MANY ATTRIBUTE the creation of the miniskirt and hotpants to London-based mod fashion designer Mary Quant. The point I am trying to make here is that Sharon Tate had the legs that both pieces of fabric were imagined for. In 1969, at 26 years of age, the Colonel’s daughter was up to $125,000 per picture, and many called her the most beautiful woman in Hollywood. Upon arriving at his hilltop home in the days following her murder, director Roman Polanski told the LIFE Magazine staff writer who joined him, “This must be the world famous orgy house.” He then set about to find clues in her murder.
The very first question you should be asking is, why was there a LIFE Magazine staff writer there to take a house tour with him? Actually, there was a LIFE Magazine photographer as well, and as you hopefully know by now, LIFE is the very best kind of spook literature in that people paid subscriptions so that Intel could arrive advertise their latest psyop in the mailbox, via photojournalism, hot off the press. Photojournalism informing every manner of their lives. More on the photographer in a moment, because the name of the journalist was Thomas Thompson, and already he had “the distinction” of covering the JFK assassination hoax, becoming the first writer to locate the home of patsy Lee Harvey Oswald and his wife. Another task he was selected for was covering the making of the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album, in which he revealed the group’s extensive drug use. In hindsight, you should easily be able to see why Thompson’s Big Reveal was so instrumental to the counterculture Intel project. Knowledge of Frank Sinatra’s mafia ties is also accredited to him. Every Intel project I’ve just mentioned comes into the present narrative.
Roman Polanski’s return home was featured in LIFE’s August 29 episode, some three weeks after the Manson family murders. The killers identities would not be revealed for another few months, and already the Media was pushing a Satanic occult based narrative. Just about every publication it seems was adding some clever spin to the story, but the Satanic occult was consistent with everyone. LIFE Magazine taking the horror director on a tour of his blood-stained home is one of those unique twists. In the same issue we’re treated to the Apollo 11 and Woodstock, so yeah, 1969 was a blockbuster summer for Intel. By the way, the Woodstock photographs were provided by Bill Eppridge, whom we had earlier seen at Robert Kennedy’s side when Sirhan Sirhan emerged from behind a tray stacker. You can read about that report here. RFK Assassination hoax. Mm-hmm, Woodstock, space, and 10050 Cielo Drive all share the same issue. Am I giddy? Yes, but only a little.
In this paper, we will finally enter the 10050 Cielo Drive house and take a closer look at the only photos provided to us. They depict murder, but they’re the same cheap special effects which derive from the horror movie genre. Here’s a preview of what I’m talking about. The coroner was a Hollywood forger and the blood was fake. Therefore, we will be looking at pictures of bodies and the blood we are told derived from those bodies. They’re likely not as bad as you once recall, or nearly so graphic as you’re probably imagining. Still, you have been warned. If watching horror movies make you squeamish, or in this case, exposing a horror newsreel as a scripted documentary, then proceed no further. Their death scene may spring upon you at any given moment.
Also, if you’re just now peeking into the rabbit hole, I recommend you take a look at the following papers before taking a nose dive. Or don’t. The Mamas and The Papas Were Spooks. Even the Beach Boys Were In On It. Roman Polanski Never Received Directing Credit For the Manson Murders. The RFK Assassination Was a Hoax. The Haight-Ashbury Intel Project. Woodstock.
That is all for now. You may proceed.
THE HOUSE at 10050 Cielo Drive was designed by architect Robert Byrd and completed in 1944 for French actress Michèle Morgan, who was fleeing from The War. Something I learned while living in France; everybody who was alive then will tell you that they were a part of the Resistance against Nazi Germany. Sure. I bring this up, as a present day member of the rebel alliance against the Empire, so that you will be honest in the future with which side you chose. Morgan was also contracted through RKO Pictures. As we have already seen with the JFK and RFK twin hoaxes, RKO was Joseph Kennedy’s film studio. Mm-hmm, the Kennedy’s made movies. So, it really shouldn’t surprise anyone that John F. Kennedy exited the world stage in a CIA home movie.
The French actress would repeatedly state that 10050 Cielo Drive was haunted, which is ridiculous, considering it was only days or weeks old when she moved in. Unless—that is—we rise above the intended subconscious conditioning and examine the more obvious connotation being presented here. The house was built for nefarious purposes. Consider that a French Magazine featured a full spread of Michèle Morgan during her stay, but just as (and even more) importantly, it featured the house which Morgan was living in, via various costume changes. The house itself, and that is most definitely the house, was being entered into the catalogue of collective consciousness. We can clearly see Morgan showing off the iconic ladder in the very room where Tate was later murdered. In what appears to be the same photo session, she stood by the Dutch door which would soon be smeared in Tate’s blood. Sharon Tate would later pose before that very door, and unlike Michèle Morgan, Tate totally owned it.
After The War, Morgan returned to France. The property was then sold to somebody named Dr. Hartley Dewey. I decided to take a closer look at Dewey and quickly came to learn that he was good friends with Walt Disney. How good of friends—you ask? They often vacationed together. And who distributed Walt Disney’s cartoons at the time but RKO Pictures? In 1946, American actress Lillian Gish briefly moved in, but only briefly. Another tenant during the Dewey era was Baroness Philippine de Rothschild. She was an actress who went by the stage name Philippine Pasca, but she was also a Rothschild, and the apple does not fall far from the tree.
Here’s something else I learned along the way. Byrd designed a doppelgänger house which sat on its own plateau directly below 10050. Mm-hmm, the Roman Polanski house had a twin brother. 10048 Cielo Drive is rarely ever commented upon, but Intelligence looks for twins. Mostly with people, like Aron and Elvis Aron Presley, but twin houses will also do. While I am not claiming that the faked murders actually took place at 10048 Cielo Drive, I see little reason as to why it wasn’t a contender. Consider the address. The number 50 represents the Universe being expressed by individual lives. It is “the holiest and the most natural of numbers, because it equals to the sum of the squares numbers 9+16+25 constructed on the sacred triangle of Pythagoras (3, 4 and 5) and also to the product of 5 x 10 of the pentad and the decade, numbers of the generating Life and the World-Harmony, the Microcosm and the Macrocosm.” 50 is also associated with the fourteenth Arcane of the Tarot: the solar Angel, which is generally interpreted as “the sign of the change, the mutations and the metamorphoses.”
If you’re not catching on, then that’s okay. It’s why I’m here. 10050 Cielo Drive was an Intel project from the very laying of its cornerstone. For example, soon after Lillian Gish and Rothschild’s departure, we then read on some bio sites: “After that period the ownership of the property is pretty sketchy.” How does ownership of a property get sketchy? Were police investigators not able to track down previous owners? Was there no paperwork? Intel, it appears, pulled the chemical bleach from under the kitchen sink and got to scrubbing.
