Free Charles Manson Behind Bars by Mark Hewitt

brother, help your brother, and help one another.” He would also say, “To love your brother is to love yourself. To love yourself is to love your brother.” He would even sing this from time to time.
    His main objective in teaching others was to get everyone to help one another like it used to be. “Everyone in and out of prison is your brother or your sister,” he would tell me. “The true convicts were the ones in the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s, when inmates were there for those in need. At that time, it didn’t matter if you went to a county jail or a federal institution, if you had a need, others would help you. It didn’t matter whether the other person was wealthy or couldn’t scratch two cents together: whatever you needed would be provided. People helped each other with hygiene items, writing paper, and food. No questions asked.”
    We do not see this much anymore, we lamented.
    Charlie told me, “If we help one another, we make this world a better place to live. How do we say we are for peace in the world when we are trying to sell a rifle that can kill at 300 yards? How do we say we are for better air when we seek huge profits in our oil stocks?” These are subjects I discussed with Charlie. We would go on for hours.
    One time, he really made me laugh. He said, “Tell that cowboy he has to stop driving that pick-up truck because it’s causing pollution in the air. It’s causing birth defects, and the cowboy will say that he needs the truck to drive, feed the cows, and go to the rodeo. He reasons that he won’t be around in 50 years so why should he worry. What does he care about the ozone? Or, what the ozone is, anyway?” We would laugh out loud because it is so true--how easy it is for people to be ignorant and selfish, pretending that it does not matter or that problems don’t exist. He may have been referring to President George W. Bush, but I suspect he meant any cowboy. Charlie was not much into politics, except to point out the enticing trap of power that exists in every part of our society.
    One night at about 10:00 in the evening, I had prepared and consumed a large quantity of pruno and was feeling pretty good. I called to Charlie to ask him some questions. Probably, I did not have the nerve to ask him these questions while I was sober.
    “Hey, Soul. You over there?” I inquired while banging on the wall.
    “How are you, Boxcar? I could smell the vapors when you broke the wine down,” Manson said to me.
    “Yeah, I knew you would smell it over there,” I continued. “Charlie, there are some questions I’d like to ask you. Do you mind me asking them? They are kind of personal, but I’m sure you won’t mind.”
    “What do you want to know, Soul?” He knew I was drunk from the slurring of my words.
    “Charlie, have you ever sucked dick?” I dared to ask.
    “Yeah,” he replied without elaborating.
    “Charlie, have you ever had sex with a man who was, you know, who was behind you?” I think I stumbled over my words from fear and from pruno.
    “Yeah, but I didn’t like it too much,” was his reply.
    Charlie answered those questions very calmly, but then snapped at me for my timidity, “Why didn’t you just ask me if I was a homosexual instead of beating around the bush and asking about specific acts?”
    “I didn’t know if I should ask you like that and have you feel offended,” I defended myself.
    “I said it was all right to ask me some questions, didn’t I?” Charlie asked. “Well, then, it’s okay to ask. You dig?” Charlie was raising his voice by this time, but I doubted that anyone else could hear him.
    “In that case, I have a couple more questions for you, Charlie.” The pruno was providing me with great boldness. “What is your favorite flavor of ice-cream and what is your favorite color?” He replied that Vanilla was his favorite flavor of ice-cream; red and black, his two favorite colors.
    “Have you ever been to Hayward, Charlie? It’s near