Charles Manson: The City of Angels or Demons?

[00:00:13] Welcome to Crime Time Inc, where we, two former murder squad detectives, take you beyond the headlines and into these investigations. Every crime scene tells a story. Every piece of evidence reveals a truth. Sometimes the most revealing cases are the ones we thought we knew all about.

[00:00:34] Some episodes contain discussions of real crimes that may include graphic descriptions of violence, criminal behavior, and references of a sexual nature that some listeners may find disturbing. The details presented are included for factual accuracy and to provide a complete understanding of the investigation as experienced by law enforcement. Listener discretion is strongly advised.

[00:01:02] Welcome to Crime Time Inc. This is episode four of the Charles Manson Story, and I'm your host for today. Los Angeles didn't always look like the cultural powerhouse we know today. Back in its early days, it was a modest seaport town that flourished thanks to the California gold rush and an oil boom.

[00:01:31] The annexation of the fertile San Fernando Valley turned L.A. into an agricultural Eden, but even then it was a city shaped by rigid class and racial divides. From the start, conservative business leaders controlled everything from the economy to urban expansion, ensuring that where you lived defined who you were. The city's racial dynamics shifted during World War II, when new government policies forbidding discrimination in federal jobs

[00:01:58] brought an influx of African American workers to L.A. Thousands arrived each week, drawn by the promise of good wages. But discriminatory housing laws forced many into the overcrowded, under-resourced community of Watts in south-central L.A., a place that came to be nicknamed Mudtown. While African Americans faced barriers, another group was enthusiastically welcomed, Hollywood's showbiz crowd.

[00:02:24] In the early 1900s, Hollywood transformed from a quiet suburb into the epicenter of American filmmaking, a shift solidified by the release of the first talkie, the jazz singer, in 1927. This marked a seismic cultural change as L.A. became the heart of radio, television, and motion pictures. By the 1950s, the city's rugged hills served as the perfect backdrop for the booming TV western genre.

[00:02:50] The entertainment industry wasn't just a creative hub, it became an economic powerhouse for L.A. Despite disapproval from some of the city's conservative leaders, the industry brought jobs, tourism, and influence. But with this success came a need for pragmatism when it came to vice. Celebrities could indulge in their excesses largely without consequence, thanks to the city's most infamous institution, the Los Angeles Police Department.

[00:03:19] The LAPD, notorious for corruption throughout the 1930s and 1940s, was reformed, or so it seemed, when Chief Bill Parker took charge in 1950. Parker promised to clean up the department, and he kept a hard line against bribery. However, his tenure was marked by an equally hard line against minorities. Under Parker, the LAPD remained overwhelmingly white, with many officers coming straight from the military or southern states,

[00:03:48] bringing deeply ingrained biases with them. Applicants sympathetic to civil rights were weeded out during hiring, and officers were openly taught that figures like Martin Luther King Jr. were communist-backed threats to order. LAPD officers were encouraged to maintain control by any means necessary, especially in minority neighborhoods, where excessive force was routine and rarely punished. For Parker, rising arrest numbers mattered more than crime prevention programs.

[00:04:18] To him and the city council, arrests were concrete proof of success, something they could sell to taxpayers. But there was a different rule book when it came to the city's elite. Hollywood stars and their families were treated with kid gloves. Drunken driving, bar fights, or other misdemeanors were quietly smoothed over by officers, who were expected to recognize celebrities on sight and ensure they avoided scandal. For the LAPD, keeping the stars shining brightly in the public eye

[00:04:47] was just part of the job. It was a night of carefree mischief in the early 1960s when four teenage boys decided to hit the streets of Los Angeles. Behind the wheel of the car was Terry Melcher, the son of Hollywood icon Doris Day. Riding shotgun was Dean Martin Jr., better known to his friends simply as Dino. In the backseat sat Dennis Wilson, a working-class kid from Hawthorne

