Before we begin, I have to ask: Have you ever worked for Eddie Nash or worked for anyone who worked for or alongside Eddie Nash?
Think hard before you answer.
Gary Patterson worked for Eddie Nash. The evil David Friedman was Gary's right hand man.
Now you can answer the question.
Here's another one: Do you remember that old David Letterman joke: "Man Never Talks About Dead Son"? I saw Letterman before he became famous, before he had his talk show, at a taping of Don Kirshner's Rock Concert in 1977 at the Long Beach Arena. I went with Mike Bellamy, expecting to see Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, who were listed on the bill, but as often happened with Sir Richard, he did not show up for whatever reason. We stayed anyway. Being a live TV taping, it was an all day affair, and we also saw a relatively unknown comedian named Steve Martin, who twisted some amazing balloon animals. I think Blue Oyster Cult played that day, but the thing I most remembered from that eight hour show was David Letterman's joke. It went like this: "The other day I was at the newsstand, and I saw this headline. It was in one of those tabloids, the sensational kind, and it said in huge type, 'Man Never Talks About Dead Son.' And I thought, 'what's the deal, do his neighbors come up and ask 'how's that dead boy of yours'? And he says, 'I refuse to talk about him!' Is that what this world has come to?"
That joke was what I most remembered from the Don Kirshner's Rock Concert taping, and it got me to ponder The Things People Refuse To Talk About.
The concept baffles me, because I have nothing I refuse to talk about. Give me any subject and I'll talk, except for dumb stuff. But personal stuff? No problem, as long as you're willing to Go All The Way.
And I think that's the trouble with most folks. They refuse to go all the way. Especially certain people I know. They can dish it out but not take it. They can do the crime but not the time. That's why they have things they won't talk about.
And that brings us to the subject of The Troubled Mind. Not one with everyday troubles but major ones concerning Things That Cannot Be Undone.
As a victim of extreme violence, I feel it is necessary to study compulsion if we are to learn about the roots (or nature, i.e. the soil in which the roots take hold) of psychoses. In our case, we are studying the compulsion toward extreme violence, volcanic rage that, being compulsed and therefore (in the perpetrator's mind) uncontrollable, becomes personally unrestrained violence. I bring this up because in August 1989 I was assaulted by a guy who stated - to a third party present - that, because he'd become enraged at me, he could not control himself and because of this lack of control, his violence was about to be unleashed. The way he stated it, his violence was in charge of him, not the other way around. His compulsion was calling the shots. Thinking about him now, he reminds me of the cop who beat Kelly Thomas to death, rather methodically, after gearing himself up by announcing he was going to administer the beating. This murder was caught on tape in a famous and terrible case in Fullerton in 2011 (in which the cop, like our bad guy, walked away scot-free). The cop was under the influence of the same rage as the person I am talking about, a "nursed" rage, one that the enraged person felt both entitled to and not in command of.
For the perpetrator, his psychosis can be summed up in a sentence: "I can't do anything about the way I feel, so I am going to beat you and I probably won't be able to stop."
This is psychotic rage, buried deep inside a psyche. We must study it to see where it is born, and how it turns into a compulsion that the person feels the need to repeat, or even to "show off as a proud possession". In the case of the assault on me, there was the aforementioned third party present, a passive observer who stood and watched as I was beaten to within an inch of my life, offering occasional comments to my attacker, like "Hey man, maybe you should stop hitting him."
It happened at the Concord Square Apartments in Reseda. I was handcuffed during the assault, thus defenseless. At one point, the assailant told the tenant to get a bag of cocaine out of his closet so that he could "have a bump." The tenant at first refused because the coke was not his. The assailant said, "I'll cover it," or something like that. The apartment was being used as a stash house.
Not long after he began hitting me in the head with his fist, my assailant picked up a square, sharp cornered glass ashtray (the kind that were common in bars and restaurants) and hit me in the side of my face with it at least once, breaking the orbital bone in my eye socket. And the tenant just stood there.
That was bizarre to me. But as I myself stood dazed, against the tenant's bar counter (on the living room side of his kitchen), it was even more bizarre to watch my attacker acknowledge his wrath, literally roll his sleeves up during a "breather", then start in on me again. He actually told the tenant (paraphrase): "You know how I get," meaning when he was angry and coked-up. He said this matter-of-factly, as if it was a "given." The look on his face was demented, and yet methodical. On the surface, he was determined to "dish out an appropriate beating" to his handcuffed and defenseless victim, and yet at the same time his Id was unleashing pure psychotic rage. He was running into me with his full body, elbow out, the way a football player would crash into a tackling dummy. This person was quite a bit bigger than me: 6' 1" and 225 to my 5' 8" and 160. He also took my head and rammed it into the wall or bar counter (I'm not sure which), but the whole thing was "stop and start", which was fucking weird. You would think, in an assault of rage, that an attacker would expend his fury all at once. But this guy took breaks.
That is what we are studying here. Nursed and entitled rage. The guy was demonstrating something to himself, to me, and also to his audience (the passive third party) whom the assailant forced to kick me in the ribs so that the third party would become complicit.
The bad guy was demonstrating his control, through murderous psychotic rage, over a person he'd long felt envious of. He was also demonstrating to his audience (the third party) that he could get away with what he was doing. He, and his audience, must have felt protected by someone powerful, not to have to worry about LAPD, the most professional police department on the planet.
During the assault, I thought I was going to die. I'd lost my equilibrium and could barely stand up. The room felt "tilted". I was seeing double and my head hurt so bad it felt like it was going to explode. And I will never forget what the bad guy said toward the end. He said, to the tenant, "It's taking every bit of self control I have not to hit him over the head with that lamp." He meant the large ceramic one on the tenant's table.
I have thought about this guy for several months now. He got away with what he did, and very likely beat up other people in his approximately 18 month career as an "enforcer" (i.e "thug") for a sex and drug cult. He was (and is) a coward at heart, and could only carry out his acts after disabling his victims with a stun gun or by applying handcuffs, which took the help of an accomplice. As noted, I was handcuffed when he beat me half to death, and when hit me in the eye with the glass ashtray.
I believe this guy may have killed someone, or participated in a killing, during the time he worked for Eddie Nash, through a lower lever cocaine distributor. And because he had high-powered crooks above him, when he was drunk and coked up, or even when his Id (his psychosis) was feeling free to strut its stuff, he felt entitled to engage in an activity he'd found was to his liking: beating the shit out of someone while they were restrained or drugged or both. While the person could not defend himself.
This guy was more than merely evil. This is why we must study him.
He's still walking free. It's as if his deeds never happened.
Someone helped engineer that.
Once again, Ann was there in the aftermath to help me. Someone called her and she responded and took me to (I think) Holy Cross hospital in Mission Hills (on Rinaldi). Ann may have saved my life that night (she is one of my greatest heroes). While we were still at the apartment, I remember hearing the word "coma". Ann was worried that if I passed out, went unconscious or otherwise fell asleep, that I could slip into a coma and not recover. There was the question of concussion, and whether I had a fractured skull. It is also possible that my attacker degraded me in ways that I'll decline (for now) to describe. However, preliminary evidence shows these degradations as probable. He even took a shower when he was "all done."
He and his passive assistant/observer (the apartment tenant) may have been detained that night (I'm not sure), but if so, they were never arrested and never charged, because once again the police had no jurisdiction and these guys walked scot-free. The tenant is now deader than a doornail. My attacker is still alive. We will continue to study him. He is now dormant, but in my opinion he is not far removed (if at all) from a BTK or a Manuel Ramos.
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