BELIEVE IT or not, this paper is intended as a prelude to the Manson family murder hoax. What you are currently reading came about on the mere basis that I decided to do some digging into the Sharon Tate and Roman Polanski
movie set house, and far too many familiar names, whom I’d never thought to associate with Charlie Manson, began ringing the doorbell, hoping for a part in the production. If you’re curious as to why I’ve concluded that the Manson murders are faked, then you will have to wait a little longer. The purpose here, as I’ve already begun to explain, is to lay the foundation as to how The Mamas & the Papas are connected to The Sixties psyop. Sure, they’re spooks. But that’s an understatement. Because even their friends are spooks.
Every so often somebody stumbles upon one of my papers, reads every word from beginning to end (which never ceases to amaze me), and then writes an e-mail confessional, explaining that they didn’t know who Paul McCartney or so and so was, and could I elaborate on their importance a little further? If this is you, then we should probably first get a couple of details ironed out, hoping for better clarity. The decade is The Sixties, and The Mamas & The Papas had a few notable hits. Their first was ‘Go Where You Wanna Go,’ quickly followed by ‘California Dreamin’,’ and then, ‘Monday, Monday,’ in that order. There are others, but already the point has been made. They were hit makers until, quite suddenly, they weren’t. If you were born anytime during or after the Apollo missions, then you would have had to dial into the local oldies radio station in order to hear them. Beginning in 1966, The Mamas and The Papas released four albums and then disbanded in as little as three years—a short run. The name of their third album was “The Mamas & The Papas Deliver,” emphasis is mine, but that is simply not true, since only their first album, “If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears,” delivered. Hence, the short run. Come to think of it, The Sixties were short lived, but that is not to say the foursome, along with their spook friends, didn’t play a major role in spreading the emerging youth-counterculture across America and the world.
And now for some name drops.
Papa John Phillips. Papa Denny Doherty. Mama Cass Elliot. And Mama Michelle Phillips, aka Holly Gilliam. By the time I am through with my Manson paper, you will hopefully have little trouble transplanting the words Mama and Papa for Agent.
The Wolf King of L.A.
Everything I am about to say about Papa John Phillips can best be described by the above picture. Take a second look. Observe how Papa seems to caress Michelle’s hair while simultaneously throttling her neck. Mama looks away in submission. It’s like two shades of sexual in one frame. He has taken off his glasses, albeit square lenses, and shown you the true face behind the transistor radio. There is no mistaking it. Papa is a pimp and Mama is yours for the taking, but only if you’re invited to the inner-circle. Fingering every person who’s bedded with Michelle is like identifying a who’s-who in the spook world. Think I’m being unfair? We shall turn to Michelle in a little while, because Phillips was described by those who knew him, and in no uncertain terms, as a pimp and a controller. Lou Adler, producer and manager for The Mamas and The Papas, said: “John was the ultimate controller.” Emphasis is once again my own. While Mama Michelle said that John’s third wife, Genevieve Waite, “was practically his slave.” Michelle knew the title, and she wore it well.
Another picture which you’ll want to revisit sits at the very top of this article. Go ahead. Scroll back up there and study it closely. You’ll see The Mamas and The Papas lounging around inside a Southern California pool with all of their clothes on, because that was apparently their idea all along while California Dreamin’ from afar. But look closer. Papa John Phillips is in the center ring. Appropriate for two reasons. Phillips’ original name for the group was the occult-based Magic Cyrcle, and secondly, Phillips was unquestionably their ring master. Only he is inside the magic cyrcle. Everyone else latches on.
The next picture I’ll ask you to study derives from the same photo-shoot and can be seen directly below. Everyone is drinking water out of a hat—Papa John’s hat. The hat only has four holes in it, which means nobody drinks except they first be preordained by Papa. It is Papa John who is feeding them.
Papa John had a name for himself. The Wolf King of L.A.
On August 30, 1935, John Phillips was born in Parris Island, South Carolina, to a retired United States Marine Corps officer. These bios often begin this way. Retired. Sure, John Phillips may have been the child of an intelligence agent, but Captain Claude Andrew Phillips “was retired”—see what I mean? It’s easy to fudge those little details. Throw the man a retirement party and then send him “on vacation” to Haiti, if you get my drift. Meanwhile, John’s mother Dene Phillips worked most of her life for the federal government in an unspecified capacity, leaving John to attend a series of elite military prep schools in the Washington DC area, specifically Alexandria, all of which culminated in an appointment to the prestigious US Naval Academy at Annapolis.