[00:05:17] whose band, The Beach Boys, had just landed their first pop chart hit. Beside him was Greg Jacobson, not yet a music industry figure, but along for the ride thanks to his friendship with the others. The group made their way to a residential construction zone perched above Beverly Hills. Melcher parked the car, and he and Dino got out. From the trunk, they retrieved a massive Magnum handgun. With a smirk, Melcher announced, I'm going to get it sighted in,

[00:05:44] before opening fire on a row of newly installed streetlights. The booms echoed through the hills as glass shattered with each shot. The fun was short-lived, however. Just as Melcher was lining up his next target, an LAPD cruiser came speeding toward them, sirens wailing and lights flashing. Dennis and Jacobson, still in the backseat, froze. They'd grown up hearing stories about the LAPD's heavy-handed tactics. Their hearts raced as they braced for what they were sure

[00:06:14] would be a rough encounter. What they didn't understand was why Melcher and Dino seemed so calm, standing casually on the street as the officers approached. The younger officer emerged from the squad car, clearly on edge, one hand gripping the butt of his holstered gun. But his older partner, the sergeant, stepped in front of him, his demeanor remarkably composed. With a faint smile, the sergeant addressed Melcher with a surprising greeting. Hello, Mr. Melcher.

[00:06:43] Melcher gave a nod of acknowledgement, while Dino chimed in, Nice evening, officer. The sergeant sighed, as though what he had to say next was a mere formality. You know, we have to confiscate your gun, he said, holding out his hand for the weapon. Then, with a reassuring tone, he added, You can come by the station tomorrow to pick it up. After a word of caution for Melcher to drive carefully, the officers returned to their patrol car and drove off, the whole interaction lasting mere moments.

[00:07:14] Melcher and Dino laughed as they climbed back into the car, but Dennis and Jacobson were stunned. Jacobson later reflected on that moment. That's when I learned there was a completely different set of rules, a different sense of justice in L.A. for the rich. Dennis and I were scared out of our minds, but Terry and Dino, they knew they were royalty. That's what celebrity status gave you in L.A.

[00:07:43] As Los Angeles expanded, so did the gap between its wealthiest residents and its poorest. The city's sprawling freeways were more than just transportation arteries. They became barriers that segregated communities. In particular, off-ramps were strategically limited to make access to affluent areas more difficult, reinforcing divisions. Without reliable public transportation, and with many poorer residents unable to afford cars, vast portions of the city became inaccessible,

[00:08:13] effectively isolating those deemed undesirable. This segregation wasn't accidental. It was part of a larger plan to keep L.A. orderly and to help law enforcement monitor high-crime areas. But while much of the city thrived, the conditions in Watts continued to deteriorate. For residents of this 46-square-mile neighborhood, opportunities were scarce. Adults faced bleak prospects. Defense industry jobs had vanished, leaving three-quarters of adult men unemployed

[00:08:42] and six out of ten families reliant on welfare. Meanwhile, the younger generation, cut off from the beaches, clubs, and recreational opportunities enjoyed by their white counterparts, was left with little to do. Gangs filled the void, fighting bitterly over crumbling streets, despite efforts by groups like the Black Panthers to broker peace. Daily reminders of systemic oppression loomed large in Watts, with police patrols a constant and often hostile presence.

[00:09:11] It was a community on edge, and in the sweltering heat of August 11, 1965, the tension finally boiled over. That evening, California Highway Patrol Officer Lee Minicus pulled over 21-year-old Marquette Fry for drunk driving. The initial interaction was surprisingly lighthearted. Fry even laughed while failing the field sobriety test. A small crowd gathered to watch, but there was no sign of trouble. Everything changed when Fry's mother and brother arrived.

[00:09:40] Their heated accusations sparked shouting from Fry himself. The rising voices agitated the crowd, which quickly swelled in size and intensity. Minicus radioed for backup, but by the time more officers arrived, the situation was spiraling out of control. What began as a routine traffic stop erupted into the Watts Riots, a six-day uprising that left 34 people dead, over 1,000 injured, and caused $40 million in property damage.

