Free Charles Manson Behind Bars by Mark Hewitt Page A

Oakland.” I was feeling talkative so I kept up my questioning.
    “No, I don’t think so,” he told me. “I’ve been to Oakland.”
    “Is that right, Charlie?”
    “Yes, it is. Now I’m going to get back to what I was doing before you called me over to ask all your crazy questions, all drunk on pulky.” He was getting testy, but I did not care. I still wanted to talk.
    “I wanted to know your favorite color because that chick from Hollywood, whose letter you gave me, wanted to know.” I continued. “I wanted to know your favorite flavor of ice-cream so I could give you my ice-cream next time we have that flavor on the tier.
    “Hey, Charlie, guess what?” I was entering dangerous territory and I knew it.
    “What?” He replied gruffly.
    “I’ve always wanted to get my dick sucked by someone who had no teeth,” I taunted.
    “Boxcar,” he said more annoyed than angered. “You are drunk. Go lie down and get some sleep.”
    “Charlie, you got a real, real pretty mouth.” I was laughing and feeling very relaxed. I went back to my radio to listen to my oldies station. From time to time, I would call him over if there was a song on that I thought he would enjoy.
    I knew he had false teeth. When he took them out, he sounded really old. I would tease him and ask him to take his teeth out so I could hear what a really old man sounds like. He was good natured about my teasing as a mother dog would be with the playfulness of her litter.
    I gathered up my courage and finally asked him that night, “Are you gay?” I guessed that I would not dare ask once the alcohol wore off. I was already taunting him playfully and he was not getting upset. What did I have to lose by asking?
    “Yes,” was his only reply.
    I was surprised at his answer, probably more surprised at his candor than his confession. I knew he had been portrayed on television and in movies as a womanizing pimp. He was surrounded by his family that consisted mostly of young women. As I got to know him, I suspected that the aura was more about his power in controlling others than in any sexual magnetism. The women were mere prostitutes to him, people who could make him some money and who were open to his manipulations.
    Wow, I thought. I was right. Charlie is gay!
    Charlie and I were never sexually involved, but we did have a playful relationship nonetheless. Sometimes, when I was out of my cell, I would wiggle the padlock on his door. I only did this when I knew he was awake so that I didn’t disrespect him. Like a tiger in the grass, he would whip his head around to see who was there and whether there was a threat to him. In retrospect, perhaps I was cruel in doing this, but it was so funny to see him jump into action.
    He would get me, too, though. He would never let one of my pranks go unanswered. He would ask a guard to cut my shower short so I would be left with soap in my hair when the water stopped prematurely. He would ask a guard to slam my tray slot closed after a meal was delivered, or after I had received a book or my mail. Guards generally would not do that kind of bidding for an inmate. For Charlie, they made an exception. I would get startled or annoyed by the sound of the crashing metal as the guard fulfilled Charlie’s request.
    I knew that Charlie was behind it, paying me back for my insolence. The actions had Charlie’s name written all over them. The guards would not cut my shower short or bang my tray slot unnecessarily. Charlie did these and many other pranks to remind me and everyone else that this was HIS “bandstand.” He made sure than no one on the tier would ever steal his “bandstand.”

CHAPTER 5
Charlie’s Early Years
“I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father’s protection.”
- Sigmund Freud
    As one long day led to another, and we got accustomed to hearing each other’s voices, Charlie and I began to trust one another. When the interpersonal risk level reached a certain