Crash Gordon and the Mysteries of Kingsburg (57 page)

“I spent 33 years and four months in active military service and during that period I spent most of my time as a high class muscle man for Big Business, for Wall Street and the bankers. In short, I was a racketeer, a gangster for capitalism. I helped make Mexico, and especially Tampico, safe for American oil interests in 1914. I helped make Haiti and Cuba a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped in the raping of half-a-dozen Central American republics for the benefit of Wall Street. I helped purify Nicaragua for the International Banking House of Brown Brothers in 1902–1912. I brought light to the Dominican Republic for the American sugar interests in 1916. I helped make Honduras right for the American fruit companies in 1903. In China, in 1927, I helped see to it that Standard Oil went on its way unmolested.”

–In 1933, that same Marine Major General Smedley D. Butler appeared before the U.S. Congress to reveal a secretive Business Plot to overthrow the government of President Franklin D. Roosevelt with a military coup and install a corporate police state. The men behind the Business Plot were rich industrialists–led by the DuPont and J.P. Morgan empires–who were alarmed by Roosevelt’s New Deal program to redistribute wealth to the poor and needy during the Great Depression via a hike in the top tax rate from 25% to 63%. The conspirators wanted Butler to lead this fascist coup, promising him an army of 500,000 men, unlimited financial backing, and positive coverage from their corporate-controlled media outlets. They were convinced that only Butler’s singular popularity and reputation for integrity could make the troops feel confident they were doing the right thing by overthrowing a democratically elected President. But Butler’s integrity wasn’t up for sale, and he subverted the Business Plot by going public with it. Congress failed to do much about his testimony, but at least FDR stayed in office long enough to get the U.S. involved in World War II.

–German resentment over the Draconian terms of the Treaty of Versailles paved the way for Hitler and the start of the Second World War. Paul Warburg–chairman of the newly created U.S. Federal Reserve System–and his brother, Max Warburg–chief of the M.M. Warburg Company, the central bank of Germany–had both attended the treaty signing to represent their respective banking interests. When Hitler began the rearmament of Germany in violation of the Versailles Treaty, the Warburgs and many other European banking families were there for him, lending financial support. (The Warburg brothers were also directors of the giant German chemical firm, I.G. Farben–proud makers of Zyklon B, the Official Gas of the Nazi Extermination Camps.) Other contributors to the Nazi cause, through their corporate connections and secret society dealings, included Henry Ford, Joseph Kennedy, and Prescott Bush; the Rockefellers, Harrimans, Morgans, and the Dulles brothers (Allen and John–later to become Director of Central Intelligence and Secretary of State, respectively, during the Eisenhower administration). Showing no allegiance to the countries in which they prospered, these elitists propagated and financed the war and profited from it throughout the hostilities. The majority of U.S. citizens, again, wanted no part in the war until they were goaded into it by another suspiciously contrived event: this time, the supposedly unforeseen Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

–Hitler was initiated by Dietrich Eckart into the Secret Doctrine of the mystic Thule Society and the Nazi Party itself was closer to a cult than a political movement, embracing the black arts with their Sig Runes, swastikas, blood oaths, and rituals. At the end of World War II, Allen Dulles made a deal with Nazi Intelligence leader Reinhard Gehlen to smuggle thousands of Nazi scientists and war criminals into the United States under Operation PAPERCLIP, a covert program run by the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) and the Counter Intelligence Corps (CIC), forerunners of the CIA. The ostensible purpose of Operation PAPERCLIP was to use crafty German brainpower to shore up the U.S. defense program and build rockets that could fly men to the Moon. Wernher von Braun certainly helped out there, goosing the development of intercontinental ballistic weapons in addition to his more fawned-upon work at NASA. But evidence suggests that Nazi doctors with an interest in trauma-based mind control were also being imported. CIA mind control programs BLUEBIRD, ARTICHOKE, MKULTRA and MKSEARCH would follow. (And isn’t it odd that the author J.D. Salinger had been involved in Operation PAPERCLIP during his enlistment in the CIC and his book,
The Catcher in the Rye
, played a key role in at least two possibly mind-controlled assassination attempts–by Mark David Chapman and John Hinckley Junior?)

