Free Charles Manson Now by Marlin Marynick Page B

on the question, “Did you have sex with Elvis Presley?” In short, it soon became very apparent that I had driven two thousand miles and strapped a seventy-two- year-old man to a polygraph machine to determine if he had indeed blown Elvis when, with almost completely certainty, he had not.Donald pretended to sleep for the entire duration of the long ride home.
    Things were finished with Donald. There was no longer any reason to believe the rest of his story. Yet, I still felt there had been a legitimate connection between Donald and Manson. I looked over the stack of correspondence again and couldn’t convince myself that the letters weren’t legitimate. It was clear that Manson’s letters were intended for Donald; they addressed Donald’s questions and communicated an intimacy that seemed specific to a certain sort of relationship. Each letter was addressed to Donald in the same child-like scrawl and stamped with the postmark from Corcoran Prison.
    To stay sane after such a letdown, I began journaling and even started to piece together the beginnings of a book. I wanted to write about people’s connections to one another, how important those connections are, and how their dissolution directly influences depression. Because it’s been my experience that the pain a person experiences during depression is really the ache of being separated from the whole -life, love, God, whatever you want to call it. I was heavily influenced by the uncompromising truth of writers like Tony Parsons, Karl Renz, Leo Hartong, and was very drawn to they’re teachings. They were able to speak from a depth that really resonated within me. I knew I had to meet these people. So, I planned a six week trip to Europe. My time in Europe changed me; I had never before spent so much time both alone and in the company of so many wonderful people. Tony, Karl, and Leo met with me, and with brutal honesty were able to help me see the simplicity of life. Away from everything, I was able to confront myself and my feelings. Never in my lifehad I cried so hard or felt so humble, so alive, so thankful. I was worried about returning to Canada. I thought my old, less self-assured mindset might come creeping back, and I’d end up depressed again. But I didn’t.
    One Friday afternoon after my return, I received an unexpected letter from Corcoran Prison. An inmate named Kenny Calihan, who claimed to be a friend of Donald Taylor’s, had written to me in order “to introduce” himself. Kenny said that he got my address from Donald, who had filled him in on the adventures we’d had while promoting One Gay Man. Kenny knew about the letters exchanged between Donald and Manson. He told me that several of the inmates at Corcoran had read Donald’s letters at some point; he assured me that most everyone found them to be “hilarious.” He explained that the prisoners routinely pass around each other’s mail and retrieve old messages from the garbage. And, because no other inmate in the history of the American prison system has ever received as much mail as has Charles Manson, his letters are both most coveted and most easily attained. Kenny said that he has been friends with Charles Manson since 1992. I couldn’t believe what I was reading.
    I immediately called Donald and asked him why the hell he’d given my address out to inmates. Donald answered, calmly, that he didn’t think I would mind. He had been writing to Kenny for a few months and had determined Kenny was a pretty good guy. Donald told me that Manson was serving a year’s sentence in the hole for something related to getting caught with a knife, a very serious offense. Donald had become acquainted with Kenny through a letter Manson himself hadn’t been able to read. Kenny handled much of Manson’s mail, as would a secretary of sorts.
    Two weeks later, another unsolicited letter from Kenny arrived in my mailbox. Enclosed was an autographed photo of Charles Manson. Kenny apologized for writing,