A conversation with Steve Grogan.....

The mis-spelled words were not changed to protect the guilty.  HA HA. 

This transcribed telephone conversation took place between Steve Grogan and Paul Watkins, shortly after Grogan was released on parole in 1985.

(We decided to leave the "X's" in, as that is how it was originally transcribed)

XX:  Is Steve there?

Steve’s Mom:  Who’s calling

XX:  XX

Steve’s Mom:  Who?

XX:  XX

Steve’s Mom: I’ll see.

Steve Grogan:  Is this XX?

XX:  Yes.

Steve Grogan:  So what’s happening?

XX:  I thought I’d call and see how you were doing.

Steve Grogan:   I’m ok. It’s really surprising how expensive everything is now, you know, after being in the joint 15 years.

XX:  Yeah but things are easier now.

Steve Grogan:  So what are you doing, are you doing music?

XX: I’m living in a shack in the desert in Tecopa.

Steve Grogan:  Where?

XX: Tecopa.

Steve Grogan:  Topanga?

XX:  No,  Ta Ta Tecopa.

Steve Grogan:  Are you nervous?

XX:  No.

Steve Grogan:  Hey it’s cool, that’s all over.

XX:  Well, Charlie always did have a way of knowing everything.

Steve Grogan:  Well, it’s cool now-so what are you doing, are you doing music?

XX:  Not really – I did make a little a way back and now I’m living on it. What are you doing?

Steve Grogan:  I’m doing art work – I go in everyday and do art work. You know it’s against my parole to associate with anyone in the Family.

XX:  Well, if it’s not cool, maybe I shouldn’t be talking to you.

Steve Grogan:  I’ll tell them that you called me – I didn’t call you

XX:  You sure it’s OK?

Steve Grogan:  Hey didn’t I know you when we were kids?

XX:  Well I wouldn’t call it kids.

Steve Grogan:  Hey I was 17 back then.

XX:  Yeah but that’s not really kids.

Steve Grogan:  You know if I hadn’t got put in the joint I don’t know how far I would have gone. I sure was a crazy kid. I’ve been working with kids who are just like I was, theyre right into the same thing.

XX:  Yeah, will things ever change?

Steve Grogan:  I guess there are only two girls into that Manson thing now. I guess that’s all they got goin', is to hang onto that. You doing anything with music?

XX:  Well I saw Brooks last summer in Venice playing at a club.

Steve Grogan:  What’s his music like, is it fusion?

XX:  Not fusion – it’s sort of folk and a tinge of psychadelic.

Steve Grogan:  How’s Brooks doing?

XX:  He’s playing around a little – he’s really into his music.  You know how this is costing me a bit, maybe I should call you later. When are you there?

Steve Grogan:  I’m not here much, just in and out. You say you’re in Topanga?

XX:  No, Tacopa, out in the desert.

Steve Grogan:  How’s your father?

XX:  Oh he died a few years ago.

Steve Grogan:  Oh that’s too bad, you know what I really found out, your parents are really important to you. Mine stuck with through this whole thing. Is your Mom still out in Calabases?

XX:  I haven’t kept in touch with her for years. After my dad died she became reclucive.

Steve Grogan:  You should go see her, go find her, it’s important.

XX:  Maybe I should call you later like on the weekend, I might be able to use a friends phone.

Steve Grogan: Well OK, God bless you.

XX: Bye, bye.

Steve Grogan:  Bye

The Dichotomy of Evil: The Manson Girl Who Got Away

by Win McCormack

Written for Tin House magazine issue #31 - Spring 2007

Win McCormack interviews "Juanita Wildebush". 

Wildebush lived with Paul Watkins, Brooks Poston and Paul Crockett at Barker Ranch from October of 1968 - June 1969.

“Juanita” (not her actual name) was on a road trip from San Jose, California, to Mexico via Phoenix, Arizona. In Mexico she was going to try to reunite with her fiancé, from whom she was estranged. By her account, she had had a “harrowing afternoon” the day before, because her van had been broken into and her very expensive stereo system, which she had felt the immediate need to replace before the long trip ahead, stolen. Because of that and because of the state of her romantic relationship, she was, as are most people at the point they are inducted into cult organizations, in an emotionally fragile and vulnerable state. South of San Jose, she stopped to pick up a pregnant-looking hitchhiker who turned out to be accompanied by two men. All three were from the Manson Family. The woman was Susan Atkins, later one of the Tate-LaBianca killers.

The essence of Juanita’s story is this: she got into the Manson cult by accident, and she got out, nine months later, not long before the murders, by another stroke of fate, in that case probably a stroke of great luck as well. The interview was conducted circa 1984–85. At that time, Juanita was happily married and a successfully practicing professional.

 

Win McCormack: So, Susan Atkins was the first Manson Family member you met, when you picked her and two male companions up hitchhiking in Northern California. What was she like?

 

Juanita: I knew her as Sadie Mae Glutz. Sadie was a kid, a twenty-something-year-old kid. I have lots of real fond memories of her. It destroys me when I think about what happened to her, because she tried real hard to do the right thing. Sort of screwed up all along the line in her choices. Sadie was in the passenger’s seat, and the guys were in the back. I remember her talking about their musical group. That was their story. They were all members of a band, and their band’s name was the Family Jams.

I remember TJ [Thomas Walleman, or “TJ the Terrible”] saying, “Oh yes, we record with Dennis Wilson and the Beach Boys and we use their studios.” Dennis Wilson was very much a part of the “peripheral family.” I remember Sadie telling me very intently what a wonderful group it was and how neat, how much it meant to her, and how it really worked as her family. I talked to her about Mexico and how I was engaged to a guy living there. This was the end of September 1968. I was going to be twenty-four the next month. She talked to me about how wonderful this place was where they lived near Los Angeles. She talked with the fervor of somebody who’d been converted.

 

WM: Tell me about your first encounter with Charles Manson.

 

Juanita: My intention had been to drop the three of them off and to drive on to Phoenix on the way to Mexico to hook up with my fiancé. I totally misjudged how long it would take to drive the length of California, and so by the time we drove into Spahn’s Movie Ranch near Los Angeles, I was exhausted. They said, “Why don’t you stay here?” There was a whole sort of facade of Western town buildings and then off to the right was a trailer with its lights on. Everybody said, “Let’s go get Charlie, let’s wake up Charlie,” and everyone went running in. Charlie came out naked. He had been making love to a woman named Gypsy, and she also came out naked. Nobody reacted to that. Nobody thought anything of this. It seemed like the most noticeable thing to me. Everyone was hugging each other, everybody was so happy to see everybody else. They said, “Oh, look what we found, look who we found,” and introduced me to Charlie. And he came over and put his arms around me and said how glad he was. Of course, this was the ’60s, when everybody was hugging, but there really was a lot of love around that trailer. There was real bonding. It’s that same kind of stuff, that same kind of open and unthinking love that you see in the face of a Moonie. Charlie got a guitar out and everybody started singing. It was just wonderful fun, but it was very clear that nobody had any talent. I felt perfectly comfortable with them. That night, Charlie asked if he could spend the night with me in the camper and I told him no. He let me know that I was being selfish and self-centered and that there was a deficit in my character.

 

Click Below to Read the Rest of the Interview...

 

MARTHA WATKINS

Martha Watkins (Paul's Wife) with "Spike"

Martha Writes:

"My best friend, Spike, is a big, short-haired mixed hound of some sort, and he has been at my side for almost 18 years. He is older than my oldest child. I got Spike shortly before the birth of my now-nearly-16-year-old daughter. He was already perhaps two years old. The woman at the animal shelter said I should not take him because he was 'vicious.' When I asked her how she knew that, she said the folks that brought him him spoke only Spanish and said, 'Combative, combative.' I looked at Spike (a name he had already been given at the pound). He looked at me. I could tell by his face, there was absolutely no way this huge, muscular 90-pounder was a mean dog. After a while, in the cage with him, I said, this is my dog. He was too big to fit in my jeep with all the groceries I had just bought, so I had to drive the 30 miles home, leave my groceries, and drive back to get him. Before I went back for him, I bought a leash.

"Spike was my constant companion from then on. I had a little rock shop and ran the local Museum just outside Death Valley National Park, where Spike became a fixture. Bus tours would stop, and the tour guides would always bring a treat for Spike, much to the delight of the tourists. Spike also had a route where he knew the townfolk would leave little treats for him, and he absolutely adored the waitress in the little cafe next store. She would often save a piece of left-over meat for him. Sometimes, I would become very busy at work with a grant deadline, so I would try to 'hide' the fact that I was there by parking my car behind the building. I enjoyed talking with people, but sometimes I just had to lock myself in the back office and work. Without fail, people would still come around the back and stop in. Finally, it dawned on me how they always knew I was there: Spike was out front giving me away!

"My second daughter was three weeks old when her father was diagnosed with cancer. He was 35. While he underwent treatment in Los Angeles, I took care of two tiny girls and tried to maintain our business. Every four days for nearly a year, I would pack up my girls and Spike and drive the 300 miles to Los Angeles to be with my husband. During this ordeal, I would sometimes find I needed to sit on the floor with Spike and just hang on his neck and cry. He was a strong dog, and could easily support me. My husband got better for a few years, and, at one point told me, 'You like that dog better than you do me!' He was jealous! I didn't say it, but I thought, 'Maybe so.'

"My daughters were three and four years old when my husband was diagnosed with leukemia, caused by the radiation he had been given for the first cancer. I could not believe that God would be so unbelievably cruel as to make us go through this twice. Thus began the long days while my husband underwent a bone marrow transplant. Again, for nearly a year, I drove from Death Valley to Los Angeles once a week -- two little girls, Spike and me. I would be so exhausted, sometimes I wouldn't use my head. Once, around 3:00 a.m., in a very bad part of Los Angeles, I pulled over to get something out of the back of the truck. The girls were asleep, and Spike was lying down in the truck bed. When I got out, I saw a group of Hispanic teenagers, all young men, approaching me. As they began to surround the truck, I realized I certainly had made a mistake and was gripped with fear. At that very moment, Spike sprung to life, barking furiously. The men backed away immediately, and I quickly jumped in the truck and took off. Thanks, buddy!

"My husband died just short of his fortieth birthday, leaving me to fend alone with two small children. Again, Spike was my consoler, protector and constant friend. I moved to a larger town, which is where Spike began having a problem with female dogs. They would actually come to my yard in a pack. Spike got into some pretty bad scrapes. One day, I went outside to find him lying on the patio, not moving. I said, 'Get up, buddy! You gonna sleep all day?' Spike slowly struggled to his feet. As he stood, I was horrified to see a huge pool of blood under him. He had been shot, and the bullet had ripped a huge hole in his side. I yelled for my then-boyfriend (later to become my husband), who picked up the mighty dog in one fell swoop. We rushed him to the vet. The bullet had gone in just under his spine from one side, barely missed all his vital organs, and exited the other side, leaving a huge hole. When he recovered from this ordeal, at the ripe old age of 12, I had Spike neutered. It worked, and his problem with female dogs was solved.

"Later on, we built a dog run for Spike. My new husband wanted to make the fence six feet tall, as Spike was a champion jumper. I said, 'He's too old; he can't jump anymore.' After much debate, the fence was built five feet tall. As I watched out the back, my husband went around front and hit the side of the truck, which was Spike's signal to go for a ride. I was amazed to watch my 'too old' dog clear the fence from a dead stand-still with no effort at all.

"Now I have another daughter, age seven, and I am teaching my oldest to drive. Spike still occasionally goes for a ride with us, but he has to be helped in and out of the car. He is 18 and failing fast. I am faced with one of my worst fears -- having to decide if it is time for him to die. I often pray the decision will not be mine. But, as he struggles to move, I know it will fall on me. While contemplating this recently, I began to weep quietly. Spike was sleeping in the bedroom; he has lost much of his hearing and it is hard for him to move. Much to my amazement, he came walking in from the other room and put his head in my lap. How does he know?" Contributed by Martha Watkins, Pahrump, NV, January 2000.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sad update on Spike: "On January 20, 2000, I went out to call Spike in from the front yard, where he had been lying. I could see that he wanted to come to me, he just couldn't. My daughters and I carried him into the house, put him in his favorite spot (right by my desk where I frequently work) and covered him with a blanket. It was apparent the end was at hand. We all stayed with him, petting him. My two older girls were so compassionate, which, at ages 14 and 15, is not usual. My 7-year-old daughter simply wailed. Hearing her cries, Spike tried with all his might to get up to comfort her. I told the girls now was the time to say their good-byes and, one by one, they had a private moment with the dog who had been with them all their lives. Then I asked them to leave me with him a moment. I put my head on his mighty chest and told him it was okay to go. I said we would be fine, and I would see him when I came over. He took three breaths and he was gone. In the end, he had spared me my worst fear -- that of having to decide it was time for him to die. I had even made an appointment with the vet for the following morning. He didn't suffer and went peacefully and quickly. My husband came home to find us all weeping, and, when I told him Spike was gone, he began to weep also. Then he took a shovel and went out into the dark to dig the grave for our beautiful dog. I plan to plant a tree and some flowers near his grave in the spring. Our 4-year-old Rotweiller is listless and sad, wandering around as if to find Spike. Today I watched her go out and lay her head on his grave. After a few moments, she began doing something I cannot explain. She walked around picking up rocks and carried them to Spike's grave."

Update, April 12, 2000: "We did adopt a new dog -- a large Rottweiler and Golden Lab mix with a cropped tail. We call him 'Oberon.' He was at the pound and was terrified..... just cowered in the corner of the cage. It has been wonderful to see his personality unfold, as he is the subject of a great deal of affection now. We have all grown very fond of him. But there will never be another dog like Spike."

Article Submitted by Lynn!  Photos Submitted by Kimchi!
Thanks Ladies!  You ROCK!

http://www.srdogs.com/Pages/sdrl.s2.html

For more information about Pet Adoption, please follow this link:

https://www.homeoanimal.com/the-ultimate-guide-to-pet-adoption