“However, it is known,” we then learn, “that music and film talent manager Rudolph Altobelli bought the house for $86,000 in the early 1960s and then rented the property out.” In 1969, Altobelli still lived in his own residence at southernmost portion of the grounds, but had conveniently left his house and several dogs in the care of William Garretson, his homosexual houseboy.
Whom did the Hollywood talent manager rent his house out to? I’m glad you asked. I wanted to know the same thing. Cary Grant and Dyan Cannon spent their honeymoon there in 1965, which is odd, since Grant was a flaming homosexual who wore nylon stockings under his slacks. Henry Fonda paid rent for a time. Another person who lived in the house was actor George Chakiris. You will recall that Sharon Tate had a summer fling with Richard Beymer while still living under her father’s roof during Operation Gladio. Beymer had already acted out his staring role in West Side Story as the leader of the Jets gang. Tate later won her first Hollywood contract through Beymer’s agent. Well, Chakris played the leader of the Sharks gang, opposite of Beymer. Coincidence? Probably not. Soon thereafter, Mark Lindsay paid Altobelli rent, as well as members of his band, Paul Revere & The Raiders. Terry Melcher and Candice Bergman we already know about, which brings us up to the present.
Roman Polanski’s return home.
THE VERY FIRST picture which LIFE Magazine shows us is of Roman Polanski sitting out front of his house, staring at the blood stained porch and the blood stained door, where the killer spelled PIG, presumably with the blood of his wife. I have been trying to figure out if the graffiti artist intended a lower case “i” or uppercase “I” in the spelling, but have settled on PIG for the remainder of this article—all capitals. It appears as though he is speaking into a recorder, taking notes while vying for clues, which is to say, the entire scene is being passed off to us as organic. And yet, nothing could be further from the truth. Look at his nice shoes and his nice shirt and his nice pants. His shoes are white and spotless, like his shirt. That’s a rich man sitting outside of a rich mans house. You shall see why the inside stage sharply contrasts the Jooish director in a moment, but here’s a preview. Polanski and Tate’s London house included two side-by-side busts—one of Napoleon, the other of Polanski. From there, they entertained the Stones and the Beatles and Victor Lownes of the Playboy Club, making orgy-fueled home movies with countless recognizable faces. Faces like Jane Fonda. Probably for the purposes of blackmail.
You will probably argue that Roman Polanski was a Polish-French director, not Jooish. And yet how could I have missed this? This is the problem with simply assuming. LIFE Magazine has decided to pass notes in class, and in this article, Thomas Thompson pointedly mentions that his father wore the yellow Star of David armband during The War. The story goes as follows. Polanski’s mother disappeared one day and ended up at a place called Auschwitz. And then one day his father took him to the edge of the ghetto, cut the barbed-wire fence, and told him to run.
Thomas Thompson made a point to mention the blood on the front porch as belonging to actor Voytek Frykowski. We must assume that such knowledge originated from an investigative police report already made public, as there were no witnesses. He wrote that the blood had “dried and darkened to a mahogany brown and strewn about the flagstones like a Jackson Pollock painting.” As if one Intel reference is not enough, he then describes the living room, next sentence, as “the dark side of the moon.” Ridiculous. Unlike documented photos of the murder victims, the blood here looks real. I’ll give them that. In fact, it is real. Does it match up with the blood on the victims? No, it does not.
The P Word had already been scribbled in blood at the house of murder victim Gary Hinman, which was a sort of Hobbit prequel to the Main Event, whereas Manson played the part of Gollum and one ring would rule them all. The scriptwriters were looking to tie Helter Skelter and Pig with The Beatles White Album Intel project, as even Piggies is a George Harrison song. Members of the Manson family later attempted to frame the Black Panthers and identify Pig with another P Word, Police, but which is it? The irony here is that the Black Panthers were another Intel project. So, more cross referencing. The earliest reference to the police being associated with PIGS, that I can find, stems from The New York Times, in a February 18, 1965 article describing the signs carried by protesters in an anti war march. The NY Times is a hands-down Intel run paper. Before you claim they were simply reporting on pork hungry hippies, need I remind you that we’ve been over this before. The Media only really cares about actors. Intel dressed actors up as hippies all the time. They even dictated their music and their fashion and then fueled them with drugs before having the Media make it a matter of social consciousness.
In review, why did police become synonymous with pigs in The Sixties? Because actors played the part and a Langley run newspaper reported on it. Intel invests in their own projects by playing the part of the second witness, and this is one of them. The blood is real, but only so much as they’re wagging the Truth in plane/plain sight. Spooks left their calling card with the goo of an actual pig.
The name of the photographer who documented Polanski reading the PIG message is listed by LIFE Magazine as a certain Julian Wasser. It only took a moment, typing his name into The Matrix, to learn that we’re dealing with a high profile Hollywood man. But first, Wasser started his career as an officer in the US Navy. Intelligence? Probably. And get this. Wasser was in the same hotel with Bill Eppridge on the night of Bobby Kennedy’s assassination. What are the odds? Slim to none. Several years earlier, Wasser is seen photographing Jane Mansfield at the Whiskey-a-Go-Go in 1964, which takes us back to America’s first hippie, Vito Paulekas. And remember that time when I told you about how the CIA not only financed but created art, particularly abstract expressionism? Jackson Pollock. Wasser is the photographer who documented Marcel Duchamp playing chess in Pasadena with the naked girl and “the urinal that changed art forever.” If the boys down at Langley needed a photographer, they called upon Wasser.
Wasser is documented behind the lens photographing Marilyn Monroe at an awards show. Steve McQueen on the set of Love with the Proper Stranger, which he starred in with Natalie Wood in 1963. Pay attention to those first three names, because they’re all connected. John Travolta on the set of Saturday Night Fever. Andy Warhol with Dennis Hopper, also connected. George Lucas standing around in a parking lot with Martin Scorsese. Like Eppridge, he’s capturing a day in the life for Barbra Streisand. But he can also be found going deep undercover while Hugh Hefner roller skates with bunnies. And before this is over, we’ll turn to Wasser’s treatment of Jodie Foster in order to better understand the true nature of deception. So understand, the distraught Polanski isn’t reacting for random members of the press. The question you should be asking is why Polanski would pose for a high profile Hollywood photographer and JFK assassination journalist, passing it off like an organic moment in time. Simple. Because Polanski may have been a director, but he was also an actor, and the horror director liked to make cameos in his own movies, that’s why.
Roman Polanski is sitting on a movie set and taking part in a photo-shoot.
TURN THE PAGE and LIFE Magazine’s journalism gets even stranger. Thompson and Wasser carry the viewer into the living room to encounter somebody identified as Peter Hurkos. Hurkos is sitting alone on the x-marks the spot, where the body of Sharon Tate once lay. His bio goes something as follows. After a freak comic book accident involving a ladder, 30-year-old Peter Hurkos awoke from his coma in a Dutch hospital and found he could identify one fellow patient as a thief and another as a British agent about to be killed by the Gestapo. Hurkos brought his manifested extrasensory perception, or ESP for short, to the United States in 1959 for the purposes of psychic experimentation, but mostly to become a television entertainer. And there you have it. Peter Hurkos is on the case.
