have permitted him entry into more exalted social circles symbolized a rejection by so-called polite society. If so, why? Certainly the serialization of Tarzan Of The Apes in the Chicago paper must have raised eyebrows when people said something like: Is that the same Edgar Rice Burroughs who’s been tramping around town for the last several years?

After all people live in a town where a reputation is attached to them whether earned or not. In reviewing the jobs Burroughs had after he left Sears, Roebuck there is a certain unsavory character to them. Indeed, one employer, a patent medicine purveyor was shut down by the authorities while ERB then formed a partnership with this disgraced person. Where was Burroughs when the authorities showed up to shut the business down? I make no moral judgments. I’m of the Pretty Boy Floyd school of morality: Some will rob you with a six gun, some use a fountain pen. Emasculation is the name of the game.

It is certainly true that many, perhaps most, of the patent medicines of the time were based on alcohol and drugs therefore either addictive or harmful to the health. Samuel Hopkins Adams was commissioned by Norman Hapgood of Collier’s magazine to write a series of articles exposing the patent medicine business in 1906.

http://www.mtn.org/quack/ephemera/oct7.htm . A consequence of the articles may very well have been the shutting down of Dr. Stace. I think it remarkable that Burroughs didn’t distance himself from Stace at that time.

Even as Adams was presenting his research on patent medicines Upton Sinclair was exposing the hazards of the Chicago meat packing industry whose products were no less hazardous to the public health than patent medicines. Sinclair’s book, The Jungle, as well as perhaps Adams’ articles resulted in the Pure Food And Drug Act of 1906.

The products of meatpackers were so bad the British wouldn’t even feed them to their Tommies. That’s pretty bad.

So, if the Staces of the world were criminal and ought to be put out of business then by logic so should have the Armours and Swifts but what in our day would be multi-billion dollar industries don’t get shut down for the minor offence of damaging the health of millions.

One can’t be sure of Burroughs’ reasoning but his writing indicates that he was keenly aware of the hypocrisy of legalities. Perhaps for that reason he stuck by Dr. Stace.

However Stace was put out of business and the Armours and Swifts weren’t. While I applaud ERB’s steadfastness I deplore his lack of judgment for surely his reputation was tarred with the same brush as Dr. Stace.

When society figures may have asked who this Edgar Rice Burroughs was they were given, perhaps, a rundown on Dr. Stace and patent medicines as well as other employments that seem a little murky to us at present. I’m sure the ERB was seen as socially unacceptable. Thus Bridge who has lived among the hoboes has never partaken of their crimes so there is no reason for society to reject him especially as he is the son of a millionaire.

In any event ERB left Chicago for the Coast returning in 1917 then leaving for good at the beginning of 1919. Life ain’t easy. Ask me.

As Bridge, the Kid and the putative Abigail Prim were finishing breakfast the great detective Burton pulls up in front of the Squibbs place. Burton is obviously a combination of Sherlock Holmes and Allan Pinkerton. We have been advised of the Holmes connection in the opening paragraphs of this book. ERB describes Burton thusly:

Quote:

Burton made no reply. He was not a man to jump to conclusions. His success was largely due to the fact that he assumed nothing; but merely ran down each clew quickly yet painstakingly until he had a foundation of fact upon which to operate. His theory was that the simplest way is always the best way. And so he never befogged the main issue with any elaborate system of deductive reasoning based on guesswork. Burton never guessed. He assumed that it was his business to know; nor was he on any case long before he did know. He was employed now to find Abigail Prim. Each of the several crimes committed the previous night might or might not prove a clew to her whereabouts; but each must be run down in the process of elimination before Burton could feel safe in abandoning it.

That’s a pretty good understanding of Doyle’s presentation of Holmes. ERB did learn Holmes’ dictum that it was necessary to read all the literature on the subject to understand the mentality of one’s subjects. Burton did demonstrate some acumen in his arrest of Dopey Charlie and the General. He deployed an agent fifty yards below and fifty yards above to converge on the two criminals while he approached from the front. Either Burroughs had been doing some reading of his own or he picked up some experience or information from elsewhere.

Another keen point was when Burton went back to where the hoboes had been hiding to dig up the evidence they had concealed that would lead to their conviction for the Baggs murder.

It’s little details like these that always make me wonder where Burroughs picked up this stuff. He does it all so naturally but one can’t write what one doesn’t know. He must have been a curious man, good memory.

So Burroughs has a a pretty good understanding of the methods of Sherlock Holmes. It must be remembered that ERB was reading these stories as they first appeared not as we do as part of literature. Holmes, O.Henry, Jack London, E.W. Hornung, these were all fresh new and extremely stimulating with a great many references and inferences which are undoubtedly lost on us. Even in Bridge And The Kid ERB’s reference to the Kid’s bringing home the bacon is a direct reference to a quip the mother of the ex-heavyweight champion of the world Jack Johnson made just after he won the championship from Jim Jeffries: He said he’d bring home the bacon and he’s done it. I don’t doubt if many caught it then but I’m sure the phrase has become such a commonplace today that only a very few catch the reference and share the laugh.

Doyle’s stories such as A Study In Scarlet dealing with the Mormons and The Valley Of Fear dealing with the Molly Maguires would have had much more thrilling immediacy for ERB than they do for us. Also Burroughs has caught the essence of Holmes which was not so much the stories as the method of Holmes.

I have read the canon four times and while I could not reconstruct any of the stories without difficulty, if at all, maxims like- When you eliminate the impossible whatever remains no matter how improbable must be the truth. – have lodged in my mind since I was fourteen guiding my intellect to much advantage. So also the dictum to read all the literature. Not easy or even possible, but the more one has read the or read again the more things just fall in place without any real effort. You have to be able to remember, remembrance being the basis of all mind, of course. Holmes has been like a god to me.

If you wish to learn a source of Burroughs’ stories then all you have to do is apply the above methods; it will all become clear.

Burton moves the story forward as his appearance causes Bridge who isn’t sure what the status of the Kid and the putative Gail Prim is, elects to avoid the great detective even though they are friends.

The trio slip out the back into the woods following a track leading to ‘Anywhere’. Burroughs in a masterful telling catches the feel of a Spring day on a recently wetted trail littered with the leaves of yesteryear. Ou sont les neiges d’antan?

They come upon a clearing where a gypsy woman is burying a body. By this time Bridge has solved the mysteries of the previous evening.

The girls make noises upon hearing the clank of a chain in a hovel causing the gypsy woman to look around. Rather than spotting the trio she spots Willie Case hiding in the bushes who she drags out.

The gypsy woman, Giova, is as good a character as Bridge, the Kid, Burton and the hoboes, but my favorite of the story is Willie Case, the fourteen year old detective. While to my mind ERB presents Willie as a thoroughly admirable character, he nevertheless vents a suppressed mean streak not only on Willie but on the whole Case family.

ERB doesn’t let his mean streak show very often, it lurks in the background, but he lets it loose in this book. He must have been under personal stress.

He describes Willie as having no forehead and no chin, imbecilic traits, literally beginning with the eyebrows and ending with the lips. A freak of nature, a real grotesque. That means that Willie was a real ‘low brow’ as Emma accused ERB of being, even a no brow. Is it a coincidence that Emma called ERB a low brow or that the literati thought ERB wrote ‘low brow’ literature?

In point of fact Willie strikes me as an intelligent boy. He analyzes the situation always being in the right place at the right moment. Burton himself pays him a high but sneering compliment then cheats him out of the promised reward of a hundred dollars but in the manner McClurg’s published his books Burroughs was cheated out of a large part of his reward.

I don’t say that’s the case but if so it fits the facts.

In any event ERB treats the Case family meanly; they might almost be prototypes of Ma and Pa Kettle of the Egg and I or the meanly portrayed characters of Erskine Caldwell’s Tobacco Road. Jeb Case behaves very reprehensively at the lynching although once again he merely reported the facts that the Kid gave Willie. The Kid did tell Willie that he had burgled a house and killed a man. So, perhaps ERB created some characters that he could kick around as he felt himself being kicked.

And then we have the gypsy woman, Giova. She and her father are not only pariahs in general society as gypsies but because of her father they even have been cast out by the gypsies. Her father was a thief from both general and gypsy society. The former may have been laudable in gypsy terms but the latter wasn’t. They make, or made their living by thieving and cadging coins with Beppo, their dancing bear. Beppo of the evil eye.

Burroughs presents Giova as being sexually attractive with lips that were made for kissing, in echo of the refrain from Out There Somewhere. Here we may have a first inference that Emma was in trouble; the kind of trouble that would have ERB leaving her for another woman a decade or so hence. There are numerous rumblings indicating the trend not least of which was ERB’s fascination with Samuel Hopkin Adams’ novel, Flaming Youth of a few years hence and the subsequent movie starring Colleen Moore.

Bridge is now on the run with three women and a bear and he hasn’t done anything wrong to get into such hot water. One woman his emergent Anima, one, his rejected Anima, and the last a longing for a woman whose lips were made for kissing. Wow! This is all taking place in a ravine that opens into a small valley too.

All this has been accomplished in a compact one hundred pages. One third of the book is left for the denouement that Burroughs scamps as he usually does.

Giova decks them all out as gypsies which must have been an amusing sight to the Paysonites as this troop of madcaps complete with dancing bear in tow troop inconspicuously through town. Surprised they didn’t call out the national guard just for that.

As the story draws to a close ERB contributes a wonderful vignette of low brow Willie dining out at a ‘high brow’ restaurant called the Elite in Payson. The idea of Willie being conspicuous in a burg like Payson which we big city people would refer to as a hick town good only for laughs is amusing in itself. You know, it all depends on one’s perspective:

Willie Case had been taken to Payson to testify before the coroner’s jury investigating the death of Giova’s father, and with the dollar which the Osklaloosa Kid had given him in the morning burning in his pocket had proceeded to indulge in an orgy of dissipation the moment that he had been freed from the inquest. Ice cream, red pop, peanuts, candy, and soda water may have diminished his appetite but not his pride, and self-satisfaction as he sat down and by night for the first time in a public eatery place Willie was now a man of the world, a bon vivant, as he ordered ham and eggs from the pretty waitress of The Elite Restaurant on Broadway; but at heart he was not happy for never before had he realized what a great proportion of his anatomy was made up of hands and feet. As he glanced fearfully at the former, silhouetted against the white of the table cloth, he flushed scarlet, assured as he was that the waitress who had just turned away toward the kitchen with his order was convulsed with laughter and that every other eye in the establishment was glued upon him. To assume an air of nonchalance and thereby impress and disarm his critics Willie reached for a toothpick in the little glass holder near the center of the table and upset the sugar bowl. Immediately Willie snatched back the offending hand and glared ferociously at the ceiling. He could feel the roots of his hair being consumed in the heat of his skin. A quick side glance that required all his will power to consummate showed him that no one appeared to have noticed his faux pas and Willie was again slowly returning to normal when the proprietor of the restaurant came up from behind and asked him to remove his hat.

