Charles Manson's Seminary Connection

Charles Manson’s Seminary Connection

            I’ve been reading a book Ed George wrote about his experiences with Charles Manson. Ed spent six years at St. Joe’s back in the ‘40s, then got a BA from USF before working for two years as a counselor in Alameda and another two as a cop.  Then he became a corrections officer at San Quentin and was assigned to be the prison’s official liaison with Manson. 

            He first wrote a book about it in 1998, called Taming the Beast, then updated it in 2020, under the new title, Charles Manson, Conversations with a Killer.  That was three years after Manson’s death in 2017 and shortly before Ed’s own sudden death from an acute stroke in early 2021.  I’m only about half-way through the book, but I just ran into a section I thought you guys would want to see. 

            Ed had regular chats with Charlie Manson and was fascinated by him, even though he was aware that their relationship was fraught with all sorts of weird, possibly dangerous, liabilities. 

            I was casually chatting with Charlie one afternoon when he started going on about how horrible it was that “the system” had caged him.  “You have no idea what it’s like.  You’re close, but you’re still on the right side of the bars, so you don’t know.”

            Actually, I did – to an extent.  I wanted to explain, but I always had to be careful what I said because Charlie fed on human weakness and would use it against me later.  This day, however, I decided to open up a crack.  “When I was at St. Joseph’s Seminary in Mountain View, there were a lot of similarities.  I was there nearly six years, a solid sentence.”

            “Like armed robbery.”

            “Yeah, something like that.  It was pretty torturous, full of loneliness and despair.  Seminarians are well protected from the world.  No girls.  No Newspapers.  No radios or television. Tons of silence.  In some ways, it’s worse than here.  The study load was rigorous, the discipline strict, stricter than here because you guys can run your mouths.  We couldn’t.  We had small private rooms with a closet, a bed, a bureau, a desk, a chair, and a sink with a mirror.  It was similar to a prison cell.  There were community showers and toilets.  We didn’t even have the privacy and convenience that you guys have.  Silence was imposed in the living areas, so even with other people around, I couldn’t talk.  The spiritual exercise and prayer was heavy.  Like here, we formed societies and had secret gatherings to survive mentally. Only we took a bigger risk.  If we were caught, we’d be sent home in shame, a vocation lost.  Of my class, twenty five made it through, fifteen didn’t.  The ones who left did so mainly because of the celibacy thing.”

            “Went for the pussy, eh?  No surprise there.  But you guys had a choice.  You could have left anytime,” Manson gruffed, unimpressed.  “That’s a big difference.”

            “It’s no different with you.  You had a choice.  You could have chosen not to end up here in the first place.  Then, after your first few falls, you could have done your time and made sure you never came back.  How many times have you been paroled?”

            “It’s not the same,” he parried, ignoring my logic.  “You don’t know how I grew up, man.  Even in prison, I was at the bottom.  Because of my high security and history of escapes, I wasn’t allowed to participate in the trade programs.  While other guys were learning how to be auto mechanics, welders, plumbers, electricians, printers, and things like that, I was locked in a cell and kept out of the classes.  So what good did that do me?  What did they prepare me for when I was released?  Nothing!  See, you haven’t walked in my shoes.”

            No, thankfully, I hadn’t.

            Fortunately, Manson interrupted me before I slipped and went further.  Near the end of my “sentence” I began suffering headaches and dizzy spells.  They increased in pain and frequency until I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  A Methodist psychologist told me I was trying to be something I wasn’t “cut out to be.”  He suggested that I reconsider my career path.  Because he was a Methodist, I cast it off as heathen heresy.  I’d persevere, I insisted, through prayer and faith.  I prayed and had faith, but the headaches wouldn’t ease.  Finally a Catholic psychologist advised me to leave the seminary immediately before I had a complete mental breakdown.  Back home in San Francisco, the pain and dizziness vanished.

            Needless to say Ed didn’t win the argument with Manson; but I think it was pretty gutsy for him to tell a narcissistic sociopath that, when it came to real oppression, San Quentin didn’t hold a candle to St Joseph’s College. 

            I’m sad that Ed died before I had a chance to discuss his book with him.  There’s a wealth of insights in it.  But I’m relieved to know that, if reincarnation turns out to be true, and I find myself thrown in jail in my next life, it’ll be a piece of cake compared to the seminary.