Charles Manson
My 12-year-old bulging, blue eyeballs couldn't believe what they were seeing and my finely-tuned ears couldn't believe what they were hearing. Standing before millions of viewers on prime time television, Charles Manson was singing "Softly Whispering I Love You", a beautiful love song, while innocent and unsuspecting backing vocalists accompanied him. The nerve of this murderer! How did he get out of prison after only being locked away a year? The mere sight of this bearded creep made my tender skin crawl. I was going to make sure he was thrown back in the pokey and this time, the key would be flushed down the toilet.
Charles Manson was convicted of masterminding nine brutal murders at four locations in July and August of 1969. While on trial in 1971, he nonchalantly imparted no regrets, "Remorse for what? You people have done everything in the world to me. Doesn't that give me equal right?" I needed to make sure Charles didn't go after these trusting singers, too. They had their young lives ahead of them. Still, I was mesmerized by this melodic message of love. My suspicious mind went back and forth like Dr. DoLittle's pushmi-pullyu. Look at the utility-chain necklace Charles is wearing. He could choke someone with that chain or even beat them! What a fake. That's not a cross he's wearing on that stainless steel chain, it's a demonic symbol.
My mother was in the laundry room bottle feeding a dying calf who was finally standing. I screamed at the top of my lungs for her to come quickly into the living room. She slammed down Calfie's bottle and came running to my rescue. With near delirium, I pointed at the television screen and frantically hollered, "Charles Mansion is going to kill one of his singers! Call the police!"
My mother put her hands on her hips and with frustration declared, "Oh, for cryin' out loud, Deborah! That's not Charles Manson! That's the English Congregation! Now, go outside and find something constructive to do." Within seconds, my heroine's journey came to a screeching halt and it was just another imaginative day in 1972. In reality, I was no more than any other tween-aged country bumpkin.
Brian Keith, The English Congregation
I stumbled outside and began throwing dirt clods at the side of the barn. I threw myself in a heap on a bale of alfalfa hay. Neither of these constructive activities eased me. I needed to connect with an understanding beating heart to regain my footing. Barefoot, I jumped onto the bare back of one of my rescued horses and took him for a swim in the Cottonwood, California Creek. Horsie and I swam against the fierce ocean current while I held on tightly to his neck. The snapping sharks nipped at Horsie's hocks, however, he expertly kicked their gnarly teeth in. Within inches of our lives, we made it safely to our exclusive island. I fell soundly asleep under an oak tree while Horsie's comforting nostrils breathed his heavenly scent over me.
Chesapeake Bay, aka Horsie
A wannabe hero's intended journey is constantly bombarded with obstacles. On the bright side, Charles Manson wasn't headed toward the recording studio and he didn't escape prison after all.
Deborah
Watch 'Charles' sing the beautiful song here:
