Taming the Beast: Charles Manson's Life Behind Bars by Edward George, Dary Matera Read Free Book Online Page A

probably ever would. Now I was suspicious that Squeaky and Charlie had some plan afoot.
    Twenty-four hours later, Squeaky shocked the world. At the Capitol Mall in Sacramento, Manson number-one follower Squeaky “make love to her in the dirt” Fromme, cast off her goofy robe, dressed herself in a slightly less goofy full-length fire red gown with a matching turban (so much for subtlety), and went to see the President of the United States. Her winning smile and cute freckled face excused her rudeness as she pushed forward through the throng, inching ever closer to the most powerful man in the world. She worked her way past spectators and grim-faced Secret Service agents until she was a mere arm’s length from Gerald Ford. This was it, Squeaky’s chance to join her master in heinous, historical glory. Through her shocking action, she would propel Charlie back into the limelight and establish his evil power like never before. Carving up a bunch of Hollywood types was one thing. Taking out the President of the United States was something entirely different.
    As Ford leaned forward to shake her hand, Squeaky pulled out a massive .45 caliber automatic and shouted, “The country is a mess! This man is not your president!” She lunged toward Ford, aimed at his gut like Jack Ruby plugging Lee Harvey Oswald, and squeezed the trigger at point-blank range. Click. The weapon didn’t fire.
    One can imagine Squeaky’s agony as a half dozen Secret Service agents swarmed her small body and knocked her to the ground. “It didn’t go off,” she wailed as the agents dragged her away. “Can you believe it? It didn’t go off.” Although she’d loaded the clip with four deadly rounds and popped it securely into place, she’d forgotten to slide the critical starter bullet directly into the chamber. Without the fifth slug, the only way the big gun could have fired was by snapping back the entire upper chamber and spring-loading it the hard way, a process that’s difficult for many men, much less a one-hundred-pound woman. Familiar with weapons from her heavily armed, desert-rat days, Squeaky’s baffling oversight can only be explained by fate. Ford’s number just wasn’t up.
    One of the agents, Larry Buendorf, came away from the fracas with a cut on the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger, indicating that the determined Squeaky had pulled the trigger at least one more time during the struggle, slamming the hammer down on the alert Buendorf’s hand.
    If any doubt remained as to Squeaky’s true intentions, best pal Sandra Good immediately appeared to dispell them. Squeaky, Good proclaimed, was only the beginning. “We’re going to start assassinating presidents, vice presidents, and major executives of companies. I’m warning these people they better stop polluting or they’re going to die.”
    Ultimate failure aside, Squeaky did take her place in history as the first woman ever to try to assassinate an American president.
    Personally, Squeaky’s attempt came at the worst possible time for me. Despite Associate Warden Rinker’s unbending order, I’d yet to move Charlie back to his old, suffocating, high-security home. My plan was to run it by Warden Rees first. Now all hell had broken loose. Rinker led a team of FBI and Secret Service agents to the Adjustment Center to interrogate Charlie. The hotheaded Rinker flew into a rage when he discovered Manson wasn’t there. He gathered a squad of security goons, charged over to B section, and banged on the locked door. “I’m taking Manson out of here, and don’t anybody try to stop me!” he bellowed, intoxicated by his authority. The prison SWAT team, known as “gooners,” marched through the halls, stormed Manson’s cell, swung the door open, and ordered him out.
    “What for?” Charlie asked, unaware of what had happened in Sacramento. A pair of officers rushed into the cell, grabbed Manson, and threw him violently against the screen just outside his unit,