Hurkos had earlier demonstrated his psychic know-how during the Boston Strangler psyop and claimed to have located the stolen Stone of Scone. His arrival at the Polanski-Tate house, apparently at the same moment in which Polanski is taking a tour, is explained by the fact that the television psychic’s attorney had told him that Jay Sebring was dead. I could be asking why Hurkos had a thing for hair stylists, but if you’ve been paying attention, then you already know the answer to that. Hurkos recalled: “All I remembered about Sebring was that he had once given me a $25 haircut and charged me $50.” We have just been given an admission. Before August of 1969, you didn’t brag about Jay Sebring “giving you a haircut” unless you were working for Intel.
Don’t believe me? Here, I’ll give you another example. In 1964, Hurkos was put on trail on the charge of impersonating a federal agent. Apparently, he posed as an officer in order to gather information that he could later claim to be psychic revelations. All they are saying here is that Hurkos was a fake psychic who posed as an entertainer when he was really a spook.
One of the entertainer’s notable psychic claims, contrary to popular belief at the time, was that Adolf Hitler was alive and doing well in Argentina. Yet another admission. Peter Hurkos is a character actor, playing the same part but in different movies. Knowing that the Boston Strangler was an Intel project, like Son of Sam and the Zodiac Killer, I’m willing to bet now that the stolen Stone of Scone was another lousy movie. Hurkos also serves the role of controlled opposition, and that is because Adolf Hitler most likely made the trek to South America. Who else fled to Argentina? Sharon Tate did.
MOST AMERICANS probably didn’t even know who director Roman Polanski or actress Sharon Tate were in the summer of 1969. Associating Polanski with Rosemary’s Baby and Tate with fashion photos would be easy, but with Jay Sebring, they would have a lot of catching up to do. LIFE Magazine gives Sebring an entire page spread and really screws up here. I mean, they slather the butter on pretty thick, don’t you think? Jay Sebring has Chinese food in London with Tate and Polanski. Jay Sebring often accompanies Polanski to the Brands Hatch racing course, where afterwards, they stand around congratulating each other on their wicked driving skills. That’s some seriously thick gravy. Why not just show a picture of Sebring in his hair studio and call it the day?
I can understand inviting the hair stylist to your kids bar mitzvah, but how was Jay Sebring capable of traveling with Tate and Polanski to London for Chinese food? I thought Sebring was a hairstylist. Hairstylists have schedules and books to log their appointments in. He sculpted Frank Sinatra, Henry Fonda, Steve McQueen, and Jim Morrison’s hair, often on set. And now we have come to learn that he sculpted Peter Hurkos too. I don’t know about you, but I barely have time to research, write and turn out a new paper each week, let alone international cuisine hoping. I skipped a trip to the local frozen yogurt bar just to finish this one.
Did you know that Jay Sebring was also a music record label exec? I didn’t. This information has been scrubbed. Try to find it. You won’t. Except for a singular article which remains, more-so a snap shot of a past article clipping, claiming his executive status. In other words, we have a photo of the article for proof, but I have yet to find any such source article. Amazing, how easy it is for them to erase our reality, and this is reportedly before the Mandela Effect, though I am convinced now that the practice of erasing the past is as old as the mud flood.
I did however dig up another connection to Sebring and the music industry. Quincy Jones.
The music producer was a friend of Jay Sebring, because who wasn’t? Did they know each other through his past gig as a record label exec, or did Sebring simply trim Jones hair too? Again, we are not told. At any rate, Jones had planned to join him for dinner on the night of the murder. Steve McQueen however had asked Jones and Sebring to view a rough edit of his movie Bullitt earlier that day. After watching the movie, Quincy Jones forgot about their meeting at Tate’s house. Wait, now he’s viewing rough cuts of Steve McQueen movies? Right.
I decided to check and see if McQueen was expected to arrive at the Polanski-Tate house later that night, and I wasn’t let down. He was expected. McQueen’s former wife, Neile Adams, who was married to him at the time, told the National Post in 2017 that the actor had planned to hang with his favorite hair stylist but he “ran into a chickie and decided to go off with her instead.” She then added, having sex with another woman saved his lie.
Jay Sebring. International man of mystery.
LIFE THEN shows a picture of a pregnant Sharon Tate standing next to a Rolls-Royce. Her Rolls-Royce. A caption reads that it was gifted to her from the husband as a wedding anniversary nod. Give it a closer look. There’s a rich girl outside her rich home standing next to her rich car. Sharon Tate has just set the bar for every army brat and daughter of a deep undercover CIA operative in existence, not that I would know anything about that. She had already been driving a red Ferrari around town. Polanski also had a Ferrari, as well as his own Rolls Royce. You know who drives Rolls-Royce’s? People with nice furniture. You don’t shop at IKEA and then drive home in a Rolls.
Have you seen photos of the inside of their home? It’s filled with poor man’s furniture. I bought the August 29 edition on eBay and then read the entire article, and so I can tell you that Thomas Thompson flouts their wealth while purposely overlooking this little detail. They were apparently struggling for money, if their furniture has anything to say about it. Take a look at the Peter Hurkos spread again. There’s a granny rocking chair in the back of the room. Is that shag carpeting? No, it is just cheap knock-off carpeting. From the outside, where Tate famously poised herself in the Dutch doorway, like a rich girl living in a rich country house, you’d never know that the actress was into thrift store bargains. You open that door only to enter a poor mans house. What a let down. Why would Quincy Jones and Steve McQueen even entertain the notion of hanging out in a bargain bin? What if John Lennon or Mick Jagger showed up in town? The inside looks like a pad belonging to poor hipsters attempting to spice up the college dorm. Sure, the zebra rug was sprayed with blood, but that was probably a gift from some royal diplomat who went to Africa on a hunting safari and Polanski hated it. Now he finally had an excuse the next time Duke of Earl or whomever came over for dinner and asked of its whereabouts. Blame Charlie.
No wonder why Polanski went on a tour of his own house with LIFE Magazine. He wanted to see the final set-up. Intel was obviously guarding the piggy bank when it came to the props department, and for the record, Tate’s Rolls-Royce wasn’t one of them. Am I saying somebody moved Roman Polanski’s real furniture out and installed cheap carpeting before the murders? That’s exactly what I’m saying. In every single picture I can find of Sharon Tate and Roman Polanski in 1968 and the spring of that year, they’re surrounded by the sort of antiquities reserved for white slavers. Just not in their own home. At least, not in the summer of 69. And why ruin perfectly good furniture with fake blood? What this means is, Folger may have personally served as set designer. LIFE Magazine screws up again when Thompson personally mentions that Jay Sebring drove a black Porsche, Folger a yellow Firebird. Remember when Charlie Manson and Abigail Folger were seen driving a red Ferrari in July? The Ferrari belonged to Sharon Tate. For all I know, they were celebrating a job well done.
