Last night's British crime movie was "The Hand"(1960). Calling Oliver Stone! How many "The Hand"s are there, anyway? The late, great (but deceptive) Mr. D blew his mind on Stone's 1980 "Hand", but that had only One Hand in it, albeit a crawling one. This "The Hand" has a truckload of Hands, all getting chopped off at the hands (pun) of the Japanese in a POW camp in Burma, circa 1944. A group of British soldiers have been captured in the jungle, and the very evil camp commandant wants more than their names, ranks, and serial numbers. None of them will talk, however, and it costs them their hands (el choppo!). The last one to be interrogated is the British captain. We don't know what happens to him.
Cut (another pun) to the present, 1960. An old street alcoholic is found near death, sans hand, and when taken to the hospital, he has quite a tale to tell, of being offered 500 pounds for his hand. "I thought it were a joke, but then......". But then he found himself hijacked and taken to a remote hospital, where his hand was surgically removed. He did get paid (thank goodness for small favors), but he's lost a lot of blood. He's able to give the cops a name - "Mr. Roberts" - but then he's not in his room the next day and is found murdered. I must cut in to say, that - while you'll enjoy the movie, the reason for the hand operation is never explained. You'll go "what was that all about?" at the end. Anyhow, the cops are now looking for this elusive "Mr. Roberts". The first guy they wanna talk to is the surgeon who performed the operation. When they find him, he shoots himself rather than talk. His cousin, one "Dr. Crawshaw" (Derek Bond), arrives to defend his reputation. "My cousin was an honorable man. I'll not let you sully him!"
Because he doth protest to much, the cops become interested in Dr. Crawshaw. Associates of his are located, men named Borden and Adams, but as one IMDB-er noted, they look alike and are hard to tell apart, and after a while, their side narratives seem to blend together in a time-filling red herring. It's pretty clear from the get-go that hand-to-hand payback is going on, related to that long ago hand-sampling in the Burmese jungle. Many lost their hands then. Perhaps there was one who did not? And maybe it was one who sold the others out to the Japanese, and now it's payback time? You've gotta love the doggedness of the cops in this one. The lead detective just keeps plugging away, adjusting his coat and tie, lighting another cigarette, making deduction after brilliant deduction. This "The Hand" is just a straight ride to find out who's doing the chopping, no diversions. Two Bigs, razor sharp. ////
The previous night, we watched "The Impersonator"(1961) a very well-executed British B-thriller from The Butchers, set in an interesting context, of a serial killer operating near an American air force base. As the movie opens, pretty teacher "Ann Loring" (Jane Griffiths) gets off work at the Northbridge school (Northbridge!) and walks home through a park known as The Garden. She gets spooked in there, thinking she's being followed and tells a policeman when she comes out the other side. On the bus, two American airmen in uniform hit on her, making matters worse. But the next day, one of the men, "Sergeant Jimmy Bradford" (John Crawford) is assigned to take the local schoolchildren at Northbridge to a stage production of Mother Goose, as a public relation gesture to the local residents, who don't care for the Yanks or their loud jet planes. For Bradford, it's also a disciplinary move by his captain, to get the him to quit hitting on the English women. Jimmy's had a lot of complaints. The locals are very conservative when it comes to dating outside their nationality.
When Sgt. Bradford gets to the school, the class he's assigned to is, naturally, Miss Loring's. He apologises for his behavior on the bus the night before, saying it was all in good fun. Miss Lorning accepts his apology. He seems sincere. At the theater, the ticket booth gal tells sells them 50 seats for the Mother Goose show, but then more English cultural politics get in the way. The children's mothers feel insulted by the US Air Force buying tickets for their kids. "We can afford them ourselves." There's general offense at the USA, a former colony, being the big shot in town. Sgt. Bradford is just doing his duty. He shrugs and asks Miss Loring if she'd like to attend a concert with him. She accepts, and defends Bradford to her neighbors, all of whom dislike American soldiers (turnabout is fair play; my Dad said the Brit Air Force were arrogant). But when she waits for Jimmy at the local cafe, he never shows. Meanwhile, a young lady comes rushing in, frightened by the same footsteps-and-being-followed sensation that Miss Loring felt while walking through The Garden a few nights earlier. Sgt. Bradford never shows for the concert. Miss Loring feels stood up, and, humiliated, she leaves the cafe.
Meanwhile, Bradford was only late due to unforeseen on-base duties. He arrives at the cafe to find Miss Loring gone. Commiserating with the widowed, slightly older owner over a cuppa, he asks her to go to the concert. "We could both use a good night out." Jimmy's a genuine good guy, means nothing forward by his invitation, but in the meantime, while they are waiting to pass the time before the show, an older, frumpy gent comes into the cafe right at closing time. He's pushy, demands a cuppa and a "suggestive buiscuit" (whatever that is), and the owner tries throwing him out, but he's aggressive. Jimmy observes the confrontation and intervenes, telling the older chap to get lost. The owner then closes her shop and goes to the concert with Jimmy. On the way back, she walks through The Garden after assuring him she can get home on her own.
Well, she doesn't make it. Her little boy, who loves Wyatt Earp, is not told of his mother's death. Her body is found in The Garden. There's no question who did it, but how will he be caught? For a clue, combine Mother Goose, and the title of the movie.This one is like a Michael Powell thriller, expertly directed in the way the plot is gradually revealed, with a set amount of characters in a small village. There's the ticket taker girl, the cafe owner, Miss Loring, and Jimmy Bradford. The cafe owner's little boy becomes the star of the movie, with his fascination with Mother Goose. All the extra-curricular commentary about the US military presence in England adds cultural and time-period flavor. "The Impersonator" is top-notch stuff, even if the ending is just a smidge implausible. Two Huge Thumbs Up, it's that well done. The picture is razor sharp. ////
Well, then. Now that TM has passed away, there are only two people still living who were in his apartment on September 1, 1989, when the terrible events of that month began, which I have referred to over the years by the collective (and somewhat cryptic) title, What Happened in Northridge. Nowdays, I simply call it September 1989, and with time continuing to pass, and with TM now gone, we are back at the grind, trying to figure out how the third person in the apartment that night, a lady with the initials LM, became involved with a monster named J. Rappaport, who lived next door to me during that time, and who kidnapped and tortured me on the night of September 2nd.
In considering how she became involved with this demon, an important person to look at is David B., who, as a UCLA film student, made his final project (a student movie) at 9032 Rathburn over Memorial Day weekend in 1989. He knew J. Rappaport, and was inside his house during the time I was Rappaport's hostage, and David B. may have met Rappaport during that student film shoot (details available).
David B. was involved with Rappaport's sex parties that Summer (at least one party but possibly more), as was LM, who was the "center of attention" at those parties. But we don't know how she got involved. We do know that she went to the premier of David B.'s student film at UCLA, which took place sometime between early July and August 16th 1989. We know this, because on the night of August 17, LM and I attended a pre-release screening of "Casualties of War" at UCLA, and when we left, she said to me, "oh, there's Mrs. B. (David's mother). I'm gonna go over and say hello." LM and I had had a lot of "trust issues" that year, and I was immediately suspicious. On the way home, I confronted her. "How do you know Mrs. B?" LM exploded. "Because I went to the showing of Dave's student movie! Mrs. B. was there, that's how I know her!" "Why wasn't I invited?" I asked. "Because I went with Terry!" Me: "Why didn't you tell me?" LM : "I do a lot of things I don't tell you about!!" I have always particularly remembered that last quote.
The key here is that somebody had to invite LM to David B.'s student film screening. The natural person to assume is David B. himself. But Grimsley confronted him with that particular question many years ago, and according to Grim, David B. said, "I'm not disputing she was there, but it wasn't me who invited her." If it wasn't David Birke, that doesn't leave too many other choices.
It's long since been clear that the friends knew about Terry and LM before I did. This was proven by the late, great (but deceptive) Dave Small's appearance at the infamous Pool Party during Spring Break 1989, in March. Many things happened that March and April, but we are still trying to establish how LM got involved with Jared Rappaport, who kidnapped me on the night of September 2nd, who tortured me in his house for 24 hours, and who almost killed me. He was very explicit in his knowledge of LM. He bragged about her, wanting to humiliate me. David B. was in his house on the second day, Sunday September 3rd, in the hours before I was rescued.
During the time I was inside Rappaport's house, Marshal Lester, who lived in Mrs. Strawby's house across the street from 9032, came knocking on Rappaport's door, telling him to let me go. I don't think Marshal was as worried about me as he was about being implicated in the sex ring.
First of all, we must ask: how did he know I was in there? Secondly, why him? Well, I'll tell you why him. Kim, Dennis's ex-wife, once told me, in 1988-89, that Marshal "that neighbor of yours" was known on the CSUN campus for approaching and hitting on women. Female students. He came to Rappaport's door while I was inside, because he was worried that, if Rappaport killed me, they would all go down for murder. Dennis may have come to the door also. Rappaport said no to both of them. "No, he needs to pay for what he's done," meaning me, because - by causing a scene at Terry's apartment the night before (Sept. 1st) - I had ruined their fun. The Concord Square incident was also the reason for Howard Schaller's fury at LM in the parking lot at Northridge Hospital on the night of Sept. 1. Unbelievably, it took me until about 2017 to figure out how she knew Mr. Schaller, and it was of course (duh) through a connection with the late, great (but deceptive) Dave Small, the only other guy who knew Howard besides me. LM, you see, had a Gigantic Double Life going on, one that involved the most tawdry and exhibitionist combination of sex and drugs (absolutely disgusting and pathetic). These elements turned into at least one party at Jared Rappaport's house, and I was tortured and almost died as a result.
All of this is what I call the "local" level of September 1989. There is of course a much bigger and monumental level, which has to be examined separately. I believe there is a Unified Field theory connecting the two, and one day I hope to figure it out.
In thinking about Lys again, I love Lys because she was the only person who cared about me through my whole ordeal. She was there the first night, in the car when I was taken to the hospital. She was in the car when Howard Schaller attacked it, trying to get at Lillian Matulic (who was also in the car, as was her sister), and Lys was there when I was released from the hospital, in a separate situation, 12 to 23 days after the event began. Lys wheeled me through the lobby of Northridge Hospital on the day I was released. She is my hero. What a great, great lady.
We're doing all of this because we've seen how evil operates, up close, and how it hides in the aftermath of its deeds, through the use of borderline personality types, who compartmentalize the things they don't want to face, who want to keep secret about their lives, and who pretend they don't remember their actions. I've had to twist in the wind for almost 34 years for the things the borderline personalities have done.
Three of The Friends are now deceased, Terry, Dave Small, and David F. (a truly bad person), all of whom took part in September 1989. All kept their secrets. And it's in everyone's best interest, especially the rest of the friends involved, to reconsider their commitments in that regard. Me, I'm committed to the truth, and it isn't funny. I've asked, of LM, "how the hell do you get up and go to work every day?" The answer is compartmentalization, and a host of other psychological factors that allow a person like LM to live as if nothing happened. But it's not just LM who is dysfunctional as a result of 1989, and I do have compassion for her, because nobody acts out in the extreme ways she did without a deep-seated psychological cause behind it (though that doesn't excuse what she did, which almost got me killed several times over, by drug dealers as well as J. Rappaport). It's not just her, but also everyone else involved in September 1989, especially those connected to the horrific Rappaport situation, and believe me, I can name everyone who has a Rappaport connection. I lived through that nightmare, so it's no joke to me. Try getting tortured by a psychopath and see how you fucking come out the other end.
There will come a time, when everyone will have to tell the truth. It may be tomorrow, it may be longer. But it's coming. In the meantime, God Bless all those involved (except the bad guys). I send you guys, honestly, Tons of Love, as always. And we'll continue to have fun here at the blog, so no worries. But we do have to get to the truth. And the days of trying to gaslight me are long over. It didn't work the first time, and now it would just be ridiculous.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo :):)
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