–Then there’s the Bay of Pigs, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the war in Vietnam, and John F. Kennedy’s personal war with the Mafia, the Federal Reserve, and the Council on Foreign Relations. Kennedy was willing to take on anybody–and he paid the price accordingly. Who killed him? Certainly not Oswald, acting alone. The findings of the Warren Commission Report are doubted by just about everyone who takes the time to consider the details seriously. The tangled web of a conspiracy is so thick around JFK’s death that all of its individual threads may never be unraveled.

Which leads Gordon into a disquisition on conspiracy theories, in general. The label “conspiracy theorist,” he contends, has been widely used to dismiss people who question the official media- and government-approved version of events like the JFK assassination. The term is used as a pejorative, implying that a person who questions the government or the evening news must be suffering from paranoia or some other form of mental lunacy. So now it’s easy–almost a reflex–to dismiss anything a “conspiracy theorist” says without even listening. How convenient that must be for a National Security State that routinely lies, commits crimes, intimidates and murders witnesses–and then tries to hide, falsify, or destroy the evidence.

Conspiracy theories crop up whenever the evidence doesn’t fit the story being told, Gordon asserts. It’s that simple. When there’s no evidence to indicate a conspiracy, conspiracy theories are scarce. But when the government or the corporate-controlled news outlets are obviously lying or suppressing the truth–that’s when the conspiracy theorists dive in. Rather than being indicative of a psychological malady, that willingness to question the powers-that-be is more like a patriotic duty. “Eternal vigilance is the price of freedom,” as Thomas Jefferson said. Untold millions have died for the profit of a few–and it shouldn’t have to be that way.

Gordon’s essay goes on in that vein for a few more paragraphs; then, winding down, he segues into Joseph Campbell’s theories on the origin of secret societies. They were a vengeful male response to primitive matriarchal societies, Campbell suggests in
The Masks of God
. Men in such societies led easy lives, but they were prone to crushing feelings of inferiority brought on by living among women who “were not only the bearers of children, but also the chief producers of food.” For the purposes of ego-preservation, these men “developed secret lodges and societies, the mysteries and terrors of which were primarily against women.” Campbell describes how those societies worked:

“Admission to them is through election and is generally limited: they are not for all. Moreover, they tend to be propagandistic, reaching beyond the local tribe, seeking friends and members among alien peoples…. A particular stress is given in these secret men’s societies to a skull cult that is often associated with the headhunt. Ritual cannibalism and pederasty are commonly practiced…. Ironically (and yet by no means illogically), the most prominent divinities of these lodges are frequently female, even the Supreme Being itself being imagined as a Great Mother; and in the mythology and ritual lore of this goddess a lunar imagery is developed.”

Things may not be all that different today, Gordon suggests. Cannibalism and pederasty–it’s every secret society man’s occult patriotic duty. (
Food for the Moon,
Gordon thinks, but he doesn’t include that phrase in his essay.)

In his final summing up, Gordon touches upon the Bilderbergers, the National Security Council, the Trilateral Commission, the Skull and Bones society, CIA drug-running and money-laundering, and Richard Nixon preening in a pretty dress in front of the great stone owl at Bohemian Grove (in Nixon’s own words: “The most faggy goddamned thing you could ever imagine…”). There’s one man at the center of all this secret society activity, where black magic, military intelligence, and mind control seem to strangely converge. His name is George H.W. Bush. America’s Vice President is the reigning High Priest of Occult Politics, at least so far as Gordon can tell.

As for the separation between church and state–considering that almost all secret societies practice occult rituals derived from the Ancient Mystery Cults, and nearly all top-level politicians belong to at least a few secret societies that covertly steer their policies–there’s really no separation between church and state whatsoever….

“Politics,” as Bob Dylan so aptly put it, “is the work of the devil.”

□ □ □ □ □ □ □ □ □

Professor Hironada hands Gordon’s essay back to him at the end of May. While sitting at his desk, Gordon quickly scans through all thirty-three pages. He doesn’t find any red-penciled spelling corrections, or any notes in the margins about grammar or confused rhetoric. There’s only this at the bottom of the very last page:

“While your marshalling of so many diverse (if often dubious) facts is impressive, your insinuation that our current Vice President is a blood-swilling child molester is too fantastical and scabrous to be believed.
B+
.”

Humph
…. Gordon, of course, would have liked an
A
, but he’s not about to go crawling up to that smug semanticist-turned-senator manqué to offer him a blowjob.

□ □ □ □ □ □ □ □ □

Later that same day, Mr. Witzkowski announces over the P.A. system that a special assembly will be held in the high school’s Lincoln Theatre in lieu of the last two class periods. No one seems to know what the assembly is about as they settle into the theatre’s cushy beige fold-down seats. Gordon, Jimmy, Hideous, and D.H. take over a line of seats to the right of the aisle, two rows from the front, while Skip and Twinker sit down just behind them. “I wonder what Witz has got up his sleeve…” says D.H., who seems just as suspicious about everything as Gordon does these days.

“Maybe he’ll be giving us a demonstration on the manly art of self-love while he gnaws on the warm innards of a Cub Scout,” says Gordon, unable to shake the pederast-cannibal theme.

“Sick!”
says Jimmy approvingly.

“Okay, let’s all quiet down!” Mr. Witzkowski says from up on the stage. A single spotlight dazzlingly reflects off his oily white forehead as the rest of the theater descends into darkness. Mr. Witzkowski is holding a microphone, as usual. When he rubs it against the leg of his polyester slacks, a loud burst of static serves to focus everyone’s attention. “That’s better…” he says. “Good. Now, today we have a real treat in store for you boys and girls. We have a special surprise guest, flown all the way in from Reno, Nevada. And I know you’re gonna love him. So everyone, let’s give a big Viking round of applause to Doctor William Bryan Lemingeller, Master Hypnotist!”

A squat, bald-headed man wearing a charcoal grey suit and tie jogs onto the stage and takes the microphone from Mr. Witzkowski amid rapid-fire bursts of blue-and-white strobe lights. The theater’s loudspeakers thunder with the bombastic guitar riff from Boston’s “More Than a Feeling”. Doctor Lemingeller swings his doughy fists in the air like a prizefighter warming up and shouts: “Are we gonna have some fun or what?”

“Yeah!”
the younger members of the audience shout back at him. Twinker can be heard just under their roar, commenting, “Master
Bator
is more like it. That guy looks like a penis in a suit.”

In Gordon’s eyes, he seems closer to a middle-aged Aleister Crowley during his head-shaving phase.

“Hey, thanks…. Thanks a lot,” Doctor Lemingeller says as the roar of approval dies down. He’s already wiping shiny drops of sweat from his brow. “Before I begin, I’d like to thank the Road Safety Program for bringing me to this great little town of yours, along with my local sponsor, Lloyd Marrsden, in partnership with Independent Insurers.”

“Your Uncle Lloyd paid for this?” Gordon hisses at Jimmy.

“Hey, it’s better than going to class, isn’t it?”

“Something’s screwed up here….”

“You
always
say that,” Jimmy hisses back. “
Relax
.”

“Today I’m going to be taking you on an incredible journey into the unconscious power of your own minds,” Doctor Lemingeller intones with hammy drama. It sounds like the microphone is stuck halfway inside the cavern of his big, toothy mouth. “You’ll be amazed and astounded–
I guarantee it.
The power of the mind is a truly wondrous thing to behold, but most of us aren’t even close to tapping its full potential. Today I’m going to show you how to get a little closer. So now–if you don’t mind–I’m going to put this entire audience into a light hypnotic trance. Don’t worry. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just close your eyes and let your whole body relax while I count backwards from ten.
Ten
…. Everybody relaxed? Eyes closed? Good.
Nine
….”

The strobe lights pulse slowly, monotonously. “Feel your eyelids getting heavier. You’re going deeper… deeper now to a place of total relaxation. Yes, that’s it…” Doctor Lemingeller sighs as if he’s just had a hit of morphine. “
Eight
…. Going even deeper. Feels good, doesn’t it? There’s a pleasant feeling of warmth and heaviness in your limbs and your mind is relaxed and alert. You’re going deep to a place of perfect contentment. You might see yourself walking down stairs. Relax and breathe deeply. Let your mind drift. Just listen to my voice as I say…
Seven
….” Whatever Doctor Lemingeller is doing, by the count of five, it seems to be working. Gordon finds himself feeling pleasantly stoned, high on his own brain chemistry–or
whatever.