To this very day, you will not have any trouble tracking down a picture of the PIG door. Intel is proud of this little plot twist. Here we have one such close-up of the PIG door, shot from the inside of the house. But what happens if we zoom out? You will have trouble tracking down such a photo. I was however capable of accomplishing that task. The results are telling. You can thank me later.
What happens….? The movie set is exposed.
Do you see it? Look closer. Take as long as you need. Aside from more junk furniture and a pair of trunks, the carpet ends an inch or two from the wall. Busted. Somebody simply rolled cheap carpeting over a hard wood floor in order to make the cleanup less messy. You may also notice the stickers and tickets attached to the trunks. Story has it that they arrived from London the day before the murder. Remember when agent Abraham Zapruder posed with his 8 mm Bell & Howell Zoomatic movie camera before the Big Day in Dallas? This is like that. The arrival of the trunks was most likely director Polanski’s coded way of telling the film crew: We’re rolling!
THE RICH PEOPLE driving wealthy automobile’s around town in European designer clothing, but who furnish their rich home with crappy carpet and thrift appliances theme trudges on while Roman Polanski gives us a tour of Sharon Tate’s bedroom. Polanski is wearing the same white shirt that he’d earlier posed in, and what appears to be the same pants, though only his shoes have been traded in for the sort of sandals reserved for a sword and sand epic. And keep in mind, this is the same Julian Wasser photo-shoot. Thompson and Wasser both accompanied him into the room, but never mentioned anything about changing his shoes in the article. What this tells us is that Roman Polanski liked shoes to the point that he couldn’t decide which ones to wear.
Polanski just sits there, staring at cleverly stashed blow-up photos of Tate in the bottom drawer of her dresser, reminding us that Sharon Tate was a model, and pictures of herself were more important than clothing. He then sits upon the bed and works himself into tears for the camera. Does that look like the bedroom of an international renowned model? Nope. More crappy carpet. No bed board. Her box spring mattress doesn’t even have any sheets. Meanwhile, Folger and Frykowski’s guest bedroom down the hall had a bed with bed boards. And here’s a fact which nearly slipped by me. That’s not even a queen or king-sized bed. Thompson slipped up when he pointedly described Tate’s big “double bed.” But if you look closely, the film crew simply had two single mattresses slid up together. Ridiculous. Didn’t that girl have any clothes? No wardrobe. No shoe rack. No hat rack. You’d think that dresser would be jam packed with hotpants and short skirts. A rotating rotunda of swimsuits. Panties for every occasion. A hat for every outfit. Rain boots for a stormy day. And more recently, the most fashionable maternity clothing. Where is the bathing suit that Tate wore during her last day on globe Earth? Shouldn’t that be hung out to dry?
Look at the thrift store artwork. Those frames probably cost her a quarter each. The big one might have been a splurge. Two quarters and a nickel, maybe an added dime. Can you imagine Andy Warhol stepping into that room? I can’t either. He’d have a hernia. If you tell me the mattress had been stripped of its bedding in the hours after Tate’s murder, via the house maid, then you have failed to purchase a copy on eBay and stand around the mailbox, waiting to read the article, as I have. Polanski points out for Thompson and Wasser precisely where she had slept on the night of the murder. The sheets are still crinkled. The pillow which Tate hugged in the center of the bed is still visible. The house cleaner touched nothing.
I’ll say this again. Sharon Tate was a model. We’ve repeatedly seen how she dressed. She was a pretty girl with a bombshell body, complete with fabric to match. We know Polanski liked shoes. Sharon did too. Perhaps those four walls really were Sharon Tate’s bedroom at one time, but that’s not her furniture. And that is because Intel made sure that Sharon Tate felt right at home in South America.
Another photo taken by Julian Wasser shows what appears to be Sharon Tate’s nightstand, presumably by her movie prop bed. Here we find a Polanski-Tate wedding photo, which was easily planted seconds earlier with the hugging pillow. Cheap propaganda. We can also see hair pins and a set of keys, which aims to reinforce the idea that Tate never drove off anywhere in her Ferrari or Rolls-Royce. But what else is that I see? It’s a book. Meanwhile, I can’t find a single bookshelf in their house. Did she chuck books in the garbage after reading them, just as she must have done with each shoe and bathing suit and maternity dress? [EDIT: According to Thompson, books were kept over the hearth, right next to the movie scripts.] I can’t read the title. My eyesight isn’t that good. But its cover depicts a griffin. Is that a clue? I think it is. Are we headed to the last Tartarian stronghold? Who really knows. Sharon Tate didn’t need the Rolls. Charlie Manson is a mythological creation and she was carried away to the hidden land of Ascended Masters.
WE ALSO come to learn in Thompson’s article that the wishing well in the backyard was fake, but are you really surprised? Nothing about a movie set is real. Another stunning revelation is that Polanski regretted not throwing Frokowski to the curb after he ran over Sharon Tate’s dog. That’s news to me. The Yorkshire was named Dr. Sapirstein after the sinister obstetrician in Rosemary’s Baby. That then begs the next question. When Thompson asked the director why he made so many horror movies, Polanski apathetically responded: “What is horror to you, may not be horror to me.”
Polanski’s attitude is perfectly captured in the final pictures before Sharon Tate left the stage. They are sold to us in the same manner as any horror film in so much as they play out like a sex-crazed drug-fused scene involving rich white people with rich white people problems and with nothing better to do than lounge around the pool before the killer arrives. In one photo, it’s so obvious that Sebring has set down his camera in order to hold a beer bottle like a prop. And the mere fact that black and white and color rolls of film were used exemplifies the fact that we’re witnessing a photo-shoot. Just look at them, laughing it up. They knew the killers were coming their way, but that’s not why they’re laughing. They’re laughing because they knew that you’d be fooled by it. See you in Brazil, baby.
I decided to do a little detective work on Tate’s latest dog. Her name was Prudence. Apparently, Polanski never told her that Dr. Sapirstein had been killed under the wheel of Folger’s Thunderbird, but that he simply ran away. I was able to track down a photo of Prudence at the crime scene. It appears as though she was being carried away by an officer as potential evidence. We are then told that Sharon Tate’s younger sister Debra adopted the pooch. About ten years later, Debra ran over Prudence with her car.
THE FIRST MANSON movie remake would come in 1976 with the release of Helter Skelter, which was based upon The New York Times bestseller by Vincent Bugliosi. I attempted to track down a copy online and only managed a DVD. What is this, the early 2000’s? A DVD would have to do. The movie claims to tell “the true story, the whole story,” and yet manages to botch just about everything. Seriously, it’s so bad that you have to wonder how people are still buying this ham-rigmarole, let alone in 1976. Well, technically, I did buy a copy, but you get my drift. In the remake movie Helter Skelter, Roman Polanski is escorted into the murder scene, but this time he walks into a rich man’s house with rich man’s furniture—see what I mean? They’re covering up for a rookie mistake.
Also, I couldn’t help but notice that the room itself was mirrored. In the real 10050 Cielo Drive home, Roman Polanski would have entered through the PIG door and turned left to enter the living room, but in Helter Skelter, he turns to the right. It’s as if we’re gazing into one of Alice’s looking glass houses, taking us deeper into the depths of our unconsciousness. It’s a CIA MK-Ultra thing.
The murdered image of Sharon Tate is only given to us for a split second. This was probably done so that nobody had time to notice how many details were dead wrong. The one thing they did get right however was the blood and the body. Notice how red the blood is. Still crimson. They call that Kensington Gore. It’s first and foremost a pun on the London street, but in this context, it’s another name for theatrical blood. And that is because, in the movies, they don’t use the real thing. They will sometimes tell you it’s for moral reasons, but that’s rich, coming from Hollywood. In actuality, blood coagulates and solidifies rather quickly, making multiple takes a pain in the ass for the make-up department. You see, the iron in hemoglobin oxidizes after contacting the air, quickly turning a bright red blood flow into the same color as rust. Some women notice black or brown blood during their period. Darker toned menstrual blood simply means that the blood is flowing out of the body at a slower rate, which is to say that the blood isn’t nearly so fresh as a swift flowing current.
And another thing, the flesh on the actress playing Sharon Tate glistens. We know it glistens because she’s only an actress playing the part of a dead woman. But they got the detail right, all the same.
We are having this discussion now before examining pictures of the murder. You are free to turn around, but I will remind you again that we are simply watching a performance attempting to pass itself off as the real thing. Chocolate syrup, something so simple as Bosco or Hershey’s applied from a squirt bottle, was used in black-and-white film, as it made for a starker contrast. With color film, they turned to a mixture of corny syrup, non-dairy creamer, and food coloring. The longer-lasting viscosity of stage blood makes it far easier for an actor to work on the set, because as you will see, it doesn’t coagulate.
Are you ready?
Don’t tell me that I didn’t warn you.
FINDING a halfway descent quality copy of the Sharon Tate and Jay Sebring murder photo freely floating in The Matrix isn’t as easy as I’d hoped, but they are still available here or there. This is the best that I’ve found, and it’s not good. Perhaps the performance is being systematically scrubbed. The more likely scenario however is that there were never any good images to begin with. The Manson murders transpired nearly a quarter of a century before the Internet. Intel probably never imagined a scenario where their work would be dissected beyond thumbnail images in an Encyclopedia. If this were a real high profile Hollywood murder scene, you would expect the police chief to hand the forensic photographer his camera and tell him to light em’ up. You know, capture every possible angle, sparing no expense with all twenty rolls of film—but no. We are given the sort of angle which conveniently masks Sharon Tate’s face from her viewers and left with a cloth which covers Jay Sebring’s head, so as not to identify either one of them.
I actually held off looking at Sharon Tate’s corpse because I had assumed she was naked and that is the reason a photo is so difficult to track down, which actually goes against logic, now that I think about it. A naked Tate would be all over the internet. What I came to learn is, she was photographed naked but also with her top on. At the crime scene she has her top on, but not on the coroners table. Actually, there are two versions of Sharon Tate on the coroners table. Top and no top. Most readers will immediately argue that the coroner decided to undress Tate and photograph her again, but I can’t help but wonder if they attempted both scenarios, one wherein Tate died in the nude before quickly settling on the R rated version. In either adaptation of the script, Jay Sebring kept his clothes on. Apparently, the coroner decided to undress Tate for a close-up of her areolas, whereas, from what I’ve been able to uncover, nobody cared to photograph Sebring’s nipples, and isn’t that strange?
Just so you know, I won’t be sharing the areola shots here. It’s a shame though, because the nudie photo is the fakest of them all. The head is too large in proportion to her body, and the neck is stretched out far beyond what is natural. It’s a fake. A composite image. Name any victim. In nearly every photo I can find that contains a face and a body, the face is a different exposure than the body, and isn’t that strange? I’d say so. The tag even says “R. Wilson” on it, which is Intel’s way of telling you the body belongs to a completely different woman. Who, you ask? Somebody named R. Wilson.
You’re probable first thought is how gross the above picture looks. That may be, but take a closer glance at Sharon Tate again. The murders happened around midnight. The first police photos could not have been snapped before 10am, though probably later. Does that look like the corpse of someone ten or twelve hours after their death—at the earliest? No, it does not. Rigor mortis would already have set in, dictating the natural stiffening of body muscles, a raised arm or a foot. Bt Sharon Tate, as well as Jay Sebring, are far too relaxed. Nothing about them seems to float. Even their postures are comfortably languid. Resting in peace doesn’t mean you’re murdered in a sleeping posture. The pools of blood don’t exactly describe the struggle which Susan Atkins, Leslie Van Houten, Patricia Krenwinkel and Tex Watson would later describe, either. But that is because Watson, Atkins, Houten, and Krenwinkel never were at the house to begin with. Actors standing in front of a green screen make mistakes such as these all the time.
Again, you will argue that we should really back up a few hours, before rigor set in. But we’re in no way seeing corpses displaying primary flaccidity either, as one would expect soon after death, wherein eyelids lose their tension, the pupils dilate, and the jaw might fall open. No wonder why they didn’t photograph either face. With the loss of tension in the muscles, the skin will sag, causing prominent joints and bones in the body, which again, we’re not seeing.
The only other posthumous photos we are given of Sharon Tate comes by way of her autopsy report, and she’s smiling. Unless Sharon Tate was killed by the Joker, then that’s a problem. Sorry to be the one to tell you, but smiling isn’t a symptom of rigor mortis. Women don’t commit suicide with a gun in the mouth because they’re concerned with how pretty they’ll look after their body is discovered. And why did they move her body in the first place? Why not just photograph her from different angles. It’s sloppy police work, as expected. The sloppy police work is legendary with the Manson murders.
They were obviously going for a morbid look, but were incapable of pulling off the intended effect on the movie set. It’s probably why we were paraded for years with the overdeveloped image (on the left), whereas Tate radiates in a saturated bath of red filtering, courtesy of the Lab, rather than the actual photo (on the right). This was probably done so as to give Tate the bloody look of someone already effected by livor mortis. If you need this spelled out, the photo is manipulated in order to make her skin look like a corpse, because the real photo gives the appearance of a dead woman who’s attempting to look pretty. A doctored photo should immediately plant a Buzz Aldrin moon flag in your skull. They faked it. They faked it. They faked it. And they’re trying to hide that fact.