Time and again we see these Sixties rock gods rising as a phoenix from the ashes of the Corporate United States military complex or intelligence communities. I have already covered Jim Morrison, the son of US Navy Admiral George Stephen Morrison, with a laundry list remaining on the others. David Crosby of The Byrds ties heavily into the Laurel Canyon and Manson narrative. Supposing you haven’t read my paper on the real Jim “The Lizard King” Morrison, then I suggest you drop everything and do it now. Jim Morrison. Hint, it involves the Gulf of Tonkin hoax.
If you pull a fact check and then hang your hat on Phillips having dropped out of the Academy after his freshman year, then explain why one of his first gigs was working on a fishing charter boat. Hold on, I’m not through yet. The crew consisted of a “retired” Navy officer and four “retired” Army generals, and also a Naval Academy drop out. We shall see these sorts of discrete episodes repeatedly throughout Phillips’ career. But if that doesn’t impress you, then you will have to explain how Phillips ended up in Havana, Cuba, in 1958, just as the Batista regime was about to fall to the revolutionary forces of Fidel Castro. Officially, John claims he was there merely as a concerned private citizen with the intention of “fighting for Castro,” just as the fishing charter boat consisted of retired military personnel. We often see Intel parents pimping out their children, as is the case with Jim Morrison, but rarely do we see private citizens traveling abroad to thwart CIA operations. Also, while taking up Castro’s cause, Phillips recalled how he was “once whisked off the street by a director, straight into a TV studio to appear on a live Havana variety show.”
Clearly, agent Phillips had a thing for Cuba because, only a few years later, he found himself alongside Naval Air Station Jacksonville and Naval Station Mayport for “two weeks of rest and rehearsal” in 1962, which just so happened to coincide with the Cuban Missile Crisis. This incident occurred one year after Phillips had met and bedded with 16 year-old Michelle Phillips, aka Holly Gilliam, his second wife. Like many pimps in his generation, The Sixties were finally upon us, and Agent Phillips had turned his attention away from international espionage to recording studios and music festivals.
Think I’m still being unfair? Nobody is otherwise capable of explaining who financed The Mamas and The Papas on their drug-fueled Caribbean adventure, where the band formed. Papa John described their first stop at St. Johns in terms of snorkeling on acid for several weeks. They then ferried over to St. Thomas, setting up shop at a dive beachfront boardinghouse. It is there where Mama Cass Elliott, aka Ellen Naomi Cohen, enters the narrative. Mama Cass and Papa John Phillip’s nephew arrived together, being childhood friends, but it gets better. Mama Cass and Papa John, having both grown up in Alexandria, attended the same George Washington High School. The group next arrived at the famed Creeque Alley, where they apparently opened up a commune and simultaneously wrote an entire album’s worth of material—their only iconic and lasting material. Place a Neil Armstrong moon landing flag right there, because as we have already seen, Jim Morrison, having arrived on the world stage as a fully emerged sex rock god, had already written his catalogue of music too. The defining difference is that Morrison could not read nor write music, and therefore had no way of communicating to his fellow band mates how to play or record them.
In his autobiography, Papa John, Phillips quotes Papa Denny as saying that everyone in the counterculture music scene was “evolving toward the same sound at the same time without really communicating with each other about it.”
Sure. Mm-hmm. That’s probably it.
Already, I’m getting ahead of myself, because right around the time in which John Phillips dropped out of the Naval Academy to charter a fishing boat, he also to married Susan Adams. If the surname sounds familiar to you, it’s because Susan Adams is a direct descendant of President John Adams. I could not find an easily accessed photo of her online, so we shall have to settle upon John and Susie’s daughter, Laura Mackenzie Phillips, who was born on November 10, 1959, and in Alexandria, Virginia, of all places. In turn, this makes Papa John’s children direct descendants of two presidents, both of whom were 2nd and 3rd great-grandsons of Mayflower passengers John Alden and Priscilla Mullins (the Windsor-Bush line can be traced to the Mayflower through passengers John Howland and Elizabeth Tilley), but ultimately of Charlemagne and King John, which we have already covered here. Elections Are a Hoax. Mackenzie was also close kin to Dick Van Dyke and buxom blond bombshell Raquel Welch—because they’re all related. Their first child, John Phillips, was born on December 13, 1957—a Friday. John set out for Cuba immediately thereafter. Now we are caught up again.
It’s not like John Phillips stumbled straight out of the Academy and into a trailer park. Aside from her blue-blood lineage, Susie’s father, James Adams Jr., had been involved in what she personally described as “cloak-and-dagger stuff with the Air Force in Vienna.” Intelligence. Put this in slightly other terms, James Adams Jr. was a spook. We are furthermore given no indication that Susie ran off with an Intel drop out. Contrarily, all indications steer us towards a woman who had both eyes pressed upon a career in line with her father’s work, and Papa John Phillips has a part to play in that. After Papa bedded with 16-year-old Michelle, John and Susie divorced. But I’ll go out on a limb here and suggest that this was all a part of the operation. Susie found employment at the Pentagon right alongside John Phillips’ older sister, Rosie, where they dutifully worked for some three decades—which takes us right up to the September 11 hoax and false flag event.
You may recognize Mackenzie Phillips from American Graffiti. In 2009, Mackenzie told Oprah Winfrey that her father had injected her with cocaine when she was 11 years old. This would put us somewhere around 1970. During that same interview, she furthermore claimed that, at the age of 19, John raped her on the night before her first wedding in 1979. “I woke up that night from a blackout to find myself having sex with my own father.”
When she confronted John months later, her father simply replied, “Raped you? Don’t you mean we made love?”
What followed was a decade-long sexual relationship with her father, all of which was reportedly consensual. She described their intercourse as “a sort of Stockholm syndrome, where you begin to love your captor.” The incest ended after Mackenzie became pregnant and subsequently had an abortion, which her father paid for.
Take another look at Mama Michelle, aka Holly Gilliam. In practically every picture I can find of her, the woman who married Papa John Phillips at 16 years of age looks like she was passed around a lot. Her eyes are telling. This is likely due to the fact that Papa Phillips did just that. He passed her around to practically everyone but Papa Denny Doherty. That certainly didn’t stop Papa Denny from bedding with her. It just means that, as the official narrative goes, Papa John never pimped Mama Michelle out to Papa Denny.
Consider the following men who bedded with Mama Michelle.
Jack Nicholson. Spook.
Dennis Hopper. Spook.
Warren Beatty. Spook.
Roman Polanski. Spook.
Gene Clark (of The Byrds). Spook.
Come to think of it, Mama Michelle was only passed around among spooks.
Mama Cass Elliott and the First President of Rock
I WILL REMIND you that John Phillips “dropped out” from the Naval Academy. That was probably just a cover. We’ve seen this happen before. If you read my paper on Woodstock (which you can read here, Woodstock), then you may recall my investigation into the festivals co-founder, Artie Kornfeld. The Brooklyn-born Jew attended American University in Washington D.C., a career center for CIA recruiting, reportedly to study pre-law. Kornfeld also dropped out.
According to Kornfeld’s auto-biography, The Pied Piper of Woodstock, one of his housemates was Hubert Horatio Humphrey III, the son of Hubert Humphrey. In the matter of months, Father Humphrey would sit down in the vacated seat of United States Vice President after Lyndon B. Johnson filled in for an assassinated John F. Kennedy, and that entire operation was a hoax. I suggest you read my two-part report here, Agent Zapruder, and here, Frame 313 Exposed. Apparently, everybody called Kornfeld’s housemate “Skip,” but that’s only because they try to make you think everything is either grassroots or organic, and the very name Skip comes across like the free-ranging type, when in fact everything about the American experience is GMO. Skip went on to become the Attorney General of Minnesota.