Never had Willie Case spent so frightful a half hour as that within the brilliant interior of the Elite Restaurant. Twenty-three minutes of this eternity was consumed in waiting for his order to be served and seven minutes in disposing of the meal and paying his check. Willie’s method of eating was in itself a sermon on efficiency- there was no waste motion- no waste of time. He placed his mouth within two inches of his plate after cutting his ham and eggs into pieces of a size that would permit each mouthful to enter without wedging; then he mixed his mashed potatoes in with the result and working his knife and fork alternatively with bewildering rapidity shot a continuous stream of food into his gaping maw.

In addition to the meat and potatoes there was one vegetable side dish on the empty plate, seized a spoon in lieu or a knife and fork and – presto! The side dish was empty. Where upon the prune dish was set in the empty side-dish- four deft motions and there were no prunes in the dish. The entire feat had been accomplished in 6:34 ½ , setting a new world’s record for red headed farm boys with one splay foot.

In the remaining twenty-five and one half seconds Willie walked what seemed to him a mile from his seat to the cashier’s desk and at the last instant bumped into a waitress with a trayful of dishes. Clutched tightly in Willie’s hand was thirty-five cents and his check with a like amount written upon it. Amid the crash of crockery which followed the collision Willie slammed check and money upon the cashier’s desk and fled. Nor did he pause until in the reassuring seclusion of a dark side street. There Willie sank upon the curb alternately cold with fear and hot with shame, weak and panting, and into his heart entered the iron of class hatred, searing it to the core.

The above passage has many charms. First, it is an excellent piece of nostalgia now, although at the time it represented the actuality, thus, as a period piece it is an accurate picture of the times. And then it is excellent comedy as well as a a parody as I will attempt to show.

One has to wonder if ERB really thought the Elite was a pretty fine restaurant. If so, one wonders where he took Emma and kids for a night out. Not too many gourmet Chicago restaurants served breakfast for dinner. Ham and eggs with mashed potatoes? Reminds me of the Galt House Hotel in Louisville where a ‘starch’ is served as a side dish. What exactly was this side-dish Willie wolfed- stewed tomatoes? The dessert prunes- dessert prunes?- was a nice touch too. Dessert for breakfast? Another nice quality touch at the Elite was the cup of toothpicks. Of course, those were the days cuspidors were de riguer so what do I know, maybe the Palmer House had a cup of toothpicks on the table too. I know they had cuspidors.

It does seem clear that little Willie was far down the social scale of little rural Payson. They had electric street lights, though. I’m not even from New York City but I would find the Elite, how shall I say, quaint and charming? Of course, New York City is not what it used to be either. Can’t fool me in either case; I’ve dined out in Hannibal. Good prices. Bountiful. Plenty of side dishes something that I’d never seen before.

I’m sure I’ve been in Willie’s shoes, or would have been if he’d chosen to wear them, too, so I have a great deal of sympathy for the lad. A man with a dollar has the right to spend where and as he chooses. Damn social hypocrisy!

In addition to the charm and light comedy ERB interjects a little parody of Taylorism and mass production into the mix.

For those not familiar with Frederick W. Taylor and his methods I quote from

http://instruct1.cit.cornell.edu/courses/dead453-653/ideabook1/thompson-jones/Taylorism.htm :

 Taylor wrote “The Principles of Scientific Management in 1911. These principles became known as Taylorism. Some of the principles of Taylorism include (Management for Productivity, John R. Schermerhorn, Jr. (1991)):

Develop a ‘science’ for every job, including rules of motion, standardized work implements, and proper working conditions.

Carefully select workers with the right abilities for the job.

Carefully train these workers to do the job, and give them proper incentives to cooperate with the job science.

Support these workers by planning their work and by smoothing the way as they go about their jobs.

Taylorism which led to maximum efficiency also give the lie to the unconscious of Sigmund Freud, or at least puts it into perspective. If the twentieth century has been the history of the devil of Freud’s unconscious it has also been the century of the triumph of the god of conscious intelligence. The question only remains which will triumph.

One of the recurring themes in ERB’s writing of the period is efficiency. Indeed, a couple years hence he will write a book entitled The Efficiency Expert.

It was the age of efficient mass production which required standardized motions and produced terrific results where applied as at Henry Ford’s marvelously efficient factories. Ford brought the task to the worker in well lighted clean factory spaces at a level which required no time consuming, fatiguing and unnecessary lifting or bending. Plus Henry Ford blew the industrial world away by doubling the going wage for unskilled labor. He changed the course of economic history singlehanded. He achieved more than the Communists or IWW could have accomplished in a million years earning their undying enmity. He may in one fell swoop have defeated the Reds. They sure thought so.

But, go back and review how Willie organizes his repast for consumption. Taylor-like he eliminated all non-essential motions then with maximum assembly line speed-up he gets production into one continuous stream.

A comic effect to be sure but there is even more comedy in the parody of the assembly line and Taylorism. I’m sure ERB intended it just that way.

Willie may be a joke but there is a certain flavor to be obtained by filling a continuum of food, mouth and time. Such an opportunity for enjoyment may present itself once in ten years or so. Willie saw his opportunity and seized it which he does throughout the story. Willie is OK with me.

I have eaten that way but I now reserve the method for ice cream and highly recommend it. My last opportunity, they present themselves but rarely and can’t be forced, was several years ago when I was insultingly offered a half melted Cherries Jubilee. The dish was of a perfect consistency for assembly line consumption. I saw my chance and like Willie, I took it. I kind of distributed cherries and ice cream chunks in the creamy stew, got mouth in the right position and cleaned the bowl in sixty seconds flat, reared back gripping the bridge of my nose, honked a couple times as the freeze seized my brain and then took a few minutes for consciousness to return. One of the great natural highs in this drug infested time. I tell ya‘, fellas, they was all lookin’ at me but I am much beyond the iron of class hatred. If they can’t take a joke…well, you know the finish. So I think Willie Case did the right thing.

Clumsy waitress to get in his way anyway. Fourteen hours on the job was no excuse.

Willie didn’t feel guilt for too long though, for what ERB calls a faux pas, it put him in the right place at the right time to see Giova and her dancing bear fresh from Beppo’s own slops. How could ERB be so cruel to a dumb animal- the bear, not Willie-, one that was going to save the heroine’s life- both the bear and Willie.

After having had dinner and refreshments Willie still had 20 cents left from a dollar of which he spent 10 cents for a detective movie and had ten cents left over for a long distance phone call to Burton in Oakdale after he spotted Giova and her dancing bear when he came out of the movie theatre.

He followed Giova to Bridge and the girls, fixed their location then called Burton. Not only did Willie spot the fugitives but so did the four leftover bums. Dopey Charlie and the General were impounded for the Baggs murder while we will learn that the real Oskaloosa Kid and the putative Gail Prim remain as well perhaps as the true identity of L. Bridge.

Burroughs is full of interesting details. The hoboes are gathered in an abandoned electrical generating plant which had formerly served Payson but had been discontinued for a larger plant servicing Payson from a hundred miles away. We don’t know when that might have happened but electrical generation and distribution was relatively new. The consolidation into larger generating units was even newer. Samuel Insull, whose electrical empire collapsed about1938 had begun organizing distribution in 1912 when he formed the Mid-West Utilities in Chicago absorbing all the smaller companies such as this one in Payson obviously.

I find details like this the exiting part of reading Burroughs.

The murderous hoboes set out to rob and kill Bridge and the Kid while Sky Pilot and Dirty Eddie elect themselves to return the putative Gail Prim who we will learn is actually Hettie Penning, thus doubling ERB’s Anima figure and connecting the latter to the former.

One is put in mind of the Hettie of H.G. Wells’ novel In The Days Of The Comet. Both Hetties exhibit the same traits. While it may seem a slender connection, still, ERB has so many references to other authors and their works that the connection is not improbable. For obvious reasons ERB always insisted he had never read H.G. Wells. Wells? Wells, who?, but how could he not have?

Bridge and the girls would have met their end except that Willie Case’s call brought Burton on the run who arrives in time to save their lives. Unfortunately Beppo of the evil eye meets his end after having done Burton’s job for him much as Willie always did.

In between the girls, the ‘boes, Bridge and the coppers Burton has a full load so he drops Bridge and Kid at the Payson jail. Willie Case had not only solved the case for the ingrate Burton but saved the life of Gail Prim posing as the Oskaloosa Kid. In a heart wrenching scene little Willie seeking his just reward is cruelly rejected and cheated by the Great Detective. I don’t know, maybe I read too closely and get too involved. Or, just maybe, ERB is a great writer.

It’s all over but the shouting and along comes the mob howling from Oakdale for the blood of Bridge and the Kid. I tell ya, boys, it wuz close. Burton arrived in time but not before Bridge with a well aimed blow broke Jeb Case’s jaw. What did those Cases ever do to ERB I wonder?

In the end Hettie Penning is identified, clearing up that mystery. Burton is able to tell Bridge’s dad who has spent $20,000 looking for him that he is found. It may even have cost less for Stanley to find Livingston. Of course there was a lousy rail system in the Congo in Livingston’s time. Bridge is united with Gail obviously prepared to renounce the roving life. Thus the promise of Out There Somewhere is redeemed. Bridge has found his woman.

Thus on paper, at least, Burroughs is reunited with his Animus in gorgeous female attire. No more men in women’s clothes or women in men’s clothes.

2.

 

Bridge And The Kid is a very short book, only 152 pages in my Charter paperback edition of 1979 (Septimius Favonius BB #24. Charter didn’t see fit to include a date.) Although first issued in book form so late as 1937, it was reprinted in 1938 and 1940 so there must have been some early readers however when reprinted in 1974 there could have been few who remembered it.

My fellow writer, David Adams wrote a short review in the same issue #24 of the Burroughs Bulletin, October 1995, in which he also recognized the importance of this book to the corpus:

It may come as a surprise that anyone could possibly think of calling the novelette, THE OAKDALE AFFAIR, a major work of such a prolific writer as Edgar Rice Burroughs, but I found it to be such an animal…

I am unaware that any other than Mr. Adams and myself have reviewed the book. To sum up:

There seems to be an obvious connection to Jack London in the Bridge Trilogy (I prefer Bridge to Mucker because the latter draws reproving stares and no one today knows what a mucker is. It sounds slightly obscene.)

Mr. Adams, who is more of an authority on Jack London than myself, I’ve only begun to read London as a result of Bill Hillman’s series of articles in ERBzine, which posits a strong connection between Burroughs and London, and not the other way around, feels the novels have a great deal to do with London. The connection seems to be there but I have only begun to read London’s relevant or major works.

What ERB’s attitude towards London may have been which seems ambiguous isn’t clear. Burroughs never wrote about London and never mentions him explicitly. There are many points of disagreement between the two politically and socially. Burroughs does seem to have liked London and his work although what he read or when he read it isn’t clear. There are no London titles in his library.

The second major influence in the novel is the problem of hoboism connected with the IWW and labor unrest.

In the background Burroughs is working out his Anima/Animus problem.

The whole is framed in the form of a rather magnificent detective story patterned after Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories with a dash, perhaps a soupcon, of E.W. Hornung thrown in.

Attention should be paid to the psychological aspects.

Many of ERB’s favorite themes such as the efficiency expert are also thrown in. Nifty historical details like Samuel Insull’s electrical empire are added to the mix as well as Taylorism.

If anything ERB was too efficient, too economical in his use of words. The Book could easily have been fleshed out another sixty or hundred pages with no loss in the marvelous immediacy of the telling. If anything the story is too condensed. I found myself pausing over each description to recreate a mental image of the depiction. I was willing to do so and the personal reward was great. How much ERB was the creator of my vision of the story and how much my own as collaborator isn’t clear to me. Perhaps ERB just outlined the story ‘suggesting’ the scenario, expecting the reader to ‘customize’ the story as he reads along. This may be the first ‘inter-active’ novel. If so, Burroughs may be an even more innovative and greater writer than he is commonly thought to be.

Part II

Edgar Rice Burroughs And The Accreted Personality

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Time may fly but life seems long. Long enough for circumstances to alter your personality more than once. Consider for instance the National Guardsman secure in job, wife and family who is jerked out of his ideal existence to take a tour of duty in Iran or Afghanistan, foreign wars which betray the promises of his enlistment which were to defend his home state. Do you think a personality change didn’t occur when he received his notice? If he was kept in for several tours of duty over a period of years so that his former existence doesn’t appear to him as a dream that took place in a parallel universe? And if he comes home without an arm or a leg or, perhaps, both, that he doesn’t suffer from reminiscences or have a dual or multiple personality. You can bet he does. Nor does your life have to be as hard as the National Guardsman for your own personality to acquire personality accretions over your lifetime, all of which are stored in your mind and may be reassumed at any time.

As I said in the first part, these various existential states don’t disappear, they become part of your reminiscences whether suppressed or remembered and as possible fixations or idees fixe they influence your daily actions.

So now, let’s turn to the life of Edgar Rice Burroughs to illustrate the idea of the accreted personality. Psychology is simple if you don’t make it complex by mystifying it. I hope I can make Burroughs’ story clear without unnecessarily complicating it. I will try to use Occam’s Razor judiciously.

Edgar Rice Burroughs, who would become very famous as a fiction writer, entered this world of pain of pleasure on September 7, 1875 in Chicago, Illinois. He was parented by George T. and Mary Burroughs, he of Anglo-Irish ancestry and she of Pennsylvania Dutch, that is say, German. Eddie always considered himself pure English at a time when being English meant something, a much depreciated coin these days.

George T. was an upright man who had been an officer on the Union side in the Civil War a scant ten years previously. George Custer had not yet gone down at the Little Big Horn nor was Sitting Bull yet starring in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West. George T. had two other sons, George and Harry, who were born just after the Civil War.

George T. was a whisky distiller while at this time the Whisky Trust was coming into existence. George T. was an independent sort who needed the Trust less than they wanted him. I don’t say the Trust was responsible but George T. was burned out. Chicago loved a good fire.

The relationship between Ed and his parents was not a warm one. His father made his life difficult, seemingly on purpose, while his mother seems to have been rather cold. Burroughs seldom mentions her nor were any of his characters named Mary, or George for that matter.

Nevertheless, born into a world of creature comforts with high expectations in a fine house on Chicago’s West Side with two Irish maids Ed began life in a happy state of mind walking down the street singing Zippity Do Dah or the equivalent. He stayed that way for about eight years until his first personality changing event occurred.

Eddie attended Brown School in his neighborhood. I haven’t been able to find out much about Brown but the schools stands out as special in Ed’s mind. The school had several prominent graduates one of which was the showman, Flo Ziegfeld. As Ziegfeld was Jewish it is quite possible the school was close to Maxwell St. Maxwell St. would figure prominently in Ed’s later novel, The Mucker.

One day when Ed was eight he found a big twelve year old Irish kid by the name of John belligerently blocking his way. It isn’t known whether he was walking with future wife Emma Hulbert or not but I suspect he was. At any rate John threatened to beat him up. Thoroughly terrorized Ed took to his heels and as he did so several suggestions entered his terrorized mind. To be in terror is to enter a hypnoid state in which all ones psychic defenses are lowered or discarded. Suggestions are easily fixated in your mind. Thus at the age of eight Ed’s original personality was submerged, he assumed his central childhood fixation. Not only was he emasculated on his Animus but, perhaps because he shamed himself in front of Emma, he transferred his Anima to John; he then set up John as his ideal of manhood wishing to be just like him.

The result was that John became his favorite name. In his future novels he named a disproportionate number of characters both good and bad John. His two key characters were both named John- John Clayton, aka Tarzan Of The Apes and John Carter of Mars. Both have the initials JC referring to Jesus Christ, one supposes. Thus on the masculine side their names commemorate John the Bully while on the feminine side Jesus Christ. Ed also wore a book under the assume name of John McCullough.

As Ed was shamed by running, defenses against cowardice are liberally sprinkled throughout his works with justifications for the advance to the rear maneuver, or running.

Particularly troubling to him was the occupation of his Anima by a male. Probably not very usual but given the limited range of responses available to humans, probably not that uncommon. But this result of the fixation was particularly troubling to him appearing in a succession of his initial output of the ‘teens.

The clearest exposition of the results of this fixation was reproduced in the pages of Ed’s second novel, The Outlaw Of Torn. The hero of the novel is a boy of Ed’s age on the street corner, who is the king of England’s son c. 1400 AD. The King has a quarrel with his fencing instructor, De Vac, who then avenges himself by kidnapping the son, Norman.

The scene is that Norman is playing in the garden under the watchful eye of his nurse/Anima when De Vac appears outside the garden gate- I. e. Ed’s mind- luring Norman to him. Norman has passed the gate when his nurse who had been chatting with another woman notices. She rushed through the gate where De Vac struck her dead. Thus his Anima was outside Ed’s mind when she was destroyed.

Now, this is the replication of a dream story. The meaning is that Norman/Ed was safe inside when De Vac/John caught him, as it were, with his pants down, killing and assuming the role of his Anima. The nurse represents his Anima or right brain which was then disabled.

So, as an eight year old boy Eddie has an emasculated Animus, left brain, and destroyed or shattered Anima, right brain. This has to be dealt with in some way so he can carry on and survive.

What Burroughs does then is create a myth to repair the damage as well as he can. De Vac now on the run with his prize who he must conceal takes Norman to a three story house in the slums of London built on stilts out over the water of the River Thames. The two live in this attic/mind for three or four years. During this entire period De Vac is dressed as an old woman. So, here we have the emasculated Animus combined with the dead Anima with the waters of the feminine flowing beneath the house, I.e. Burroughs’ self.

The two live this way for three or four years, Norman never leaving the attic. At the end of this period De Vac dons men’s clothes and takes Norman to a ruined castle in the Shires. The remarkable thing about this castle is that on one side, the right side, the roof has completely fallen in, can’t be used.

The interpretation is that Ed so identified himself with John that he had to put his own life on hold until he turned twelve, the same age John had been. At that point he recovered or began to recover some control of his Animus while his Anima remained destroyed.

De Vac then began to train Norman in the manly arts to be a killing machine to attain physical vengeance for De Vac on the King.

One can’t be sure of what effect the encounter had on his personality but the next year after the confrontation his father took him from Brown transferring him to an all girl’s school. George T.’s reason for this was that there was a fever going around and he wanted to protect Ed from it. How one would be safe from a communicable disease in a girl’s school isn’t clear so perhaps Ed’s father had another reason.

In Ed’s psychological state it is not unlikely that he went into a fairly serious depression while emasculated and crippled he may have become very effeminate. The placement in the girl’s school may have been one of disgust and to teach the boy a lesson to act like a man.

The humiliation on top of the emasculation was difficult for Ed to bear. He pleaded and pleaded to be transferred from the girl’s school. His pleas were heard although his father didn’t send him back to Brown but a couple miles across town to Chicago’s Harvard Latin School where Ed stayed through what would have been his Junior High years. During this period, the date isn’t clear, Ed fell off his bicycle banging his head against the curb; it isn’t known whether it was the right or left side. This left him dizzy and walking round in circles for three or four days, then the obvious effects disappeared. George T. then jerked him out the Latin School and sent him West to his brothers’ cattle ranch in Idaho. He doesn’t seem to have attended any school for the year he was in Idaho. However he learned to be a cowboy and had a great time.

Even without school the period was not without intellectual stimulation. George and Harry Burroughs were graduates of the Sheffield Scientific School attached to Yale University but not yet integrated with it, along with their partner Lew Sweetser. Sweetser was a fairly remarkable guy deeply interested in psychology when the subject was just beginning to assume its modern form.

William James had just published his two volumes on Psychology but I haven’t been able to discover who Sweetser’s teachers may have been at Yale. Departments of Psychology were rare at American Universities in the 1880s. However, as Sweetser apparently studied whatever psychology was available it seems certain that he would have been at least aware of Charcot’s experiments at the Salpetriere that were world famous. It is also clear that he was familiar with the idea of the sub- or unconscious. However much Ed may have retained, as he himself was relatively well informed on psychological matters when he began writing the foundations of his knowledge were probably formed at Sweetser’s knee.

Having left Ed in the wilderness for a year, George T. then moved him to the East Coast to Massachusetts’ Phillips Academy. Ed was now being moved around almost with the frequency of a military brat with its devastating personality consequences. Having consorted with a rough bunch of fellows for a year, Ed was now in an elite school without a great deal of preparation.