[00:10:10] Looting, arson, and clashes with police engulfed the neighborhood, with an estimated 30,000 residents participating. The LAPD, overwhelmed and underprepared, suffered significant losses. Every one of the 103 patrol cars deployed during the riot was damaged. The National Guard was called in, deploying 14,000 troops to restore order. But the violence only subsided when the rioters ran out of energy. And targets. Nearly every business in Watts had been gutted.

[00:10:40] Though race riots were not unprecedented in America, the Watts Riots struck a deep chord nationwide. Los Angeles, with its reputation for sunshine, glamour, and easy living, seemed an unlikely backdrop for such destruction. If a city like L.A. could burn, many feared. Any city could. In the aftermath, California Governor Pat Brown commissioned a report on the riots, which bluntly warned of deeper issues, the growing divide between rich and poor, and black and white.

[00:11:09] It concluded with an ominous prediction that another uprising could occur if these inequalities weren't addressed. But for LAPD Chief William Parker, the riots were an opportunity. On television, he played to white fears, using the devastation in Watts to rally support for a more aggressive police force. In one chilling statement, Parker warned, By 1970, it is estimated that 45% of the metropolitan area of Los Angeles will be Negro.

[00:11:37] If you want any protection for your home, you're going to have to get in and support a strong police department. If you don't, come 1970, God help you. In Watts, life went on exactly as before, but with charred rubble on virtually every corner. Parker's scare tactics worked. And race-related paranoia spread beyond the ghetto. After Parker died of a heart attack in July 1966, he collapsed at an awards dinner in his honor.

[00:12:06] His successor, Tom Redden, dutifully carried on his policies. When black outsiders turned up in white neighborhoods at any hour, it became routine for nervous residents to call the cops, and the police instantly responded. Blacks living in Watts were used to being stopped by cops and questioned about what they might be up to. Now, blacks in every part of Los Angeles found themselves fair game for arbitrary stops and interrogations.

[00:12:35] Whites venturing into Watts were also pulled over. But in these cases, the cops would warn them to lock their car doors, drive out fast, and not even stop for red lights because their lives were in danger. An ominous sense of ever-imminent racial violence settled over much of the city, like the infamous brown L.A. smog. It wasn't the in-your-face tension of major eastern cities like New York, where every subway ride offered opportunities for racial conflict.

[00:13:02] In many parts of L.A., blacks and whites rarely came into contact. But the feeling didn't go away. By the mid-1960s, Los Angeles had earned a reputation for more than just racial unrest. It was also becoming the epicenter of yet another art form, one that would soon rival film and television in cultural influence. Recorded music. L.A. had long dominated Hollywood, but now it was poised to claim the music industry as well,

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[00:14:06] This shift began in the 1950s, when movie studios identified teenagers as a lucrative audience, distinct from their parents. Films like Rebel Without a Cause tapped into this burgeoning youth culture, but the trend went beyond the silver screen. These movies often featured soundtracks that celebrated California's sunny skies, surf culture, and carefree lifestyle. California-based artists began to carve out their niche in this new market.

[00:14:34] Instrumental surf rock bands like the Chantais and the Surfaris found national success, while TV teen idol Ricky Nelson churned out hit after hit in L.A. studios. Then came the Beach Boys, whose songs about surfing, hot rods, and youthful rebellion became the soundtrack of the era. Though the Beatles revolutionized pop music in 1964, the West Coast wasn't about to be overshadowed.

[00:14:59] Los Angeles producers and musicians recognized the profit potential in this evolving market and worked to create their own brand of pop stardom. With a wealth of local talent, they had plenty of options. Brian Wilson, Randy Newman, Frank Zappa, and Phil Spector were just a few of the artists who grew up in or around L.A., ready to shape its musical legacy. Even children of Hollywood's elite joined the scene. Nancy Sinatra became a star in her own right,

[00:15:28] while Dean Martin Jr. and Desi Arnaz Jr. formed the group Dino, Desi, and Billy. Terry Melcher, son of Doris Day, also found success producing and performing in surf bands. The shift in dominance was undeniable. In 1963, records produced in New York topped the charts for a combined 26 weeks, while Los Angeles singles held the number one spot for just three weeks.

[00:15:54] But by 1965, L.A. had flipped the script, leading the charts for 20 weeks, with New York managing only a single week at the top. Los Angeles was no longer just the city of movies and TV. It was fast becoming the heart of the American music industry, shaping trends and defining what the world listened to. Television reinforced L.A.'s new supremacy. In 1964, Dick Clark moved his popular American bandstand program from Philadelphia to Los Angeles.

[00:16:22] Soon, three more network dance shows broadcast from L.A. Where the Action Is ABC, Shindig ABC, and Hullabaloo NBC. At the movies, in their cars listening to the radio, at home watching TV, California-based music, often with California-centric lyrics, permeated the lives of American teens. Initially, it seemed that the latest singing stars would not be much different from the preceding generation, essentially clean-cut kids singing about young love

[00:16:50] and, in the case of surf music, having appropriate outdoor fun. The most conservative parents would have allowed TV and recording star Ricky Nelson to date their daughters. But the emergence of the counterculture resulted in a significant change in the growing youth music market. It was impossible to be certain whether hairy message music would be a brief fad or a long-term phenomenon, but L.A. record executives didn't care.

[00:17:18] There was a clear change in the critical youth market, and they moved to meet it. Hordes of wannabe musicians made their way to L.A., certain that they were destined for stardom and desperate to land a recording contract. Many of them found their way to clubs along Sunset Strip that designated specific nights of the week for hopefuls to jump on stage and play one or two songs. The legendary Troubadour on Santa Monica Boulevard held open mic nights on Mondays.

[00:17:46] Future superstars like Roger McGuinn and David Crosby got their starts there. Others lucked into short stints as house bands. Johnny Rivers, The Doors, and Frank Zappa's Bizarre Mothers of Invention gained much of their early fame from regular appearances at the Whiskey A Go-Go. Record company talent scouts trolled the clubs on a nightly basis, often basing their signing decisions on the look more than the sound of an individual artist or a band.

[00:18:16] The musicians might consider their songs to be spiritual or social anthems, but to the record labels, the music was product. Many newly signed acts, entering a recording studio for the first time, were appalled to learn that most or all of the instrumental work, and even some of the vocals, would be provided by veteran studio musicians. Muffed chords and sloppy rhythm might be overlooked on stage if performers were charismatic enough. But for radio airplay,

[00:18:45] still the critical factor in sales, the sound had to be perfect. Given the multitudes panting for a chance to record, studio executives weren't inclined to be tactful. At Columbia, Terry Melcher and... At 22, already a veteran recording artist in his own right, was placed in charge of a promising band called The Birds, five refugees from the folk music scene who were set to record Dylan's Mr. Tambourine Man. Melcher quickly determined that only singer McGuinn

[00:19:14] was a competent enough instrumentalist to play on the track. The four other birds were told to step aside for studio musicians, then and in several subsequent sessions. When the drummer complained, Melcher gave him a choice, shut up or get out. The drummer shut up, and Mr. Tambourine Man was a number one hit. In this, as in most cases, record producers knew what they were doing. No unproven artists were allowed to do as they pleased in the studio. The bottom line,

[00:19:43] the only factor that ultimately mattered, was whether someone could sell enough records or not. Genius on the artist part, whether genuine or self-perceived, didn't matter a damn. For those musicians who came to L.A. and made it big, stardom and all its perks were instantaneous. After one hit, especially if more of the same seemed in store, record companies offered substantial advances on future royalties. Many of the newly wealthy had no concept of money beyond spending it fast.

[00:20:14] Overnight pop stars gleefully snapped up mansions previously owned by film legends. After California Dreamin' became a smash hit in February 1966, the Mamas and the Papas' husband-wife team of John and Michelle Phillips bought the spacious Bel Air Road former home of Jeanette McDonald. who had died in January 1965. During the 1930s and 1940s, McDonald starred in 29 feature films, four nominated for Best Picture Oscars, and recorded extensively,

[00:20:44] earning three gold records. She later appeared in opera, concerts, radio, and television. McDonald was one of the most influential sopranos of the 20th century, introducing opera to film-going audiences and inspiring a generation of singers. Not to be outdone, John and Michelle's bandmates, Denny Doherty and Cass Elliott, respectively purchased the glamorous residences of Mary Astor and Natalie Wood. The overweight Elliott couldn't resist

[00:21:12] also treating herself to a flashy new red Porsche, even though she was unable to wedge herself into it. L.A. music veterans with strings of hits, written, performed, or produced, also paid their way into the toniest L.A. territory. Beach Boys songwriter and leader Brian Wilson bought a Bel Air mansion and promptly outraged his stodgier neighbors by painting it purple. His brother Dennis rented a luxurious log cabin hunting lodge originally owned by Will Rogers,

[00:21:42] once the highest-paid actor in Hollywood, near the far west end of Sunset Boulevard. Terry Melcher and his girlfriend, actress Candice Bergen, daughter of radio and TV star Edgar Bergen, rented a smaller residence at the top of steep Cielo Drive in the Benedict Canyon area. The house, owned by agent-to-the-stars Rudy Altobelli, whose clients included Henry Fonda and Catherine Hepburn, was distinguished by its magnificent view of the sprawling city below.

[00:22:11] Not all the new generation of music heavyweights felt drawn to luxury living. Some preferred country life, or at least what passed for it on the L.A. scene. Topanga, west of an extensive state park, but still within easy driving distance of the strip and city recording studios, was a hilly alternative, and Laurel Canyon offered pleasantly rustic touches like a general store. Picture yourself cruising down memory lane with me on a neon-lit journey through 1960s Los Angeles,

[00:22:41] Venice Beach, Santa Monica, Malibu, where sun seekers and surf enthusiasts found their slice of paradise. But the real action? That was happening on the Sunset Strip. The strip was where magic happened nightly. You'd walk into the whiskey or the troubadour, and there'd be L.A.'s biggest stars just hanging out, sipping drinks, mingling with fans like it was no big deal. The streets were alive with young energy, but wouldn't you know it,

[00:23:09] the authorities had other plans. Fall of 66 brought the hammer down. The LAPD and Sheriff's Office dusted off some old curfew law saying anyone under 18 had to clear out by 10 p.m. Then came the real kicker. Word got out that county supervisors were thinking about bulldozing part of the strip for a freeway. When they announced plans to demolish Pandora's box, a favorite local hangout, well, that was the last straw.

[00:23:37] Now, let me paint you a picture of that November night. 300 young protesters surrounded Pandora's box. Sure, someone flipped a city bus, but these weren't the same kind of protests we'd seen in Watts. These were mostly well-off white kids raising hell because their nightlife was being threatened. The LAPD wasn't taking any chances, though. Out came the billy clubs, and the arrests started piling up. Here's where it gets interesting. Up until then, most of L.A.'s white musicians

[00:24:07] hadn't really jumped into protest songs. Frank Zappa tried after Watts, but it was Stephen Stills of Buffalo Springfield who really captured this moment. His song, For What It's Worth, you know the one about battle lines being drawn, shot to number seven on the charts. Suddenly, L.A.'s music scene was front and center in what the media was calling a generational revolt. By April 67, even CBS was paying attention. They aired Inside Pop, The Rock Revolution,

[00:24:37] with, get this, Leonard Bernstein hosting. The Byrds McGinn told viewers they were fighting a kind of psychological guerrilla warfare against the establishment. But by late 67, something darker was brewing in Los Angeles. Joan Didion captured it perfectly. There was this creeping unease, like anything could happen, but nobody wanted to talk about it. The Santa Ana winds weren't helping, howling through the city at 100 miles per hour, drying everything to a crisp.

[00:25:07] Raymond Chandler once wrote that these winds made meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands' necks. And right in the middle of all this tension, who should blow back into town but Charlie Manson, bringing with him a storm that would change L.A. forever. This is Crime Time, Inc. My name is Alex and I am passing you over to our resident crime experts for their analysis of this episode.