It was there in the cafeteria at American University where Mama Cass Elliott enters our narrative. It will do you well to remember that Cass is a Cohen. Apparently, Kornfeld and Elliott would sit around in the cafeteria for hours singing. Again, not organic. They love to sell us on these chance encounters, as if their life was a plot akin to Forrest Gump, when in fact Forrest Gump would be the biggest and most obvious spook in the real world. From here on out—the cafeteria table with Mama Cass, that is—taking binoculars to Kornfeld’s story is shaky at best. If he was recruited into intelligence, and I believe this to be the case, his exit from college is probably just a cover. Quite suddenly, Kornfeld can be spotted sliding up on the piano bench right next to Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys. Together they wrote the Jan & Dean classic, Dead Man’s Curve. That doesn’t just happen. Artie Kornfeld was an east-coast Bensonhurst boy. Brian Wilson was a west-coast Hawthorne hick and a musical genius on par with Mozart—or so we’re told. There is absolutely nothing natural about this transition. Nothing at all. What credentials does Kornfeld have to show? None. But it gets worse. By the age of 21, while most of his University classmates were studying for their mid-terms, Artie Kornfeld became the vice-president of Capital Records. And just in time for rock n’ roll, as well as The Mamas and The Papas, to show up in Laurel Canyon.
Vice-president. Capital Records. Sunset Boulevard. Twenty-one. Sorry. In the real world, that doesn’t just happen.
The short of it is this. Kornfeld was a Cohen.
Lady of the Canyon
THE SUBJECT of this paper includes the friends and associates of The Mamas and The Papas, one of which is Charlie Manson. I was initially suspicious of Mama Cass while digging into my Woodstock piece, but the ultimate tip-off came when learning that Manson attended John and Michelle Phillip’s New Year’s Eve party on December 31, 1968, just months before the murders began. Actually, the Family’s iconic bus had been seen parked at their home earlier in the fall. After learning about this, I was immediately reminded of the scene whereas Andy Dick fed Phil Hartman’s wife coke at their house on New Year’s Eve, 1997, only several months before she murdered him. Hartman’s death was likely another hoax—more likely a magic ritual, much like Kurt Cobain and John Lennon. You can read all about where those bread crumbs led me here. Phil Hartman. You will recall that Papa John was swimming inside the magic cyrcle while every other member held on. Hopefully by now you are finally beginning to catch onto the fact that this wasn’t simply a metaphor for his band mates. Papa John was a Wizard.
Laurel Canyon spooks needed a place to congregate, and the home of Mama Cass was their meeting point. Rolling Stone noted that “Mama’ Cass Elliot’s cozy canyon house functioned as a sort of rock salon.” Other journalists report it was always unlocked—a 24-hour open house, bustling with musician activity. David Crosby, whom I suspect as being groomed for a potential leading role in the person we now know as Manson, made the house of Mama Cass his habitual hangout. Speaking of which, another tip-off was the fact that Mama Cass lived just across the road from the house at 2774 Woodstock Road, occupied at the time by Abigail Folger and Wojciech Frykowski. There it is again, Woodstock. Remember how The Mamas and The Papas set up shop in a Creeque Alley commune? In 1967, Abigail Folger volunteered at the Height-Ashbury Free Clinic, because spooks have their hands in everything. The tip-off being that Folger and Frykowski were Charlie Manson and company murder victims right alongside Sharon Tate and Jay Sebring.
But more on Sebring in a moment.
We first need to become better acquainted with this friendly looking fellow. Pic Dawson was the son of a US State Department official who, according to John Phillips, was suspected by authorities “of using diplomatic pouches to move drugs between countries.” Dawson, though I imagine everybody called him Pic, was a regular dealer at Mama Cass’ home, but also at the 2774 Woodstock Road home of Folger and Frykowski, as well as the house on 10050 Cielo Drive, occupied first by Terry Melcher and actress Candice Bergen, until it wasn’t occupied by them, at which time Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate moved in.
The rest is history.
If we scan out, we can see the same scene and a better picture of Dawson’s friends. Mama Cass Elliot is one of them. Is that a unibrow? I think it is. The scene is the Whisky-a-Go-Go. How can I tell? I used all of my detective skills to locate the paper napkin under the glass. The Whiskey was another popular spook hang out, which included the likes of CIA plant Vito Paulekas, America’s first hippie. Vito Paulekas. Apparently, Pic was the sort of drug dealer that everybody wanted to take out to dinner.
A second drug dealer worth mentioning was a guy named Billy Doyle.
Just about everybody in the Canyon knew about Billy. After the marriage between Papa John and Mama Michelle dissolved, Michelle tried her hand at marriage with spook Dennis Hopper, another backstage player in the Manson murders and friend with fellow spooks Jack Nicholson and Warren Beatty. By the way, Mama Cass’ home had previously been owned by Natalie Wood. Follow the dots. A decade earlier, Wood had starred in Rebel Without a Cause alongside James Dean, who soon thereafter died in a “car wreck.” In turn, Dean had been good friends with Hopper, and Wood eventually “drowned” just off Santa Catalina—more mysterious causes. In turn, Hopper claimed Billy Doyle was filmed while being flogged at the 10050 Cielo Drive Tate-Polanski house just three days before the murders, but that’s all theater. And speaking of theater, their marriage only lasted eight nights. After exchanging vows on Halloween, 1970, Michelle claimed that Hopper kept her handcuffed and imprisoned for a week while making “unnatural sexual demands,” and promptly filed for divorce. Their eight-day marriage coincided with Michelle’s breakout into acting, and her career was a success.
A third dealer was Bill Mentzer. He would later be convicted of the “brutal murder” of Cotton Club producer Roy Radin, a crime which I confess I know practically nothing about and have yet to look into. EDIT: I did a little more digging and a group called The Process Church of the Final Judgement, which is claimed to have deep ties to the Manson, Son of Sam, and Cotton Club murders, showed up at Mama Cass’ door too. Mm-hmm. The CIA has all sorts of ridiculous little side projects with silly names like The Church of Satan. I’m willing to bet The Process Church of the Final Judgement, like Jim Jones, is another one—albeit MI6.
We will talk more about Folger and Frykowski in my follow-up paper dealing with the Manson murders, as well as Sharon Tate and Roman Polanski, obviously, but for now I feel it is important to cover the drug dealers. Sure, they dealt drugs, but they’re all a sloppily written plot point to a fictional horror movie. Four of the LAPD’s initial prime suspects in the Tate killings were drug dealers associated with Mama Cass Elliot. The LAPD described Mentzer as a member of “some kind of hit squad” or whatever. They were very quickly dropped from the narrative, but not before America was embellished with the manufactured drama and Roman Polanski traded director duties in order to play the character, Polanski, P.I., thereby fumbling his way through dens of iniquity in search of his wife’s murderer, even going so far as to offer to pay Bruce Lee for a new pair of prescription glasses, hoping to match his with the killers. No, I am not making this up. You are already receiving a preview of what is to come, and it’s all a movie.
But wait. We are not quite yet done with drug dealers.
Actor Michael Caine recalls attending a party in Hollywood with Sharon Tate and somebody named Jay Sebring, we can assume in late 68 or early 1969, where Mama Cass introduced him to a “scruffy little man” named Charles Manson. If you’re not familiar with Jay Sebring, he was better known for his acclaimed hair studio, which sat right at the mouth of Laurel Canyon, just below the Sunset Strip, and yes, that is a picture of Jay Sebring cutting Paul Newman’s hair. Sebring may have been a hair stylist, but in 1969 he was an actor, appearing in an episode of Batman that very year. Sebring is the talent who sculpted Jim Morrison’s hair. If Sebring tended to Manson’s hair, we are not told. Other clients included Frank Sinatra, Warren Beatty, and Henry Fonda. In turn, Fonda lived in the guesthouse at 10050 Cielo Drive at one time. Also, Papa John Phillips invested $10,000 in Jay Sebring’s business venture, Sebring International, which is said to involve drug trafficking.
So, we have yet another one of The Mamas and The Papas drug dealers, only this time he could not be accused by the police of killing, because Jay Sebring was one of the alleged victims in the Sharon Tate murders at 10050 Cielo Drive. Right away we can deduce that Sebring’s business was a front for something more. According to his bio, he had been in the navy for four years.
We will touch more on Jay Sebring, but specifically hair salons, in my next paper.
While Sebring was busy cutting Frank Sinatra’s hair, Papa John Phillips was occupied having an affair with Sinatra’s wife, Mia Farrow. The pair were only married for a couple of years, from 1966-1968, and while this may seem insignificant, Mia Farrow starred in the 1968 horror film, Rosemary’s Baby. The movie was directed by Roman Polanski, and if you recall, Mia Farrow played the part of the mother impregnated by the devil.