If this is an autopsy photo, though I’m starting to think we’re looking at a behind the scenes make-up test, I have yet to see one with the killer’s weapon still stuck to the body. The nylon rope, approximately 3/4 inches in diameter, according to the police report, remains wrapped around her neck. How strange. If they wanted closer detail of the murder, why not just try multiple angles in the living room? They left the rope on her neck because the wardrobe department was insecure in their ability to successfully pull off the injuries left behind from a typical hanging. Sharon Tate was hung. A coroner testified to those findings. Therefore, in a pictures such as this one, you would think the coroner would be interested in documenting such markings, but no. Someone was kind enough to lay her head upon a pillow. Trying to make a pregnant woman comfortable, hmmmm?
By the looks of Jay Sebring’s make-up test or autopsy photo or whatever, you would think he was lynched by Ma and Pa and the mob. Unlike Tate, Sebring wasn’t hung, and yet they left the rope tangled around his neck, apparently because the movie set photographer forgot to lift the towel covering his face and make a point of it. This time, they draped the towel over his knee cap. The noose is an added problem, since the police report explicitly states that Tate and Sebring were tied to opposite ends of the same rope. Did they bring the two bundled up together? You’d never know from these photos. Only one shrouded body came out on the gurney at a time. Perhaps they loosened the rope and then tied it back to each victim accordingly, who really knows? We are told this is the look of someone who was shot, kicked repeatedly in the face, stabbed seven times, and then tied with a rope for effect. The Wiki furthermore claims that he “died from blood loss caused by his stab wounds.” Admittedly, they went light on the blood, as not even his white pants are stained.
Jay Sebring was 35 years old in 1969. I’ll ask you, does that look like a 35 year-old? Where are the wrinkles surrounding his eyes? When do you figure he’d shaven last, because the final photos taken of Sebring show something akin to a five o’clock shadow. Those same photos of Jay Sebring and Sharon Tate standing around in their undies by the poolside looks like a man in the body of a 35 year-old, but this just looks like a kid. A kid whose graduated beyond spots but still isn’t capable of a solid shave. Jay Sebring was somewhat of a looker. He could confidently strut around the wishing well in a speedo and show a body with definition. His hair had a Beatle-esque look, encroaching upon his eyebrows. The boy’s hair is just too curly. His body simply too untested. Perhaps his understudy? You tell me.
THE CORONER was someone named Thomas Noguchi, and wouldn’t you know it, he has been nicknamed “coroner to the stars.” Stars is just a stand-in word for Ascended Masters. It’s a Mystery religion thing. The logo for Paramount Pictures deals out the Truth in plane/plain sight by depicting the Watchers descend upon Mount Hermon. In death and resurrection, the neophyte can attain the rank of immortal, but you know this already. Anyways, his very first star autopsy was Marilyn Monroe. Are you not entertained? When commenting upon the mysterious circumstances surrounding her death, Noguchi would often quote the Latin poet Petrarch, wherein we read:
“She closed her eyes; and in the sweet slumber lying
her spirit tiptoed from its lodging place.
It’s folly to shrink in fear, if this is dying;
for death looked lovely in her face.”
Mm-hmm. Just as I suspected. In 1962, Marilyn lived on.
On May 5, 1968, soon after becoming Chief Medical Examiner-Coroner for the County of Los Angeles, Noguchi was enlisted for his next big profile case with the death of actor Albert Dekker. The actor was found dead in his Hollywood home, “naked, kneeling in the bathtub, with a noose tightly wrapped around his neck and looped around the shower curtain rod. He was blindfolded, his wrists were handcuffed, there was a ball gag in his mouth, and two hypodermic needles were inserted in one arm. His body was covered in explicit words and drawings in red lipstick.” He was discovered by his fiancee Jeraldine Saunders, who went on to become the creator of Love Boat. Death was ruled as auto-erotic asphyxiation which, if you recall, is the exact same way in which Robin Williams exited the world stage.
Other celebrity corpses whom Noguchi oversaw include Robert F. Kennedy, Janis Joplin, Inger Stevens, David Janssen, Gia Scala, William Holden, Natalie Wood, and John Belushi, most if not all of which are extremely suspicious. In short, Noguchi explains why Kennedy was killed in Los Angeles and not Chicago. If you’re going to exit the world stage via assassination hoax, then you need to know the right people. Specifically, you need your coroner bought and paid for.
THE CORPSE of Abigail Folger is the most convincing. Even the police report thinks so. Her left hand seems to float while her fingers tighten into talons, giving us the portrait of rigor. But the blood is all wrong. We are told she was stabbed twenty-eight times, furthermore indicating that she bled out. Why is the grass not soaked in crimson? Problem here is that she looks like the make-up artist had painted her only moments earlier. Her blood is red like tai-dai. A little too Hollywood red. Remember what I told you about real blood coagulating and solidifying rather quickly, making multiple takes a pain in the ass for the make-up department. This is why.
Why are we furthermore only shown blurry pictures? You simply can’t find a good forensic or Hollywood photographer when you need one. Perhaps Julian Wasser and Bill Eppridge were booked solid that day. But there’s something else I want you to notice here. We generally find two crime scene photos depicting Folger. She can be seen lying on her back, illuminated by the sunlight. The dark outline of trees surround her, and in both pictures, their shadows match up. Whoop-de-dew, right?
Now look to the background. That’s Folger’s boyfriend Wojciech Frykowski. He’s lying under the shade of a tree. In fact, it would take the sun several hours to move at such an angle as to cast him in the spotlight.
THE CLOSE-UP of Frykowski is once again blurry, telling us Intel has something to hide. Seriously, could you identify the man? I couldn’t. Not even in a police line-up. Nobody could. Did the real Frykowski already skip the country? And like everybody but the girlfriend, he positioned himself in a comfortable sleeping posture, using his arm as a pillow. This is why the blood is fake, because they had to lay there for so long. Applauds to Abigail Folger. The biggest red flag however is that Fykowski is no longer in the shade. Well, technically he is in the shade. But somebody down at the lab decided he played victim in the wrong place and therefore needed some additional post-edit work.
Look again. The grass is bleached out around him. He’s surrounded by a halo, and there’s nothing natural about that. You should be able to see some of the resulting baloney because his left hand is grossly distorted. Far more glaringly, a shadow can also be seen under his right leg, with another falling directly behind his left wrist. The flash of a bulb did not cause this. He looks cut and pasted. His hairline is the big giveaway. Are we looking at a composite? Photography already lies more often than a lawyer, but when you encounter tampering like this, you can be sure the breeze smells foul. Mm-hmm, I think we’re looking at a composite.
WHAT STRUCK me about the LIFE article is how much emphasis Polanski put on personally investigating the murders, searching for clues. An example is given when Polanski picks up a broken pot and wonders out loud if the police had tagged it as a clue before apathetically chucking it back into the garden. What Polanski wanted the world to know is that he in fact didn’t know anything, because he had an alibi, but that he was also determined to get to the bottom of it. We call this overcompensating. Polanski is a terrible actor.