[00:25:37] I'll be back with episode five where we will be reacquainted with Bobby Beausoleil and we meet the beach boy who is pivotal to the whole Manson story. Alex, thank you very much. Episode four was fantastic and you raise our expectations because we think it can't get any better and it does. Simon, what did you think? Incredible, Tom. I was thinking about you because everything we do on Crime Time, Inc., the foundation of it really is on your original...

[00:26:05] What you do is write books and put crime into the social context. I'm thinking about Birkenhead. I'm thinking about Ruxton. None of these are just stories. They're saying a certain time and a certain period of time in history and it's great to learn what was going on, what the environment was like politically and for people's lives at that time. And that's what Alex done here. He set the 60s up for us perfectly and created this environment

[00:26:34] where a predator was at home. The opportunities for Manson were incredible. Absolutely. I really enjoyed the way he told the story of the development of the famous LAPD, Los Angeles Police Department, and their new Chief Parker, who comes in like a hurricane taking over from an old and corrupt regime and he sets it up. And what that becomes, it becomes a very, very aggressive force. And of course,

[00:27:03] that leads directly to the Watts riots. And we've covered the Watts riots, of course, in previous podcasts. So it's interesting to see all these building blocks coming together. But I really didn't get my head around just the size and the difficulty of the Watts riots. There were 30,000 people involved. 30,000 people. I know what you were worried about. You were worried about the 122 police cars that were damaged.

[00:27:32] I knew you were counting the cost of that right away. Once you've had control of the budget for these things, Simon, it's difficult to give it up, I must admit. No, no, what did you do that for? Instead of there being some sort of investigation and questions asked about how that will happen, what Parker does, Parker doubles down and actually says, yeah, this has happened and I'll tell you what, if you don't want even more of this, you've got to support the police.

[00:28:00] So instead of questions being asked about how this arose, he actually makes it into a virtue and gets more resources. I've got to say, I don't admire his tactics, but you've got to say that he played a pretty shrewd hand in that one. It was echoes of your old pal, Percy Sillator there, wasn't there, when he came in. Tom, can I just ask you, as Deputy Chief Constable, there's always a perception not just in the police, but in the business world and all walks of life that when a new boss

[00:28:30] comes in, a new chief or a new head of department or whatever, then he likes to do things his way and get rid of old habits. Is that your experience through a long career as a senior police officer? Not so much with chief constables because they're smarter than that. But down the rags a bit to chief inspector, superintendent, superintendent, that's a very common thing. Unfortunately, what they do, of course, is they sweep away a lot of good practice

[00:29:00] along with bad practice and then you see over the next year or two them building it back and claiming it to be something new. That's the classic pattern. Yeah. When you come in, everything that went before you is obsolete, everything that went before you is old-fashioned, everything that went before you is not fit for purpose, so you sweep it away and you see the same thing coming back with a different title, having reinvented by somebody. Unfortunately, you see this cycle

[00:29:29] because the truth of the matter is that one of the problems with police service is we do not have an institutional memory and so every generation has to make the same mistakes and come to the same conclusions and that is one of our tragedies. Academia, for instance, they write up all their learning so that they do pass it on. Yes. That's part of their culture but unfortunately it's not something we do and I'm amazed just recently

[00:29:58] I saw a piece coming in through Police Scotland saying that they were going to close down a lot of police stations and they were going to establish community points of contact. That would be the same as the old police boxes. The old police boxes. That would be the same as the old police boxes. I saw a thing today about retail crime they're going to create a squad nationwide to deal with shoplifting, Tom. Yeah. We used to have the shoplifting squad

[00:30:28] the plainclothes squad used to deal with that. We had a shoplifting squad operating for many years. Yeah, so it comes back to the father of British criminology was a man called Rudzinovich Professor Rudzinovich and Rudzinovich's great wisdom was that the only new ideas are those that have already been forgotten. I like that. Yeah, the more you go through the more you realise he was spot on he was right. Absolutely right. Tom, a bit about episode four that I really loved

[00:30:58] and I'm sure you did too because it's all part of our memory banks and our parents' memory banks too. This was also new was the music scene in LA that moved there at the same time from New York and was born alongside Hollywood which was well established there since the movie started in Hollywood with the jazz singer and Speakeys. That whole thing the studio the music industry the attraction there's your attraction again of people being drawn in

[00:31:27] who are creative who are out on the fringes of what we would think of the fringes of society and I think Ali brought that out brilliantly because don't forget Charles Manson considered himself a musician he thought he was going to be a star. I didn't really appreciate before I listened to this that it was only at this time where recorded music was born but before this time it had been live music played over radio

[00:31:56] so bands and people like Elvis Presley would play to a microphone recorded music and the kind of music that we have been brought up with all started here and you start to have groups like the Mamas and the Papas which I absolutely loved the Beach Boys who of course have a serious walk-on part to the story as it goes forward and it wasn't just that it was the birth of recorded music it was the fabulous wealth that came as a consequence of that and again

[00:32:26] you can see this being an enormous attraction to everybody who wanted to make their fortune and the people like Manson who had a high regard for his musical abilities and who still thought he could make it absolutely fascinating there's lots of things about music recording and what not technology changes over the years that we don't ever hear about much now but McCartney was a real exponent these guys were real exponents of new technology back then for instance

[00:32:55] when Love Me Do came out the Beatles recorded that by playing it together together and recording it in one track that was it it went out but they maybe tried it four or five or a hundred times in fact they got a different drummer in to do the drums because they weren't happy with Ringo's drumming on it but it's one take in effect it's in the studio and it's one take multi-track was still to come at that point so it's fascinating that social environment at the time let's finish up there then Tom because

[00:33:25] to be honest I can't wait to hear episode five but I thought that what he did cleverly as well was let us know what Manson's end game is here because he starts recruiting he gets his bus he gets his vehicle he trades his piano that he was given for transport you always tell us that serial killers needed reliable transport it seems that was true even in the 60s to have a cult you needed a bus and he starts recruiting these females and a couple

[00:33:55] of males as well but predominantly females Mary Brunner the first one mother of his child Lynette from she met him in Venice Beach Susan Atkins a dancer that joined after meeting them in a commune communes is another thing that we could talk about all day they were a real thing at the time Patricia Krenwinkel who left college to follow Manson who started to introduce these people he's picking them up as he goes along and you identified

[00:34:24] the traits that Manson's looking for in these people didn't you last week he's looking for people that are cracked but not broken people who are not too high maintenance but at the same time vulnerable and susceptible to his controls what I think was interesting though was I don't know if you picked it up was that he started to be very selective about his followers and he went for one girl particularly because she was very attractive because he could use her to lure other people in

[00:34:53] so there's a very manipulative side to all of this this is not Charles Manson ricocheting through life having a good time and just happening to come across these people this is a deliberate course of action a deliberate plan of his to actually gather power and influence and bring to his following and his absolute obedience that was the point absolute obedience people who

[00:35:23] he can manipulate it's a fascinating study in human psychology and the power that some of these people with very basic techniques can hold over vulnerable people I don't think I've heard it in the podcast yet and I'm probably pre-empting a future episode but I remember it being known as the Manson family do you think he was trying to create that family in his mind that he never had I'm not sure about that

[00:35:53] I think what he was trying perhaps yes there could be a point in that but what he's actually trying to do is become the head of the family and become the person who people obey unquestioningly and of course as we'll later find out that's exactly what he did brilliant Tom I'm going to go and phone Alec and tell me hurry up with these episodes well you tell him well done well done and tell Alec look by any slip of a scalpel there is a

[00:36:21] I think Alec could be promoted into your chair that's what I think Simon on that note I might see you next week thanks Tom good luck good night bye you've been listening to Crime Time Inc where the investigation never truly ends if you like this episode

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[00:37:21] case information presented in this series visit crimetimeinc.com for more information about us join us next time for another great true crime episode