He was in Idaho at the end of Wyoming’s Johnson County War when the big ranchers squeezed out the small ranchers. Many of the small ranch soldiers whose shootings were classified as murders had fled to Idaho where Ed knew one or two; from the company of murderers, or killers at any rate, he was now in with a bunch of elitist schoolboys.

When his brothers had attended Yale their father had refused them an allowance that would have allowed them to associate with their richer school fellows as equals. If he continued the practice with Ed at Phillips then an extra burden was placed on the kid that would help explain his behavior. At any rate he assumed the posture of clown to gain acceptance while neglecting his studies. Naturally he was requested to leave.

Certainly he could have expected to return home and attend school in Chicago but this was not his father’s plan. His father enrolled him at the Michigan Military Academy outside Detroit billed as The Paris Of The West which is most laughable. This was the second great psychological trauma in his life adding another major accretion to his personality. Ed rebelled at being sent away again.

This was not merely rejection but also a condemnation of him by his father. As Ed saw the situation, with a great deal of accuracy, the Military Academy was just a holding pen for juvenile delinquents whose parents didn’t know how to handle them so they put them away in what was essentially an asylum or reform school where they could get some ‘discipline.’

Ed was horrified at these suggestions about himself coming from his own father. He rebelled at the rejection and its implications. He left the academy to return home or as his biographer Porges puts it, he ran away. George T. wasn’t going to put up with that. He collared Ed and dragged him back to Detroit, told him to stay put or…who can say or what? At any rate crushed and rejected Ed had no choice but to obey, but his mother and father died for him that day, slain by their own hand. Thus when Ed’s literary alter ego Tarzan came into existence in 1912 his parents had been slain by murderous apes and Tarzan was an orphan as Ed imagined himself.

General Charles King, Soldier and Author

Ed stayed at the Academy into 1896 when he was between twenty and twenty-one. He took the Commandant of the Academy, Charles King, as his surrogate father and mother. Because King was a captain in the Army, later a general, Ed decided he wanted to be an Army officer too. It is also noteworthy that King was a successful author of novels which Ed may have wanted to emulate when he too chose to become an author. One of King’s first novels was An Apache Princess while Ed’s first commercial effort was titled A Princess Of Mars.

Ed attempted in vain to win an appointment to West Point but failed. Then in 1896 while serving as an instructor at the Michigan Military Academy Ed foolishly abandoned his post choosing to join the Army as an enlisted man before the school term ended.

By now twenty years old his past with its many personality accretions had formed him. His original personality had been destroyed to be replaced by that caused by John. The accretions accumulated as he was shifted from school to school and West to East to MidWest leaving him dazed and confused while the final accretion of that youthful period was the devastating rejection by his parents all of which left him depressed and fatalistic. The high expectations of his childhood had been completely eliminated. The bright young boy had been transformed into a gloomy young man. But no former personality had disappeared; they all lived on in his unconscious where circumstances could revive any or all at the appropriate moment.

But, one is still alive and one must toddle on. Ed was not lazy or adverse to work. His intellectual interests were vast. He was a great wide ranging reader.

In the next part then, let’s turn to his personality forming accretions from reading and his general intellectual , social and political milieu.

 

A Review

ISIDOR SADGER RECOLLECTS FREUD

Emasculating Freudian Theory

By

R.E. Prindle

     …Jung had been infected with Aryan blood from his family.

Deep in his heart,

he was anything from a philosemite.

Now, however, he encountered Judaism

in its most highly gifted embodiment

Of Jewish knowledge shining in front of him.

Was it any wonder that he began by being blinded

With the feeling that never before had he stood before

The countenance of a greater genius?

But his lineage was not to be denied.

One day he sat down and carried out scholarly studies for months

Which resulted in his finding his way back

Through the Mithraic cult to primitive Christianity.

In practical terms

This may be seen that as a Christian prophet,

He fully stripped the libido of its sexual character

And reduced it to merely spiritual energy.

This was, so to speak, the decontamination

Of the poisonous Freudian teachings

Through Christianization and total cleansing.

But since the master could not easily go along

With the desexualization of his teaching,

Which went to the foundation of his theories,

He saw with a heavy heart

That he needed to cut the cord between him and the clinic.  (Bergholzi)

Isidor Sadger, Recollecting Freud pp. 71-72

Sigmund Freud: Smoke Rings

Sadger, Isidor: Recollecting Freud, 1930, first published 2005, UWisconsin

It is very difficult to know where to start in analyzing the above quote from Isidor Sadger.  First it might be pertinent to identify Isidor Sadger.  He had a history with Freud from 1895 into the 1930s.  He attended with two others Freud’s first psychoanalytic lecture.  He was a founding member of Freud’s Vienna Psychoanalytic Society.  In 1930 he published this little volume of biographical notes on his relationship with Freud.

Freud’s circle did not take kindly to the publication of these memoirs doing everything they could to suppress them.  In this they were successful.  The book was never distributed and only rumored to be in print until this publication in 2005 by Alan Dundes and UWisconsin.  Even acquiring a copy of the book by Dundes was nearly impossible.  He relates pp. xlii-xliii:

Recollecting Freud

When I looked up Sadger on my computer data base, I found not only the article (Sadger had written) in question but the title of a book:  Sigmund Freud: Personliche Erwinnerunger.  As I was not familiar with that work, I decided to send for it via interlibrary loan….In due course, the latter arrived but the effort to procure a copy of the former proved unsuccessful.  I was informed that there was no known copy in the United States available for borrowing.  Since I knew the book had been published in Vienna, I asked if we could try to locate a copy in Europe and the obliging staff in interlibrary loan agreed to do so.  A few weeks later, I learned that there was no known copy in any European library available for borrowing.

I was told, however, that there was one, just one, copy listed that might be utilized and that copy was located in the library of Keio University in Japan.  Again, inter library loan made a request on my behalf and this time with some partial success….I next asked interlibrary loan to request a photocopy of the entire book…The Keio University Mata Media Center informed (me) that it was unable to comply with my request….

…One of my anthropology doctoral students…was returning to Japan.  I asked him to do me a favor and get me a photocopy…

Which he did and almost by a miracle the text was recovered to be published for human consumption some seventy-five years on.  As Freud claimed to be a scientist one is amazed that supposed scientists would go so far as to deny publication of Sadger’s memoirs.  But, so it was.

In tackling the quote from Sadger let me approach it from the point of view of ‘Jewish knowledge shining in front of him.’

One must ask the question of what is Jewish knowledge and how is it special to their culture?  This is important not only from past implications but also in light of today’s Barbara Spectre and her Paideia organization whose intent is to place ‘Jewish knowledge’ on a par with Aryan knowledge or what Sadger calls Christian knowledge.

While Freud may have been a Jew working in the scientific field of psychology and psychiatry and while he may have made some important discoveries in the  field that had been developed by Aryans his own contributions  arose from that body of accumulated Aryan learning.  Since Dr. Anton Mesmer in the mid-eighteenth century until Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams Aryans had been slowly accumulating the knowledge on which Freud built his theories.  That knowledge had no racial identity per se nor did that which Freud added to it.  As Freud claimed that he was a scientist then his contributions were scientific, not Jewish, and the common property of mankind.  He may have been Jewish but the scientific field he was contributing to had no ethnic identity but Science, which is to say, none at all.

Sadger himself is taking a bigoted view in attempting to sequester Freud’s theories to the Jews.  In fact, as Sadger indicates Freud did not want his theories to be studied and furthered by anyone else.  When C.G. Jung, who Freud tried to make his disciple attempted to examine Freud’s concept of the libido and came to perhaps a more correct understanding of the concept, which after all was scientifically unproven, Freud broke off his relationship with him and the Bergholzli Clinic of Switzerland.  He, in fact, severed any Aryan connections.  He became interested only in Jewish contributions which then became Jewish knowledge in Sadger’s mind.

Sadger who had been Freud’s earliest disciple deeply coveted the role of being Freud’s pet or ‘favorite son.’  Freud for whom ambivalence was central to his character, even though he hated Aryans as a homosexual he was attracted to the ‘great blond beast’; hence, while carefully concealing his motive he selected Jung who had the requisite scientific qualification to be not his ‘son’ but a necessarily platonic lover.  Sadger could never qualify.

Now, what was Jung’s sin that brought about his rejection by Freud:

     One day (Jung) sat down and carried out scholarly studies for months which resulted in his finding his way back through the Mithraic cult to primeval Christianity…this may be seen as a Christian prophet, he fully stripped the libido of its sexual character and reduced it to merely spiritual energy.

Unquote.

So, having committed to Freud although ‘infected with Aryan blood from his family’ that he would abandon certain anti-Semitic understandings that he had.  In what seems an obvious betrayal of his pledge to Sadger Jung ‘carried out scholarly studies for months; which resulted in his coming up with a different perception of the libido that downplayed the rutty sexual projection of Freud’s Jewish psyche for what Sadger terms Christian spirituality.  To Sadger’s mind Jung had betrayed his pseudo-Judaism pledge to return to Christianity.

This raises several problems.  Is anti-Semitism a mere prejudice or is it based on observations of how Semitism functions and its rejection on that basis?  In other words, based on observed actions Semitism is rejected and not on prejudicial grounds but for accurate scientific reasons.

Further, in dogmatically insisting on his own interpretation of his creation, the libido, Freud was definitely unscientific.  At the same time his topography of the mind was completely off base.  In point of fact the libido is neither sexual nor spiritual, it doesn’t exist.  While Freud had a good working hypothesis his ideas were merely that based on the scientific, not Jewish,  knowledge of his time.  Freud became dogmatic at a time when he knew, or should have known,  what he didn’t know.  There was a lot of physiology to be yet discovered that would uncover the biology of life.

This biology would be clarified in 1947 when Crick and Watson discovered the genetic code of DNA.

Freud in his rutty, close to pornographic, interest in sex, by which he meant sexual intercourse made the absurd statement that the more frequently a man ejaculated the better person he would be.  Is it any wonder that Jung was turned away from Freud in disgust?  While Freud may have thought he was severing ties with the Bergholzli; the reverse would seem to be true.

With the discovery of DNA the biology became clear making it possible to elucidate the psychological basis of sex based on that biology.

Freud frequently had the right idea but he seldom thought the application through being infected with his own need for greatness by creating a science of his very own and his Judaism to whose Weltanschauung he was totally committed as Sadger indicates.

To take the psychology first:  Freud correctly differentiates between the individuals inner wishful thinking and his confrontation with outer reality.  Or, in other words, religious superstition versus a scientific understanding of  objective reality.

Thus, when the child is expelled from the womb he comes into contact with the outer world.  Whatever conception of reality he had in the womb bears no relationship to the reality of the world beyond the womb.  In the Freudian sense then the child’s mind is all Id with at best a nascent Ego.  As Freud’s desideratum is Ego shall displace Id the child has some serious adjusting to do.

This adjustment is called experience and education.  In the absence of education the child would grow up to be ignorant savage with an improper understanding of reality causing him to give all the wrong reasons for the phenomena he encounters.   This being mankind’s original condition over the millennia this ignorance was replaced by religious speculation based solely on inner wishful thinking.  Nor was not adequately understood.  As people might, for instance, decide that they are the chosen people of their god, make that god a universal deity and then weave their notions of external reality around that projection.  That was the condition of  Freud and his Jewish people.

The conflict for Freud and his Jews became acute when the Aryans with a different Weltanschauung sought to understand external reality on its own terms and adjusted their inner world of wishful thinking to reflect as much as possible objective reality.  When Freud mentions the science of Kepler and Darwin  as being shocks to the human mind, he meant Jewish mind which was now faced with the irreconcilable fact that their Arien Age Weltanschauung being based on false data was obsolete.  While Freud considered the organization of the mind the third great shock it was one that could be manipulated for his own ends, unlike Astronomy and Biology, and perverted to serve those ends.  Hence his dogmatic and ridiculous view of the unconscious and sex.

Now let us look at the nature of the human sexual function.  DNA with its double helix, one strand from each contributor, each remaining separate but combining information through bridges, visibly demonstrates how the entity is constructed.  The spermatic strand contributed by the male forms the stronger, more active, and slightly larger right side of the body and left side of the brain; the ovate strand contributed by the female forms the weaker, more passive, slightly smaller left side of the body and right side of the brain.

This means that the Xy chromosome of the male carries a male version and a female version, thus there is a female component to the male.  This was picked up the psychoanalysts as bi-sexuality in the carnal sense.  This is not true.  A man is not by nature available for sex by either sex.  Hormones reaffirm the sexual identity.

As should be easy to see all activity is controlled by the brain.  Information is communicated up and down the spinal cords which emanate from the brain.  One cord for each chromosome.  Thus, there is a nerve connection from each side of the brain to the commensurate testicle or ovary.  Sperm is manufactured according to the dictates of the autonomic system.  After one reaches puberty the seminal fluid builds up.  Without any other release the fluid will discharge automatically whether one wills it or not; these are usually termed nocturnal emissions.  These alone are all that is necessary to relieve the over supply.

As the only biological function of sex is reproduction the male is always ready to penetrate the female.  In a normal psychological function a comfort level can be maintained by one or two ejaculations a day or even less.  That Freud could make the absurd statement that the more ejaculations a day the better the person means that as a homosexual he had a psychic need or that the was merely trying to pervert Aryan society.

Now, the spinal cords run down the length of the body from the brain to the testicles where they terminate, making the brain and testicles a unit.  Nerves run from the spine to the various organs. There we have the basis for psychosomatic reactions.  While the cords are grounded at the testicles I believe they have more free play at the brain level.  The bi-sexuality the psychoanalysts noted is caused by the Xy and XX chromosome combinations.  Both Freud and Jung given the biology of their day had differently accounts for the apparent bi-sexuality thus they called the spermatic brain ending the Ego while Jung claimed that the male had an Anima and the female an Animus.  In actuality both males and females have an Anima and an Animus or, in Freudian terms, a Libido and Ego.

Freud also discovered the concept of Emasculation.  When the Ego or Animus, male or female, is given an affront or insult to which it cannot properly respond this creates a reaction or hypnotic suggestion that forms a fixation.  This fixation will have a psychic or physical or both affect.  Fixations are of different intensities  and qualities; the most severe is the central childhood fixation, also with psychosomatic affects an example of which each fixation creates.

In the case of the homosexual the affront is give by the male who thus creates a severe psychosomatic reaction which is what homosexuality is.  In the attempt to negate the reaction the homosexual then seeks to visit his fixations on other males while being compelled to seek multiple ejaculations many times a day which he equates with masculinity.

Thus a normal male can be satisfied with a normal schedule of ejaculation or relieving the pressure of the sperm build up, while a fixated person is compelled to more frequent ejaculation.  Thus Freud completely misunderstood sex erring on the side of homosexual emasculation.  Thus he was transferring his sexual neurosis or psychosis to Aryan society.   Probably in vengeance as he undoubtedly believed his own emasculation was caused by Aryans.

So, Freud’s whole conception of sex is skewed and should be rejected, replaced by a more accurate and balanced interpretation.  Jung had good reason to reject the libido or sexual theory of Freud that Sadger and the Psychoanalytic Society was required to embrace because Freud, their master, had spoken.  Freud must, or should have known, the limits of the biological knowledge of his time while understanding that great advances would come that might invalidate or require adjustments to his theory.  Therefore his attempt to dogmatize his first thoughts was unscientific to the extreme.

Contrary to Sadger’s orthodoxy Jung was quite right to pursue the libido theory further.  In desexualizing it, in Sadger’s term, Jung was on the right track as Freud’s interpretation was absurd on the face of it.  While Jung was certainly ‘infected’ with a Christian based view, as a scientist he was trying to give a scientific basis to sex rather than ‘Christianizing’ it as Sadger thought.  But then, Sadger was definitely intellectually limited by his Judaism.

In using such terms Sadger gives away the intense Jewish separation of Jewish and Aryan Kulturs.  There can be no specific Aryan or Jewish knowledge; there can only be one knowledge and that is Scientific truth.  If you can’t stand the heat get out of the kitchen.

While Freud built his theories on Aryan scientific psychological investigations he then infused the knowledge with Jewish superstition and goals which bent the science of psychology back toward a religious application which Freud undoubtedly hoped would negate the Astronomical and Biological shocks to the foundations of Judaism or Semitism.

Not only had Freud and his followers buried the reputation of the great French psychologist, Pierre Janet, from whom they borrowed or stole so much but in their successful attempt to freeze psychoanalytic investigation  into the Freudian framework they brutally slandered Jung while discrediting his own scientific work.  It was not until the sixties of the twentieth century that Jung began to be understood and credited for his contributions which were certainly equal to and mainly independent of Freud.

Thus we have the persistence of Alan Dundes pursuit of Sadger’s little volume to thank for casting a few rays of light on this thorny problem of psychoanalysis.

Edgar Rice Burroughs As A Feral Child

by

R.E. Prindle

Cronus:

Cronus married his sister Rhea, to whom the oak is sacred, But it was prophesized by Mother Earth and by his dying father Uranus, that one of his own sons would dethrone him.  Every year, therefore, he swallowed the children whom Rhea bore him, first Hestia, then Demeter and Hera, then Hades, then Poseidon~ Robert Graves, The Greek Myths

I. The Father As A Cannibal Figure

     Following Poseidon came Zeus.  In place of Zeus Cronus was given a stone which he swallowed instead.  When Zeus grew up he then castrated Cronus, replacing him.

     While on the one hand an astrological myth denoting the precession of the equinoxes from one Astrological Age to another, on a psychological level the myth relates the fear of the Father that as the strength of his sons waxes his own wanes resulting in an eclipse.

     Different human fathers react in different ways.  Some nurture, some castrate or cannibalize their young.  This is a serious problem for the son.  For instance, what Tom Brokaw, a thoroughly castrated son, is pleased to call The Greatest Generation who were so enamored of their success in WW II, that they chose to emasculate a whole generation rather than surrender or even share power.

     I correspond with David Adams from time to time while doing my writing from whom I sometimes receive valuable input.  I had come to the conclusion that ERB’s father, George T, was a problem for ERB, especially as represented by ‘God’ in Tarzan And The Lion Man.  The new year opened with Hillman publishing Dodds’ feral child collection which clicked in my mind.  The week before ERBzine published my Part III, Two Peas And A Pod of the Tarzan Triumphant review.  David Adams commented favorably on my comments about the Jungian Old Man archetype.  He said in an email to me:

     I agree with your interpretation that “characters like Tarzan and John Carter serve in the capacity of Old Man/Jekyll figures while the actual Old Man figures who are betrayers serve perhaps as Hydelike figures as represented by the father.” (David quoting me.) Those old man figures, early and late, are also cannibals who are hell-bent on eating him up while then spreading the bones across some desert for the hyenas to chew.  Who was that old cannibal with the cancerous face followed by a pair of African wolves? (Jungle Tales of Kipling)

     As can be seen I picked up on the Father figure but adding the cannibal detail adds the needed dimension for full comprehension.

     George T. had been bothering me for some time.  The love-hate relationship ERB had with him is quite obvious, but then it occurred to me that the other sons had the same relationship to their father while George T. appeared to program them all for failure- that is they not surpass him in their lifetime somewhat like Cronus of Greek mythology.  He made them all dependent on him.  The supplicating tone of the letters from college of sons George and Harry is all too obvious.  George T. sending the boys to Yale without the means to support a position would have had the effect of emasculating them relative to their fellow students thus subordinating them.

     Then on graduation he took them into his battery business.  As a businessman in Chicago it wouldn’t be unreasonable to believe that George T. had some relatively influential contacts in town who might have been able to place Yale graduates advantageously but he chose to keep the boys with him and subordinate to him.

     The battery factory proved dangerous for his son Harry who developed respiratory problems from the battery chemicals plus perhaps in psychological reaction to suppression by his father.  He went West to join fellow Yalie, Lew Sweetser, in Idaho.  Son George, who had had enough of working for his father, also fled to Idaho to join Harry and Sweetser.

     None of the three knew enough about the cattle business to survive so that by 1913 when George T. had his basket pulled up all the sons were back in Chicago in various degrees of failure or, at least, lack of success.  As of that date it would appear that like Cronus George T. had swallowed or cannibalized his sons.

     There was a Zeus figure in the bunch who didn’t want to be swallowed and that Zeus figure was ERB.  Like Zeus ERB was the youngest son.  ERB developed independently of his brothers who were approximately ten years older than he.  Thus when they were at Yale ERB was attending grade school.

     As I pointed out in my Books, Burroughs and Religion George T. was especially rigorous in the attempt to emasculate his youngest son.  His effort culminated when he sent ERB to military school.  This was a form of dislocation and rejection that ERB could not bear.  He tried to escape but his father sternly returned him to the Michigan Military Academy.

     The effects of this were that ERB was declassed as he considered the MMA a rich kid’s reform school.  Thus to some extent he was criminalized in his own mind.  His reaction was also seminal in the formation of his two principal characters John Carter and Tarzan.

     His hurt was so strong, his separation from his parents and home so complete that he became psychologically orphaned.  His parents died to him the day he was returned to the MMA.  He adopted the drunken Commandant, Charles King, as his mentor or surrogate father.  While betrayed by his father ERB apparently thought he found a friend in King.  In that capacity King became the model for Lt. Paul D’Arnot of the French Navy.  D’Arnot was the man who tamed the feral boy that was Tarzan introducing him to civilization much as King taught Burroughs how to survive and prosper at MMA.  Or Burroughs remembered it in that manner.  There may also be a literary connection to D’Artagnan of Dumas’ Three Musketeers.

     This makes the period between the arrival of Jane and her party and the arrival of D’Arnot in Tarzan Of The Apes of special interest.  I’m not sure what the period represents in Burroughs’ own life.

     As his creation Tarzan is a feral child it follows that ERB considered himself alone and on his own as a feral child himself.  A romantic notion but one no less real to him.  Thus just as Tarzan’s parent’s died with the baby becoming a member of an ape tribe so Burroughs began a wild and difficult period as his parents died for him.

     These events occurred just as Rider Haggard was becoming famous for his great African trilogy of King Solomon’s Mines, She and Allan Quatermain which ERB undoubtedly read at this time.  Conan Doyle began his Sherlock Holmes mysteries and H.M. Stanley disappeared into an unknown Congo in pursuit of Emin Pasha.  The West to East transit of the Congo impressed ERB greatly as his own heroes later crossed Africa in the same direction.

     Being a complex individual ERB no longer wished to even acknowledge that he had ever had parents; thus his first creation- John Carter.  As Carter only came into existence when ERB was 36 the writer had plenty of time to knock around learning the odd legend here and there.  John Carter then is a version of the Great Historical Bum- the hundred thousand year old man of folklore.

     John Carter could not remember his parents.  In his memory he had always been the same age he was.  In the words of one of my famorite songs, Stewball, he didn’t say he was born at all, just blew down in a storm.  Certainly Burroughs had heard of the Comte de St. Germain who flourished at the time of the French Revolution.  As esoterical cult figure today, St. Germain’s  legend would have been more prominent from 1875 to 1911 than today.  Like Carter St. Germain claimed to have been alive forever.  In Revolutionary Europe he got away with it.  Calgiostro was another Revolutionary charlatan claiming mysterious antecedents who would have intrigued ERB’s imagination.  It seems certain the two would have been topics of conversation in the time before radio, TV and movies so it wouldn’t have been necessary  for ERB to have read anything.

     I doubt if he had read any of the books on Dodds’ list although one never knows but the list goes to show that the feral child would have been a popular topic of conversation.  In my opinion then ERB’s literary future was cast when his cannibal father returned him to MMA.

     He graduated from the MMA in ’95 but either couldn’t or wouldn’t return home staying on as an instructor.  In ’96, just before the summer break which might have necessitated a return home he joined the Army being sent directly to Arizona without passing through Chicago.  Was he avoiding returning home?  One can’t say as in ’97 having found Army life not to his liking he received an early discharge.  He could have kept going, of course, as many of us in his boots did, to LA, San Francisco or wherever but he chose at that time to return to Chicago.  Of course, Emma was calling.

     From ’97 to ’03 or so he worked for his father which he found as difficult as his brothers had.  Fleeing Chicago to Idaho in 1903, when he came back a year and a few months later to do anything (that word anything has some meaning in this context)  rather  than work with his father.  He became one of the poet Robert Service’s ‘men who don’t fit in.’  He had a very difficult few years from 1905 to 1913 bumping along the bottom.

     But then in 1911 he began his rise via his intellect.  He began to write becoming an immediate literary success of sorts.  By 1913 when he was about to become a financial success through his intellectual efforts thus escaping his father’s curse, his father died.  The young Zeus thus never got to castrate his father Cronus.

     One can’t know what would have happened to his psychology had ERB been able to present his father with evidence of his success.  I’m reasonably certain George T. would have belittled  or rejected his success as like Cronus his youngest would have replaced him.  He wouldn’t have liked that.

II.  A Hand From The Grave

     Had that happened and ERB been able to prove himself a greater than his father it is interesting to speculate as to what effect that might have had on ERB’s psychological development.  As it was, a few months after his father’s death he packed up family and belongings and got out of town as far as he could go to San Diego, California and stayed away nine months.  Time enough to be reborn.

     There are numerous examples of betrayers who are cannibals in his corpus, in fact there is so much betraying and cannibalism in Burroughs’ work I find it slightly offensive.  Rather than work up a list, which for the time being I leave to David, I’d rather concentrate on the most spectacular cannibalistic betrayer of the oeuvre, God of Lion Man.

     I know I just wrote about Lion Man but with David’s interpretation of cannibalism I can present a much more cogent image.  David’s much more into Jungian synchronicity than I am but the scene with God presents a remarkable occurrence of synchronicity.  The scene is very complex.

     George T. was born in 1833 so the book was written on his 100th birthday.  Chicago was incorporated in 1833 while it was celebrating its Century Of Progress forty years after the Columbian Expo at the same time.  Both events occurred just at the time that Burroughs realized he had lost control of his ‘meal ticket’ to MGM.

     MGM was undoubtedly a component of God, the Father, being combined with the Chicago that fathered him and George T., his actual father, in his mind.  From these components ERB then creates the magnificent apparition of God as man and beast.  God has the mind of divine power such as had Zeus but is still a Cronus, is, in fact, the ultimate cannibal.

     Tarzan and Rhonda  represent Burroughs’ Anima and Animus so that God has the whole man in his power in its component parts- the X and y chromosomes.  God tells the pair that he is going to use them to rejuvenate himself by cannibalizing them.  The Father’s desire and the Son’s fear.

     If God represents George T. on one side, MGM on another and organized religion on a third then even though ERB thought he escaped his father in 1913 by his intellectual efforts the father reaches up from the grave on his 100th anniversay to claim his son again.

     At this time Burroughs also wrote Pirates Of Venus and Pirate Blood.  Both would refer to the idea that MGM pirated his creation from him while the very despondent Pirate Blood is almost terrifying in its manic depression as the balloon rises and sinks being almost submerged in the ocean or the waters of oblivion, the subconscious mind, insanity, that I believe we can see it as the insanity of despair.  At the end of that story the hero pairs up with a desperate woman who I believe we can read as Florence.  All very transparent really.

     So there Tarzan/Rhonda/Burroughs is trapped in a prison.  He attempts his earlier escape of rising through his intellectual powers, that is, he ascends through a shaft in the roof.  Unlike the first time when he surprised and astonished the world with John Carter and Tarzan, God, the Father, is waiting for him preventing his use of his intellect.  In point of fact Tarzan And The Lion Man was a dismal sales failure thought by Burroughs to be caused by MGM.

     If his previous four previous Tarzans under the Burroughs imprint had been successes it seems strange that the truly excellent Tarzan And The Lion Man should have failed.  Failing proof of sabotage on the part of, say, MGM, one can only say the public taste is fickle or perhaps the innovative dust jacket didn’t look like the usual Tarzan dust jacket and fans just passed it by.  It is also true that the book was a put down of MGM.

     Tarzan/Burroughs sallies forth from his hiding place against superior forces.  He is knocked unconscious.  A sure sign that Burroughs is under supreme stress.  Meanwhile God’s castle, in other words the literary structure of the last twenty years is going up in flames.  The MGM pirates have lifted ERB’s life work.

     He has to finish the story so he turns the tables on God taking him captive and making him do his bidding.  Tarzan helps God recapture his City then abandons him disappearing down the hole of the subconscious to a lower level from when he emerges to be claimed by the Wild Thing- Balza, the Golden Girl, or Florence.

     In a thinly disguised scene Tarzan, unwittingly it seems, wins Balza from her former husband much as Burroughs took Florence from Ashton Dearholt.  The important thing here is that a transition has been effected from one world to another.  The intellectual City of God has been abandoned in favor of a world of the senses.

     It is at this point ERB abandons his own feral boy persona of horses, puttees and other symbols to become a sort of effeminate Dandy.  He now affects tightly fitted fashionable suits almost effeminate in appearance.  He turn into a party animal and if he had been a moderate drinker during his teens, twenties and early thirthies he now becomes almost a lush.

     So, in the end, ERB was probably devoured by the Father in Cronus fashion.  In the Myth Zeus forced Cronus to vomit up his brothers and sisters and he castrated him.  In real life ERB was castrated and swallowed down.

     He put up one heck of a fight that arouses the warmest admiration of him.  One wonders, that if when all is said and done anyone can escape the imprint of those formative years.  Is one’s whole horoscope cast in the womb and those few short months after birth?  Sure hope not.

A Review
Themes And Variations
The Tarzan Novels Of Edgar Rice Burroughs
#23 Tarzan And The Mad Man
Part III
That Old Time Religion

The Aquarian Archetype

Burroughs’ stories are always concerned with religion in one respect or another.  He never stopped investigating religion or religions.  When Swami Prahavananda brought Vedanta to LA from Portland, Oregon of all places Burroughs if not the first in line was not that far back.  It’s no surprise that the novels of the first half of the thirties all reflect Vedanta or Hindu religion to some extent.
The Tarzan series was virtually founded on the avatar of sun worship, La of Opar.  She appeared sporadically until 1930 when she was entombed in Opar and abandoned by Tarzan and Burroughs.  Here she appears again in the form of the mundane normal rich girl, Sandra Pickerall, the Scottish beer heiress.  A common place White Goddess.
One should always bear in mind the original White Goddess, She, of Rider Haggard.  Thus one always compares Burroughs’ White Goddesses to the original.  Apart from Greek mythology’s White Goddess, represented as the moon, I think the White Goddess reigning in a Black or off-tone population, was actually a Haggard original.  Of course, La was a carbon of She.  An aside- I’m discoverying that I’m using some outdated terms incomprehensible to younger people.  Carbon copy is one of these.  You get the blankest of stares.  For any readers not familiar with carbon paper, in the days before printers turned out endless perfect copies of documents if one wanted a copy of a typed letter, typed in a typewriter, one inserted a piece of carbon paper between the original and the desired copy.  One side was coated with carbon so that the stroke imprinted on the clean sheet.  Those were the days, children, when we walked three miles to school through eight foot snow drifts.  Life wasn’t so easy back then.
So, La was a carbon of She.  Not quite; She was actually two thousand years old.   Burroughs couldn’t figure out how to do that without being a carbon copy of Haggard so he made the priestess of the Flaming God part of a multi-thousand year tradition. Sandra was a one off with short duration.  There was no mystique there; this is the common woman triumphant.  Rand himself was a phony Tarzan who was also a phony rather ditso god.
While there was no real historical basis for She but a tenuous connection to Egypt’s influence on Sub-Saharan Africa that Haggard repeatedly invokes there was a historical basis for the Portuguese colony of Alemtejo in Ethiopia.  A fairly remarkable one and one that Burroughs knew of.  Possibly the story was gleaned from the pages of the National Geographic also bu there is a basis for it in Burroughs library
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Let’s tackle the groundwork for Haggard’s White Goddess first.  Obviously with Haggard and Burroughs we are dealing with men and writers of stupendous imagination.  These men are able to build cities and civilizations from the merest scraps of evidence.  And then in Haggard’s case, from his sojourn in South Africa he was familiar waith legends and archaeological evidences unknown except to the specialist and possibly not to them.  Burroughs read many books of African history including J.W. Buel’s Heroes Of The Dark Continent.  The book mentions legends and stories that Haggard heard but so fleetingly one wonders what impression they could have made on the forming mind of ERB.  Buel himself took his early history from a fabulous Arab work called The Travels Of Ibn Batuta, sort of the Richard Burton of his culture.

The Renowned Arab Traveler- Mohammed Ibn Batuta

Writing in the fourteenth century Ibn Batuta had visited the East African coast trodding the soil of Kilwa Island on the southern border of Tanganyika, now Tanzania.  Zanzibar replaced Kilwa as the Moslem trading entropot on the East Coast.  Haggard apparently had done the same as he mentions ruins that dated back to before the tenth century.  So, we have established commercial activity in Southern Africa before the arrival of the Shona people in Zimbabwe.