Thompson describes the scene as follows:
His [Polanski’s] eyes caught the shuttered door leading to the pool. There were dried sots of blood there and the black grime left when police dust for fingerprints. “She must have been awakened by the noise and got up…” Roman followed a path through the hall into the living room. “They hit her here…..” He went back into the bedroom. “She tried to get out that door….” He returned to the hall and pointed to tiny drops of blood flecking the baseboard. “And they dragged her into the living room and did…. it….”
The director was rehearsing a scene from his movie. If Susan Atkins hadn’t been delivered a script yet, then she was probably taking notes. “Hit her there and then drag her into the living room. Got it.” We are expected to believe however that none of this is a performance. This is also where Polanski’s part in the narrative veers into a Blake Edwards–Peter Sellers comedy, so buckle up.
Inspector Polanski wandered through L.A.’s ritzy neighborhoods late at night, hoping to solve the crime. Wait, didn’t Tate’s father do the exact same thing? Oh, nevermind. Let’s just go with it. Apparently, Polanski snuck into the driveways of friends, hunting for blood in their Porsches and Lamborghinis. He furthermore spent $2,500 to analyze producer William Castle’s handwriting, hoping it might match the bloody PIG lettering on his door. Finally, after discovering a pair of prescription glasses at the crime scene, he apprehended Bruce Lee in the Paramount Studios gym because, if you will recall, it is Sebring who introduced the martial artist to Hollywood. In turn, Lee confessed that he had indeed lost his glasses and needed to replace them. Polanski then took Lee to the ophthalmologist for a replacement pair, only to learn that the prescriptions did not match. Oh, relief.
Feel any dumber for having read that? I do. My best guess is that Intel was smoking weed around the writer’s table, and we are veering in upon a scrapped scenerio wherein Shaggy, Scooby and the gang would have unmasked Bruce Lee as the ghost who was attempting to put hippies and Hollywood out of business, simultaneously clogging the toilets in every celebrity neighborhood with cocaine. In the end, they went with an even crazier plot. They decided to kill Lee off and transform him into Michio Kaku.
Speaking of ghosts, Larry Larsen, a former LA County deputy who assisted the investigation into the assassination of RFK, blamed an unidentified and mysterious English Satanic group who had migrated to Los Angeles under the cover of night on the murders. See, Intel really wanted to push for the Satanic Panic theme, but they weren’t ready to cash in yet on their other Langley project, Anton LaVey, even though Manson murderess Susan Atkins was photographed emerging from one of his coffins. Right. According to Larsen, the Satanists recruited Manson to murder Tate because of information she had learned about RFK’s assassination. You mean she found out that it was a hoax too? Oh man, I’m screwed.
It went down like this. The English cult had earlier recruited patsy Sirhan Sirhan and then invited him to participate in Hollywood parties, including one at Polanski’s residence, where sexual and ritualistic rites and heavy drug use occured. It is there, we are told, that Sharon Tate heard something she wasn’t supposed to. Uh-oh.
A CLOSE FRIEND of Sharon Tate worth mentioning is Iranian photographer Shahrokh Hatami. He confessed to encountering Charlie Manson on the 10050 Cielo Drive property the very day before she departed for Rome. Manson actually showed up a second time that evening in order to speak with Altobelli.
At any rate, on August 9, the police weren’t notified of the killings until 9am. They wouldn’t show up to the property for nearly another hour. The person who made the call was Winifred Chapman, the Polanski family house cleaner. Shahrokh Hatami however had been informed of the murders at 7a.m., 90 minutes before their bodies were even found. Who called him? Not the house cleaner. Somebody named Reve Whitson called him. What makes Whitson particularly interesting is that he completely circumnavigates any mention in Vincent Bugliosi’s 1974 book, Helter Skelter, and yet he appears to have known every key player in the murders. We’re not simply talking about Polanski or Sebring either. He was even acquainted with Beach Boy Dennis Wilson. Hatami described Whitson as a “mystery man,” and in fact Whitson’s own family, including his ex-wife and daughter, all agreed that he was some kind of spy working either for the CIA or some front organization. Worst spy ever. Or was the script simply set up that way?
Even stranger still, a close friend and confidant, Neil Cummings (technically, his lawyer), later said that Whitson had Manson under surveillance at the time. Actually, it was Cummings belief that Reve Whitson and Charlie Manson personally arrived at the Tate house to stage things for the police. His words, not mine.
Only Colonel Paul Tate thought to mention Whitson in his unpublished manuscript, Five Down on Cielo Drive.
I WAS LOOKING for an Andy Warhol connection to the Sharon Tate psyop, and can you believe it? I found one. There are likely multiple Warhol links, but Isabelle Collin Dufresne, aka Ultra Violet, is perhaps the most notable. Dufresne had earlier become Salvador Dalí’s “muse” in 1954, which is to say, his studio assistant and pupil, but above all else his lover. Her introduction to Andy Warhol came through Dali in 1963, which then resulted with Dufresne moving into Warhol’s Intel project, dubbed “The Factory.” As it turns out, Dufresne was passed around often. Edward Ruscha was a pop artist akin to Warhol, whom she called lover. Another lover was Czech filmmaker Milos Forman. Lover boy Rudolf Nureyev is still regarded as the greatest male ballet dancer of his generation. Other celebrities in her lifetime entourage included John Lennon, Yoko Ono, Pablo Picasso, Howard Hughes, and Richard Nixon, as if that isn’t suspicious.
The name Ultra Violet apparently came about the year after her pairing with Warhol, and by his suggestion. We quickly find her becoming an actor, because Warhol had connections or whatever, playing multiple roles in over a dozen films between 1965 and 1974, and this doesn’t even include numerous film projects made at the Factory. In 1969, the year of the Manson psyop, she was finally dethroned as Warhol’s primary muse by someone named Viva.
And now, here’s the connection.
Steven Brandt was a Hollywood movie gossip columnist who chronicled Sharon Tate’s murder for Photoplay magazine. He was also an intimate friend of both Tate and Polanski, having been the couple’s witness when they were married in London. He can be seen standing behind the couple in several of their wedding day pictures, when Sharon Tate wore a taffeta mini-dress and Polanski a Regency suit with a white cravat. Brandt wore something along the same lines. On a Friday morning in November, 1969, Brandt was found dead on the floor of his room in The Chelsea Hotel. The cause—an overdose of sleeping pills. Are you surprised? I’m not.
It is Ultra Violet whom the media turns to in order to appease any thoughts of foul play. On the evening prior, she claims, the two had been to a Rolling Stones concert together. Brandt had apparently left the rock show early because “the concert was so lively… so opposite himself,” she told the press. Afterwards, she called the hotel to see check in on his mood. “When he answered the phone he sounded very, very weak, and he told me he’d taken 22 pills.” Why 22? Because Ultra Violet’s message is a coded one, for those in the know. The number 22 relates to us the Master Builder and expressly announces creation. She then called the night clerk, who in turn found Brandt and notified the police.
