Correspondence from Grady McMurtry to Israel Regardie

[EXTRACT]

[7 October 1969]

So much paranoia has developed over all this, the burglaries and armed robberies and goon squads, that I was beginning to find myself back to my old soldiering days during War II when I used to check out over-run German positions with a trip wire for booby traps in my left hand and a .45 automatic for any stray snipers in my right. So I said, in good old Army vernacular, "screw it" and went "over the top" style, i.e. like the sheriff in "High Noon", by myself. The result was, I am sure, exactly what you would have expected. A sort of comedy written for Laurel and Hardy with both roles being acted by W.C. Fields, i.e. me. Some college kids came to the door. The place was absolute chaos. Debris all over the place. Kids trying to get the place cleaned out so they could move in. No, they didn't know where the Brayton's [Jean Brayton] were. Could I see the painting on the ceiling upstairs? Sure, come in. I went up. One thing was immediately obvious, just from the bits and pieces of debris laying around. This had been a really big operation. The third floor combined a large room and attic, or "slanted" roof, in one. Much better that the place where Smith [Wilfred T. Smith] had had a temple on Winona Blvd which was only an attic, as I recall. The painting, (a sort of Chinese dragon on the left, dancing nude figures in the center, the Chinese dragon boat bearing the Chinese gods of wisdom, on the right) was on the south side. On the west a "gothic" or "church" style window in 2 sections. Top section had Horus and Ankh-n-f-Khonsu in pseudo stained glass. Bottom section had a very simple Kabbalistic Tree of Life. The light was about as bad as it could be, but I have a very fast color film. Ektachrome ASA 160, so I took slides and at least got enough that one can make out what it looked like, in general. In another room, where the library had been, adjacent to the temple, actually opening off it, another "stained" glass window with "418" at the top, but I had run out of film by then.

[The students] asked me about all these weird things. I told them, in general terms. We went down to the 2nd floor. They showed me a curious lamp. They couldn't turn loose of it. But the window shades, pull down canvas type, Kether to Malkuth on the right one. They offered them to me just to get rid of them. I took them. In the meantime I had been asking them questions to elicit information as to whether the Brayton's were the people involved in the child brutality case out at Blythe. They agreed that they were the ones. It is common knowledge. Everyone knows it. They wanted to know what had happened. They were obviously skittish about all these curious paintings, weird masks, and strange kabbalistic markings around. I told them that, in addition to the Blythe case, there had been some robberies of libraries with some rather esoteric material, and that in one of the robberies these people had come into possession of material that could cause malefic effects if the person who had it didn't know how to use it—and that that was what was chasing them now. "You mean the place is haunted," the gut who is going to live in the former library room asked. "I'll swear I heard voices last night"? I allowed as to how that was possible, but that I would do a banishing ritual for him if it would make him feel better. So went back up the temple and I did the Lesser Pentagram while he watched. Marvelous acoustic effects for vibrating the Names. Also showed him the god-form of Harpocrates should he need it. (On the north side of the "temple," at floor level, a barred window with a horrendous looking mask peering out) Picked up the shades and headed down, Students milling all over the place waiting for a "Mr. Patterson" to come help them move junk out so they could move in. At the second floor landing I missed my camera swinging from my shoulder, put down the shades, went back upstairs and, in the fraction of time it took me to get back down, another "student" had come in and removed the shades, they were not for sale or gift. I shrugged, thinking to myself that for some unknown reason (which would become very apparent several days later) I was obviously not supposed to have these souvenirs (as is very well known—for whatever reasons other people fight wars, we Americans only fight them for souvenirs), waved a friendly goodbye and took off.

They had told me that this "Patterson" managed the property (one student even stated that this "Patterson" was the son of the Brayton's—possibly of Jean Brayton by a previous marriage, but I was not able to verify that), but that they paid rent to a Beverly Gibbons at 1251 W, 30th St., L.A. . . . one of the properties Jerry [Kay] had shown me the night before just around the corner. I went there next. She was very cagey and wouldn't tell me a thing except to agree that Mr. Patterson was in charge and could, on occasion, be reached at this address. But not now. I had taken a phone number from a FOR SALE BY OWNER sign outside the Menlo address. She agreed that I could reach him at that number, but refused to confirm that the phone number and that address corresponded. Again I said a friendly goodbye and walked down the street to 1241 W. 30th St another property Jerry had showed me. Surprise. The sign on the front porch said THE BRAYTON'S. I knocked. Again a student answered. No, he didn't know where they were. Not even the FBI can find them. Yes, they are the people at Blythe. In his language, "they all got busted (arrested)." At this point I felt I had developed all the information I reasonably could. Besides I was both tired and broke, this being Sep 25 and I had been on the road since Sep 17 when I picked up Lee [Heflin] at the San Francisco International Airport so I drove him home, sleeping in the car on the way, and got in the next morning with $2 in my pocket.

I was so exhausted I should have spent the day in bed. Instead, riding some kind of a psychic "high", I spent the day getting everything from my trip straightened out. Good thing, too. When Phyllis [Phyllis Seckler] came in at 3 PM, Sep 26, we discussed my findings and, as it seemed entirely possible that the stolen libraries were at Blythe and, with everyone there either arrested or a fugitive from Justice it was possible that it was unattended and subject to the damage of desert sun, heat and wind. I know how severe that can be, having gone through desert maneuvers in that area with the Army in the summer of 1943 in preparation for the African front (only to wind up in England in October of that year cursing the "cold"—but also to meet A.C.). So we packed up and took off about 5:30 pm that day, taking Phyllis' car, a Corvair camper-van (sleeps 2) and, spelling each other at the wheel drove all night and rolled into Blythe about 8 am next morning. I even had to do the bum's bit and shave in a service station. Just like I was back in the Army.

The only clue we had was a newspaper article describing a commune "35 miles north of Blythe." We drove 40 miles, circled like the Indians, found a local resident, one of the few in that god-forsaken part of the country ("the world's armpit", said a friend later being very euphemistic) and by that time being beyond caring about using delicate language I simply asked him very bluntly if he knew where we could find the place where "the kid had been in the box". He allowed it was "just over the rise," gave us directions, and we found it in a few minutes. The mail box by the highway had "SOLAR" on it. It is about 1 1/2 miles off the highway over a washboard road. The Colorado river is about 2 miles away to the East, but this place is just a sun blasted piece of desert. Seen one, you've seen them all. A bunch of ramshackle sheds, one, a Quonset hut, burned. That is why the kid had been manacled in the box for 56 days in, sometimes, 110° heat. He had been "playing with matches" and had burned down the best building they had. I don't think the libraries were in it. I checked it out, as best you can check a burned building, and it looked mostly like machinery and metal sections for additional buildings.

Again, a comedy. I don't know what we had expected, but what we found was a rummage sale in progress. Everything was being sold. Mostly it was garbage, but there were boxes with fine looking silver plate marked "temple furnishings" that must have set them back a penny. And the usual debris. A photo of A.C. on one wall. Enlarged monochrome photos of the Stélé of Revealing, front and back, on the wall in the next room. In a side cache, excellent drawings, in color on good hard paper stock, of the Tree of Life, one with the OTO organizational chart arrangement very nicely done superimposed. In a mailing tube, a beautiful color print from The Book of the Dead on a durable cloth, etc. When we had finally checked out everything I took it over and asked the guy how much. It obviously meant nothing to him. He took one look and gave it to me for nothing. Unfortunately a woman sitting there spoke up and identified them as being "their personal religious things", whereupon he took them back, saying he had promised not to sell their "personal" things. Another battle fought, and no souvenirs. However, trying to elicit further information, I asked if there were "books, a library," A blonde boy pipes up with "that's at the store, at 137 N. Broadway, in Blythe.

So again we are off and running. But first we checked out the restaurant in Vidal, up the pike a mile or so, in which they had had an interest, and in which the mother of the boy in the box had been a waitress. Nothing. So we drove back to Blythe me rolling at 60 on those 50 mph roads. That is really rugged desert. We found the store. Plenty of things there. I picked up a 12" x 20" Stele of Revealing, colored photos on wood, for $1.50. A.C.'s frontispiece from the Blue Equinox [Equinox Vol. III, No. 1], nicely framed, for 99¢. A flock of posters knocked down to 50¢ each. (the gal in charge said that Dick Brayton, "Spud" [whoever that is] and another guy had walked in, signed a paper saying that they could sell everything, and then had simply disappeared). They also had a flock of enlarged Thoth Tarot cards, beautifully painted and nicely framed, going for $1.00 each, but we had simply run out of money, so I had to leave them. Lots of other things, but no library. Phyllis scouted the back room, beyond the "PRIVATE" sign, which I had glanced at and decided was just junk, and found [a] book, ledger, or something, belonging to SOLAR LODGE.

So what to do? Back to L.A. to beard this "Patterson". Seemed our only connecting link. Since he was managing their property, maybe he was also "managing" their library. We slept in a motel that night, both of use being completely knocked out. The next morning, Sunday, we rolled into L.A. at 9 am I called this Patterson at the number. Beverly Gibbons came to the phone. Patterson was routed out of bed. Address nailed down. At this point we might recall all the paranoia that had developed as a result of the thefts, armed robberies, etc. (Jerry had even warned me, twice, not to wear my seal ring when I went to the then Menlo address as "they might recognize it". Ridiculous) So when he tried to stall on the phone, I hit him with a crunch, like a charging fullback cracking the line. He might listen to sweet-talk, but first I had to get his attention. So I said to him, "I need to see you personally in order to keep 4 criminal charges from being filed against the Braytons." That did it. He asked if I would call him back at 9:30 am. I did. He would see me, but only in the presence of his lawyer, a Rex Eagan 14724 Ventura Blvd, Suite 701, Sherman Oaks.

At 12am. At high noon we went in. Eagan is apparently a top-flight criminal lawyer. Claims to have been an associate of Jerry Geisler, and that Geisler had willed him his library. Without naming any names, and only one date, Sep 3, 1967, I laid it on the line that we knew that they had these libraries (sworn statements. Since I was playing a bluff I might as well play it to the hilt), but in taking the one on Sep 3 they had (1) taken on a Karmic debt in violating their initiation oaths and (2) that they had come into possession of materials they did not understand and had set in motion forces that are psychically damaging and was in the process of destroying them, as witness their present predicament. Eagan, who had played the "little boy caught in his shorts" routine when we first came in (he had been on his way to manage a Babe Ruth League ball team), played this a bit and then tried to put us down ("you have no case", "you are stepping on little guys") and then, in the best video manner, tried to scare us (eyes slitted, voice low and rasping) by suggesting that we were trying black-mail and/or extortion. At this point Phyllis hit the destruct button and pointed out that the little guy being stepped on was a little old lady in an armed robbery (she didn't even mention that Sascha [Sascha Germer] had been damned near murdered). After that the atmosphere cleared a bit, and we did get some information. The people at Blythe, even apparently those who skipped bail or are fugitives from the FBI warrant were coming to trial in Indio on Thurs, Oct. 2. Eagan suggested that they had taken the library "over the border" and then corrected himself "of several state lines." But of course "over the border" in California means Mexico. He said, for what it is worth that he would let us know if he found out about the library. I had stressed several times that I had no interest in prosecuting . . . all I wanted was the library back. At this point it became obvious why I couldn't have those window shades at Menlo Ave. "Patterson" was the "student" who recovered them. I had thought so, but with all that hair these days how do you tell one mop top from another? I was being protected. It would have really blown our cool as "the good guys" if I had to explain why I had them at this point. We parted with an outer show of friendliness.

What next? The Braytons will be caught eventually, and we need to put a legal claim on those libraries if they are to be recovered. This means hiring a lawyer to put together a case and present it properly. Phyllis and I do not have the money. We have literally spent ourselves to the bone on this and have, I think, developed it as far as it will go at the present time. If you can advise me differently, please let me know.

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