The ruins of Zimbabwe are, of course, famous but the builders are undetermined although the relics are claimed by the Shona which is impossible.  There are additional stone ruins further South than the Shona ever penetrated.  Therefore it follows that others than the Shona built them.  The ruins and Zimbabwae turn up frequently in Haggard’s novels also.
I have always believed the ruins were Malagasy which is also Trader Horn’s position.  I wasn’t clear on the arrival of the Malagasy but then ERB’s novel Jungle Girl showed me the way.  Jungle Girl is concerned with the Khmer people and the ruins of Cambodia and Thailand.  Few of us, I believe, have any idea of the history of this area and its connection to India.
According to some somewhat limited research on my partI find that  the Balinese were a major naval power in the archipelago and the adjacent mainland.  When the Khmer king threatened the Balinese king the King of Bali mounted a thousand ship expedition to the Mekong to punish the Khmer king.  This would be a substantial flotilla if true and not legendary.  If each ship transported twenty to fifty soldiers that would be an army of twenty to fifty thousand men.  Logistically a superior achievement, especially just to punish one guy.
Bali today is 90% Hindu in religion so that the Hindus or Indians had made a religious conquest of Bali by the ninth century.  One assumes that contact was continuous from, say, 800 to 1500 AD so that Balinese regularly sailed to India.  The Balinese also have fabulous ruins such as the magnificent manmade mountain, Borobudur that date from the earlier period.
Now, the Malagasy of Madagascar are genetically linked to a Bornean people opposite Bali on inland sea.  It is highly doubtful that the Borneans made any voyages to India.  Let us assume however that those people of Borneo were troublesome to the Balinese, harassing their shipping and possibly raiding Bali.  Now, there doesn’t appear to be continuous migration to Africa; the migration seems to have been a one time affair.
Let us suppose then that the Balinese knew of Africa from their excursions to India.  After all, the Chinese admiral, Zheng He touched on Africa if not claiming it for his Emperor in the fifteenth century.  There are Africans with Chinese DNA from sailors shipwrecked from that expedition.  Kilwa was active from at least the ninth century when Persians established a colony leaving ruins behind.  Pottery sherds found on Kilwa come from the whole of the East including China.
In an effort to solve their Bornean problem, then, let us assume the Balinese organized a flotilla and shipped the entire troublesome Bornean population to Africa in one shot.  It could easily have been done by revictualing and rewatering at several points on the way to India or Ceylon at which point the monsoon could be used to aim for the African coast.  Whether Madagascar was known or not the flotilla could easily have blundered on it.  It was uninhabited at the time.  The Bantus had not yet penetrated that far.  Their presence was probably insignificant on the mainland- Mozambique and Zimbabwe.  That was it- a people transported from Borneo in one consignment.
Finding the malarial coast uninhabited but unhealthy the Malagasy’s then moved up on the plateau where the air was more salubrious.  The Shona may or may not have already been there.  In any event the population would have been small.  It is possible they began to filter in some time thereafter settling North of actual Zimbabwe.  The ruins then were built by the Malagasies either as protection from wild beasts or as defensive forts.  As the additional ruins are further South the Malagasies either prospered and expanded or unable to maintain themselves against the Bantu Shona kept retreating further South as did the Bushmen.  On the other hand the kingdom of Monomotapa that existed in this area at approximately this period must have been founded by the Malagasies.  That it was stamped flat by the Bantus would indicate that it was a culture alien to theirs much as the White culture now being exterminated by the Bantus.  With the Whites gone and the ruins of the cities dotting the plains the Bantus could then claim their ancestors built them.  An exact duplicate situation.  Shoot, even Mugabe could claim he built Salisbury.
Now, there are a variety of complexions in Zimbabwe tending toward a red.  That could only come about by the mixing of the Black Shona and the copper Malagasy.  So, obviously the Malagasy were either killed or bred out of existence on the mainland although still existing on Madagascar.
The Shona having no use for the stone forts which were unfamiliar to them ignored them for their traditional grass hut villages.
The Malagasies mined for gold probably trading with Kilwa Island although that is some distance and there seems to be little refuse in Zimbabwe to suggest a trading period.  Nevertheless the gold was mined and it isn’t there now.
Using whatever knowledge he had of the legends or history of Zimbabwe Haggard created his own magnificent legends of King Solomon’s Mines and the superb She.  She was was placed somewhere on the coast between Zimbabwe and Kilwa Island.
For his shadow of the story of She Burroughs then moves the location of She up to Ethiopia also incorporating the story of the Portuguese expedition of the fifteenth century to that formerly mythical and fabulous country thought to be the home of the equally mythical and fabulous Prester John.
ERB combines two threads of history.  On the one hand Vasco da Gama the explorer did send his brother Cristoforo da Gama on a military expediton to Ethiopia to aid the Queen of Ethiopia. Initially successful Cristoforo was untimately defeated although the Portuguese left the country rather than building ERB’s castle on the Mutia Escarpment.  On the other hand the Galla people subsequently invaded Ethiopia where they existed against the Ethiopians in the sort of standoff that ERB depicts.
The faux Tarzan, Rand, then parachutes into the midst of the Portuguese castle of Alemtejo.  In his descent the wind slams him against a turret causing the inevitable amnesia.  Tarzan’s loss of memory that recurs periodically means that ERB is severely stressed.  Tarzan’s losses of memory always occur at periods of extreme stress for ERB when he is facing difficult problems.
Rand had embarked on his expedition to prove he could rough it a la Tarzan for thirty days so his mind occupied by this illusion he believes he is Tarzan.  As he descended from the sky the Portuguese, now a cholcolate brown, believe he must be God, not a god but the God.  Even though God Rand takes orders pretty well.  Da Gama orders him to find a goddess as God must have a goddess.  After having had his Black candidates rejected Rand goes back to find a White Goddess.
At this point Rand, the faux Tarzan, finds the beer heiress Sandra Pickerall.  Thus God and goddess are in reality ordinary folk, the common people.  The descent has been from the immortal She to the mortal but still divine, La, who was the high priestess, to an ordinary girl dressed in ordinary clothes who knows nothing of the goddess mystique.  ERB’s hopes had deflated quite considerably.
This was on the eve of ERB and Florence’s departure into exile from LA to Honolulu so there is a bewildered sadness to the story.  It’s as though ERB were asking:  Where did the dream go wrong?
There is a faint echo of The City Of God story from Tarzan And The Lion Man.  In this case Tarzan/Rand/ERB is God and Sandra/Florence is his goddess but no longer the vision of his dreams he imagined in 1926.  He’s pretty disappointed.
The religious scene is quite astounding, presenting aspects of the whole history of religion.  ERBs’ life study of religion is here condensed into a few paragraphs and scatterings throughout the text.
Ruiz stood behind a low, stone altar which appeared to have been painted a rusty brown red.
For a long time Ruiz the high priest held the center of the stage.  The rites where evidently of a religious nature that went on interminably.  Three times Ruiz burned powder upon the altar.  From the awful stench Sandra judged the powder must have consisted mostly of hair.  The assemblage intoned a chant to the weird accompaniment of heathenish tom toms.  The high priest occasionally made the sign of the cross, but it seemed obvious to Sandra that she had become the goddess of a bastard religion which bore no relationship to Christianity beyond the symbolism of the cross, which was evidently quite meaningless to the high priest and his followers.
She heard mentioned several times Kibuka, the war god; and Walumbe the god of death, was often supplicated, while Mizimo departed spirits, held a prominent place in the chant and the progress.  It was evidently a very primitive form of heathenish worship from which voodooism is derived.
What reading, what study went into this religious scene isn’t clear but it is clear that ERB’s reading here led back to the religious practices of the Yoruba people of Nigeria, or perhaps it might better be said the lower Niger River.  In what they call the Yoruba diaspora the people as slaves were dispersed throughout the Americas, South and North and the Caribbean.
Apparently deeply religious the Yoruba took their religion with them grafting it unto a semblance of Catholicism, bastard religion here in Burroughs.  Perhaps that is what ERB means when he says the Alemtejos took the cross as a symbol but it had no meaning to them.  The Yoruba religion took different names and forms from Brazil to New York.  As ERB points out here the Yoruban religion in Haiti developed into Voodoo while in Cuba it became known as Santeria by which name it passes into the US.  Chief centers are Atlanta and New York City.
While Burroughs merely says that Voodoo was derived from some ancient form implying lost in the mists of time he may very well have known that these new world religious impressions were derived from the Yoruba of Africa.
And then a little further on, Ballantine, p. 55, ERB goes on to describe a different religious ritual:
Looking up, she saw a dozen naked dancing girls enter the apartment, and behind them two soldiers dragging a screaming Negro girl of about thirteen.  Now the audience was alert, necks craned and every eye centered upon the child.  The tom-toms beat out a wild cadence.  The dancers, leaping, bending, whirling, approached the altar; and while they danced the soldiers lifted the still screaming girl and held her face up, upon its stained brown surface.
The high priest made passes with his hands above the victim, the while he intoned some senseless gibberish.  The child’s screams had been reduced to moaning sobs, as Ruiz drew a knife from beneath his robe.  Sandra leaned forward in her throne-chair, clutching the arms, her wide eyes straining at the horrid sight below her.
A deathly stillness fell upon the room broken only by the choking sobs of the girl.  Ruiz’s knife flashed for an instant above his victim; and then the point was punged into her heart.  Quickly he cut the throat and dabbing his hands in the spurting blood sprinkled it upon the audience, which surged forward to receive it…
To consider this scene from several angles:  I hope no one will be offended but put into current Hollywood cinematic terms this is the very purest of pornography.  It there was a battle at this time to get James Joyce’s Ulysses through customs, Joyce is smirkingly smutty compared to Burroughs here.
I mean, a dozen naked dancing girls leading the procession, a child snuff scene;  the dwelling on the flash of the knife, its point entering the body, the spurting blood from the child’s cut throat then the sprinkling of the surging, screaming crowd with the blood, truly they were washed in the blood of the lamb.
If the Voodoo harked back to an early period it was before this intermediate sacrificial period.  On the one hand La of Opar seemed to flash back to to Aztec ceremonies in ERB’s mind.  In that gory society the victims were indeed laid out face up beneath the Flaming God as the priest no only stabbed them but cut the heart out holding the still beating vessel aloft for the sun’s acceptance.
Here ERB seems to combine the Aztec practices with the Semitic practices of child murder from which the term ‘blood of the lamb’ must be derived.  Blood purifications were common in the various Classical religious consensuses.  With Mithraic worshippers of the bull god Mithras communicants were lowered into a pit while a bull was slaughtered on a slatted platform above them, the blood dripping down on the initiate then washed the communicant in the blood of the bull, or in another word, Mithras.
Among the Semites, Carthaginians of North Africa and the Jews of Palestine child murder was the chief offering to placate the gods or God.  The Carthaginians had a huge statue of Baal with oustretched arms on which the child was placed to roll down into a flaming pit.
The Valley of Hinnon was the site of the Jewish sacrifice of the first born.  While the practice was suspended in the story of Abraham and Isaac when the sheep or lamb was allowed to be substituted for the first born.  While the practice was suspended in the story of Abraham and Isaac when the sheep was allowed to be substituted for the born the idea lived on in the imagination of the Jews.
Then commenced the eternal round of sacrificing in the temple when the priests stood before a large basin called the brazen ocean and sacrificed sheep from sun up to sun down.  The blood collected in the brazen ocean was used for its special purposes.  Think washed in the blood of the lamb and compare it with the Mithraic rite.
Even then before the Jews left Egypt they smeared their lintels with the blood of the lamb or first born to save themselves from God’s slaughter of the first born of Egypt.  Thus the Jews were symbolically washed in the blood of the lamb.  The slaughter of the innocents in Herod’s time will also come to mind.  Jesus as the first born would have been sacrificed as the lamb  if the slaughter had been successful.
Certainly if read properly it is easy to understand why Sandra fainted.  Perhaps in 1940 ERB found his psychological situation unbearable reacting by creating this bit of sado-masochistic pornography.
Having completed this part of his survey of religious evolution ERB moves on to what might be described as the late Classical to Medieval phase, Ballantine p. 67:
“Well, what of it?’  demanded da Gama.  “I am king.  Do I not sit on a level with God and his goddess?  I am as holy as they.  I am a god as well as a king; and the gods can do no wrong.”
“Rubbish!” exclaime the high priest.  “You know a well as I do that the man is not a god, and the woman no goddess.  Fate sent the man down from the skies- I don’t know how; but I’m sure he’s as mortal as you or I; then you get the idea that by controlling him you could control the country.  You were jealous of me that’s all; then you get the idea that by controlling him you could control the church, for you know that who controls the church controls the country.  You were jealous of me that’s all; then you conceived the idea of having a goddess, too, which you thought might double your power.  Well, you have them; but they’re going to be just as useful to me as they are to you.  Already, the people believe in them, and if I should go to them and say that you had harmed the god, they would tear you to pieces…”
Here we have the cynical conception of priest craft that was still current when I was a kid.  Religion as the opiate of the people.  Priests and kings who are totally insincere in their beliefs, the divine right of kings, a potent belief in its time ridiculed in another.
This could be the stuff of a stand up comedy routine by Bob Newhart in 1960 or the Smothers Brothers with some modifications of the struggle between the English Tudors with the Catholic Church.
“…you don’t stand any too well with the people, Chris, anyway; and there are plenty of them who think da Serra would make a better king.”
“Sh-h-h,” cautioned da Gama.  “Don’t talk so loud.  Somebody may overhear you.  But let’s not quarrel, Pedro.  Our interests are identical.  If Osorio da Serra becomes king of Alemtejo, Pedro Ruiz will die mysteriously; and Quesada the priest will become high priest.  He might become high priest while I am king.”
That would have gotten a knowing laugh from ERB’s readers who would have felt they had been let in on a cosmic truth.  And with the proper inflection and delivery you have some stand up.
Of course the spectre of Christianity is running through this.  ERB then tosses in a Moslem bit to bring things up to time; Sandra has bneen captured by Rateng the hunter, a Moslem Galla, Ballantine, p. 132:
“What do you want of me?”  she asked.  “What are you going to do with me?”
“You should know,” he said.  “You are a woman.”
“I am not a mortal woman.  I am a goddess.”  She grasped at a straw.
Rateng laughed at her.  “There is no god but Allah.”
“If you harm me you will die.”  she threatened.
“You are an infidel,” said Rateng, “and for every infidel I kill, I shall have greater honor in heaven.”
Thus we have the last testament of Edgar Rice Burroughs on religion.  Having delivered this he got on the plane for Honolulu leaving LA.  His epic struggle to free himself from 1911 to 1940 ended in defeat.  Ironically he was on a salary of 250.00 a month in Honolulu which had been his salary at Sears, Roebuck before he began writing.  Life is funny sometimes.
Recapitulation and Conclusion.
Thus ended the confrontation between Edgar Rice Burrughs and the Judaeo-Communists.  Little did ERB realize that in 1919 when he excercized what he thought was his American Constitutional rights by opposing Communism that he was engaging in a life and death struggle for supremacy.  Nor did he realize that when that survey sent to him by the American Jewish Committee that was fatally forwarded to in Hollywood from Chicago by the post office was coded so that he would indicate his acceptance or rejection of subservience to the Jews.   Had he known he would still probably have rejected the yoke but he at least then would have known that he was in open warfare for supremacy.
The America he had been raised in and on which his thoughts had been centered had been slipping away with each boatload of immigrants that arrived.  From a population of a few hundred thousand in 1890 the Jewish population had grown to several million.  They now had the strength of numbers as well as an implacable will to recreate the new glittering Promised Land in their own image.
There was a short reaction led by Henry Ford before any resistance was scattered.  In that brief period to 1924 ERB had aligned himself with Ford as my analysis of Marcia Of The Doorstep shows.
So in that brief period between 1919 and 1924 ERB’s fate was sealed.  In Marcia he was making desperate efforts to placate the hollywood Jews who after all had control over much of his ability to earn income.  His hostility to the Communists continued unabated.  They weren’t protected by a charge of anti-Semitism as were the Jews.   In 1926 he published his anti-Communist trilogy The Moon Maid.  His defence was countered by the direction of no less than Josef Stalin himself and through his agent H.G. Wells.  ERB’s resistance to both the Communists and the Jews in my estimation produced the sequence of his greatest Tarzan novels and in his other works.
Given his own shortcomings, which were fatal, he hadn’t the skill, although he may have had the resources, to resist the evil so that by 1934 and Tarzan And The Lion Man the war was all but over.  The end came in 1940 when, I presume, it was politely suggested that he retire from LA.  The stage of his youth had been replaced by the aeroplane so that ERB’s mode of departure was by plane and not on the stagecoach.
MGM disdainfully made another movie, Tarzan In New York, in which Tarzan as it were is led to New York with a rope around his neck.  There in New York he is symbolically forced to submit to the Law .  While in an American court it seems fairly clear that the Law is Talmudic Law rather than, to use the term loosely, American justice.
With the release of Tarzan In New York MGM essentially threw the character away giving Tarzan over to Sol Lesser to do as he pleased.
Apart from a spate of stories in 1940 and the war novel, Tarzan And The Foreign Legion, the voice that had thrilled a nation for nearly thirty years was silenced.
ERB’s dissidence was crushed.  Nor was he the only author.  While the pre-1919 publishers seem to have been all Liberals and Communist fellow travelers the authors were anti-Communist or, at least, apolitical in that sense, to a man.  They all seem to have fared no better than ERB.  Certainly, in my life experience the period from 1914 through the fifties is a virual literary block.  The non-Communists writers of pre-1919 had their reputations obscured while after 1919 no writers but Communists were nurtured and allowed into print.  Thus all the social realist third rate Communist garbage of the period has disappeared from genuine lack of interest.  There are attempts to buck up the reputations of John Steinbeck and Ernest Hemingway with some success while there are also attempts to create some interest in failed Jewish writers of the period but that seems to be of no avail.  They, like Philip Roth, are too culturally specific to hold the general interest.
One wonders why Burroughs didn’t publish Tarzan And The Mad Man.  He locked the book in his safe and forgot about it.  Certainly the novel is as good as any he wrote.  Perhaps the admission of defeat it contains would have been too gratifying to his enemies or too painful to admit.  I don’t know.
Perhaps the challenges life gave ERB were too strong.  First his early childhood centered around high expectations was countered by John The Bully and ERB’s ceaseless movement from school to school orchestrated by his father who seemed to have a love-hate relationship with him; then the cruel bludgeon of fate that fell on him in Toronto which literally addled his brains for a decade if not for life perpetrated by a rival for the hand of Emma whose enmity never ceased and who plagued him in Chicago through 1919 and then the war with the Jews and Communists through the twenties and thirties.
Ah well, we all have to play the hand we’re dealt.