Ultra Violet is the only first-person in the media to relay the story that Brandt had committed suicide. But did he, really? If you think I’m insinuating that Brandt needed silenced and that Ultra Violet was in on it, then you’re wrong. Oh sure, Ultra Violet was in on it. But more than likely, Brandt needed to exit the stage in order to continue on with his rich friends in South America or wherever they were hiding. Did they dine with Adolf Hitler in Argentina and, just as importantly, did Jay Sebring trim his stache? We are not told.
ANOTHER CLOSE friend of Polanski and Tate, and a rising actor at the time, was somebody named Iain Quarrier. He had actually begun his career in two films directed by Polanski. Cul-de-Sac and Fearless Vampire Killers. Regardless, we find very few pictures of him online. One photo attests to the fact that he was hanging out with Mia Farrow and Freemason Peter Sellers, and who exactly gets to hang out with them again? I have chosen however to go with the picture which shows Quarrier only an arms length away from Steven Brandt. Remind me, who swims in the same circle? Spooks do.
On August 8, 1969, the night of the Tate-Manson psyop, we are told that Quarrier had been invited by Tate to her house. He was delayed however while filming a movie in the California desert, by which he was a “creative consultant.” No joke, the movie is called Vanishing Point. In an either/or moment, Quarrier decided upon the wrap party instead. Technically, his last film role was in 1968’s Wonderwall. There’s your other Beatles connection. George Harrison scored that movie. Sharon Tate’s murder led to Quarrier wanting to quit the movie business altogether. He then suffered a mental breakdown in 1972.
If you ask me, somebody gave him a firm shaking.
In October 2008, Quarrier pleaded guilty to the attempted abduction of a five-year-old girl in a busy West London supermarket. Two weeks prior to the incident, he had attempted to purchase a nine-year-old girl in the same place of business. If Quarrier was kidnapping girls, it’s because he was into some deep shit. At that old age, the far more likelier probability is that this wasn’t his first attempt, and he’d had a part to play in the milk carton kids. Yeah, Quarrier had seen stuff. Done stuff. Probably blackmailed the right people. And he also knew the sort of people who made people go away. When it came to Tate, Sebring, Folger and company, he may have even been the one to do it.
QUARRIER’S WORK reminds me of the last victim. Steve Parent. Like any sex romp horror film, the often forgotten vicitm is treated as the sad sap who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, probably as a result of indiscreet gay sex with the house boy, but that much is only implied. More than likely, he knew the right people and wanted out. Or perhaps he was simply a CIA agent in training, with his next mission finding him in Bolivia or Chile, perhaps East Berlin. How many times do you think he was murdered in his career? The Wikipedia doesn’t say.
Parent was shot in his Rambler while trying to exit the premises on the driveway. You will notice there is no broken glass on his body. Tex Watson, or rather the person playing the “hair stylist” Tex Watson, was able to reach through the window and squeeze out four rounds. I only bring this up because, if I had to play a dead man for the crime photographer, I think I’d prefer a scenario where the window had already been rolled down.
BEFORE CLOSING this paper out I wanted to take another closer look at photographer Julian Wasser. Here we can plainly see that Wasser is invited into Jack Nicholson’s home in order to capture candid moments with Anjelica Huston. They tell us the year is 1971. The way she is unceremoniously manhandling those vinyl records should be deemed criminal, as they are probably streaked with scratches. You’d think Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate would have listened to records, but they probably already shipped those off to their meet-up point. If Anjelica Huston is living in Nicholson’s house, then that can only mean one thing. Mama Michelle Phillips is no longer in the picture. In the weeks before her murder, Mama Michelle is said to have had a brief affair with Roman Polanski in London while Tate was occupied in Rome, but Michelle lifting her skirt was probably a way to identify a who’s-who among celebrity spooks. In 1970, Mama Michelle was then passed off to Jack Nicholson, who apparently kept a hammer under his pillow while the two slept together.
It was in 1977 when a 13-year-old Samantha Geimer was pimped out to Roman Polanski by her mother, Susan Geimer, so that the nudie director could take private topless photos of her in Nicholson’s house. The residence was still occupied at the time by Huston. And if we’re being specific, Huston was in the house while the photos were taken. Also, the house had an underground tunnel which led to the nearby Playboy Mansion. From there, girls could be trafficked in an out of Hugh Hefner’s MK-Ultra beehive. Did Wasser hang out with everyone mentioned? Why yes, he did. But it only gets worse. Whether Geimer was simply an MK-Ultra sex slave used to normalize a certain narrative, like the Bill Cosby case some four decades later, or her story was never intended to be leaked, you can see that Polanski was protected in such a way as to be carted off to France. Hopefully, you are seeing how this is all an elaborately interconnected script.
Another promise I aim to keep is Julian Wasser’s photograph of Jodie Foster, and here it is. The year is 1973. I ask you to take a moment and contemplate the implications of a 14 year-old girl in bed. If you feel I’m reading too much into this, then you probably haven’t zeroed in upon the neon sigh which reads: ACTORS PAY IN ADVANCE. They were slapping pedophilia in our faces in The Seventies. But that’s not the worst of it. Look at the picture again. Do you see it? I do. But what about you? No?
Sorry to be the one to let you know, but Wasser wasn’t simply slapping pedophilia in our faces. Jodie’s dressed in boys clothes for a reason. And so is the elephant. If you need this spelled out, actors weren’t paying in advance for a girl. And now you know.
ALTOBELLI MOVED moved into the Polanski house just three weeks after the murders and resided there for the next twenty years. Actor Christopher Jones, a former lover of Sharon Tate’s, then moved into the backhouse once occupied by Altobelli. You would think that his current girlfriend, Olivia Hussey, who had played Juliet in the 1968 movie adaptation of Rome and Juliet, would find his obsession with a former lover rather odd. It is there in the back house, Hussey later claimed, that Christopher Jones brutally raped her.
The house on the hill was sold for $1.6 million in 1989. Its final resident was non-other than Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails. The living room, just beyond the Dutch door, was converted into a recording studio and given the title “PIG,” or “Le Pig” for short. Marilyn Manson recorded his debut album there, Portrait of an American Family, but are you really surprised? 10050 Cielo Drive was used for Intel projects up until the very moment of its demolition. In 1994, the address was changed to 10066 Cielo Drive and sold to Jeff Franklin, the creator of Full House, who demolished the house and turned its property into a 20,000-square-foot behemoth complete with a museum dedicated to Elvis Presley.
Destroyed, but not before Trent Reznor pulled the PIG door from its hinges and set it up as the entrance to his new recording studio. Today it can still be found in New Orleans.