I’ll let you continue connecting those dots.
It is only because of Jay Sebring and his friend Bill Dozier that we know Bruce Lee the actor. Mm-hmm, the hair stylist who was found dead in the Roman Polanski house discovered Bruce Lee.
The Art of The Mamas & The Papas
THE MAMAS and The Papas very first LP had something to do with a bathtub and a toilet for a cover. If you visited a record shop in 1966 and happened upon a first edition, then you will likely agree that this is how they were introduced to the world. It has the distinction of being the very first album to feature a toilet, which was quickly declared indecent and cropped over. The Rolling Stones would up the ante on upcoming albums, but The Mamas and The Papas set the standard. I am reminded of The Cosby Show. Bill Cosby had the distinction of showcasing the very first bathroom in an American sitcom in the early 1980’s (it’s the episode where they flushed a goldfish down the toilet), and if you happened to read my paper on Shel Silverstein, then you’ll hopefully recall that Cosby, a Hugh Hefner and Playboy Mansion co-conspirator, was rolled out as America’s dad only to castrate an entire generation of blacks. Shel Silverstein. This is kind of like that.
They sang go where you wanna go and do what you wanna do, and here we can clearly see that they’re making an example of it. The Mamas and The Papas came all this way from the Caribbean, westbound, to hang out in a Southern California bathroom. And much like the pool, with all of their clothes on. Probably for the acoustics. Or perhaps because they’ll need to flush some drugs and may not have a second to lose. And also because clothing and reverse psychology plays a part in much of their imagery.
The photographer was none other than Guy Webster, who provided pictures for the cover of The Byrds, The Rolling Stones, Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band, Paul Revere & The Raiders, Simon & Garfunkel, Tim Buckley, and Nico. But unlike his other covers, If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears doesn’t scream Webster. It has all the markings of Papa John Phillips.
Once again, we see Papa John in control of the meeting and Mama Michelle getting passed around to everyone.
Hopefully you are finally beginning to understand what Rolling Stone writer Rob Sheffield meant when he remarked, “The Mamas and The Papas celebrated all the sin and sleaze of Sixties L.A. with folksy harmonies, acoustic guitars, and songs that told inquiring minds way more than they wanted to know. And on their January 1966 debut, If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears, they somehow made it all sound groovy.” The Genesis Targum says that Eve, while being tempted by the serpent, “beheld Sammael, the angel of death, and was afraid; yet she knew that the tree was good to eat, and that it was medicine for the enlightenment of the eyes.” Genesis 3:6. In other words, the angel of enlightenment is also the angel of death.
In the past, I’ve pointedly stated that the CIA tried their best to destroy the last remnants of art via pumping millions into spooks like Jackson Pollock and abstract expressionism, but also paving the road for poetic spooks like Walt Whitman. Jackson Pollock. They upped the ante with Allen Ginsberg, which is to say they made poetry as terrible and unreadable as possible while still selling it to the youth as something masterful. That is not to say that the intelligence community via the Roman Catholic Church did not cultivate and curate even the more glorious aspects of art as we know it. The end game is that they want to mold and shape our morality in everything, including our ideas of beauty. They will spoon feed your every thought and then make you believe you personally aroused your own intellect. And if you’re even remotely paying attention to Evangelical Christianity, bland and flavorless as it is, then you will hopefully conclude that they’re doing a phenomenal job of it. They will offer us something to love, like rock n’ roll and the hippie or the pendulum swing of Vietnam and President Nixon, and then hack it into pieces with Watergate and the Manson murders. Every psyop serves a multitude of purposes.
Why am I surprised to learn that Papa John Phillips and Papa Denny Doherty were invited to the Cielo Drive home on the night of the murders? I think it’s finally time we take a closer look at their other friends. Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate.
And also, Charlie Manson.
McGowan, David: “Weird Scenes Inside the Canyon”
Foster, J.J., Pens & Patron: “The Wild Lives of The Mamas & The Papas”
Wikipedia: “The Mamas and The Papas”
Wikipedia: “If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears“