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Home , Never Learn Not to Love, Pacific Ocean Blue

What happened when one of met one of America’s most dangerous criminals? INTERSECTING LIVES AND words chris a. smith illustration owen davey

The women stood along Highway 1 in Malibu, and other lost souls with a philosophy that thumbs out. Stringy hair, tattered bell- combined Dale Carnegie’s hucksterism, bottoms—hippie chicks. Dennis Wilson, Scientology’s self-help mantras, and his own drummer for the Beach Boys and a champion brand of mad Jesus Freak hustle. The womanizer, loved hippie chicks. Pulling his budding cult leader had moved to LA for the Rolls-Royce onto the shoulder, he called same reason everybody else did: he wanted out, “Wanna come over to my house for milk to be famous. and cookies?” The 23-year-old Wilson, meanwhile, was Home, for Wilson, was a rented mansion tall, tanned, and rich, and the only Beach Boy in the hills off Sunset Boulevard, a pleasure who actually surfed. Beneath the glamour, palace built to look like a log cabin. The he was just as lost as Manson’s runaways, women were awestruck. The pool was haunted by horrific childhood abuse, when shaped like the state of California; peacocks his father would beat him with a two-by-four. roamed the yard. First they all raided the He was impulsive and undisciplined, and fridge. Then they got high and had sex. his band mates treated him like hired help, Wilson took off for a recording session, a foot soldier in his older brother Brian’s but when he returned at 3am there was a artistic campaigns. So Dennis was always party going on. The women were still there, searching for something—drugs, women, along with a dozen others, most of them transcendental meditation—to plug the gaps listening raptly to a short bearded guy in his soul. As one of his four ex-wives put strumming a guitar. The guitarist came over it, “He was really empty inside.” to greet Wilson. He was slight, maybe 5'2", Manson grokked the situation immedi- but he walked with a predator’s gait. ately. The needy drummer, with his money Something in his look—those pupils, wide and industry connections, would be his ticket and dark—gave Wilson pause. to rock stardom. He went full-guru on “Are you going to hurt me?” Wilson, assuring him that his father’s abuse The little guy fixed him with a smile. “Do wasn’t his fault. As for the boozing and skirt- I look like I’m going to hurt you?” chasing, the stuff he did to numb the pain? That’s when Charles Manson knelt down Nothing was forbidden. God and Satan, after and kissed Dennis Wilson’s feet. all, were one. As Manson preached, “There It was the spring of 1968, and the country ain’t no thing called wrong.” was burning. The war in Vietnam was Wilson was smitten. His new buddy was raging, college campuses and inner cities creative, spiritual, and possessed of some were in revolt, and the counterculture—a weapons-grade charism. His women treated bewildering stew of hedonism, mysticism, him like a god. The guy had a whiff of danger and violence—was hitting critical mass. to him, too. That just made “The Wizard,” Manson, a 33-year-old drifter and ex-con as Wilson called him, even more appealing. with a gift for manipulating people, was the It couldn’t have been lost on Wilson, right man for the season. He had begun either, that Manson oozed a kind of building his “family” in Haight-Ashbury the counterculture cred that the Beach Boys, previous year, snaring vulnerable teenagers despite their popularity, didn’t have.

138 139 INTERSECTING LIVES When Manson heard the Beach Boys’ “,” which used some of his lyrics, he apparently went to Wilson’s house with a loaded gun and left a single bullet as a threat.

Their most recent LP, , though it’s By the summer’s end, Wilson was sick of “Healter Skelter” [sic] on the refrigerator in now seen as a masterpiece, had tanked, and hosting the Family. They had run up huge the victims’ blood. they were struggling to stay relevant. The tabs in his name, and one of them had When word broke of Manson’s arrest, hippies were the hot new thing. That clean- crashed his Mercedes. In all, he estimated, Wilson was frightened, and tried to keep a cut, Jan-and-Dean crap just wasn’t cool they had cost him $100,000. Worse, Manson low profile. Manson had shown up at his anymore. was getting scary. One day he put a knife to door a few months earlier, demanding Within a few days, the Family moved in the drummer’s throat. Wilson called his $1,500. When Wilson refused, his erstwhile with Wilson. They hung out by the pool, bluff, spitting, “Do it!” guru had threatened to kill Wilson’s seven- dropping LSD and playing records, the music Soon Wilson moved out, and the Family year-old son. Prosecutors came looking for booming out into the canyon. The guru put returned to the decrepit ranch it had been the tapes of one of Manson’s sessions, but his flock of women at Wilson’s disposal. squatting in, in the San Fernando Valley. Wilson said he had destroyed them: “The Wilson paid for penicillin treatments for the That fall, the Beach Boys recorded one of vibrations connected with them don’t belong group’s rampant gonorrhea, let Manson tag Manson’s songs—a tune about mind control on this earth.” along to Hollywood parties and Sunset Strip given to Wilson on the condition that he left As for his time with Manson, he swore, clubs, and piled women into his Rolls-Royce the lyrics intact. Whether as payback or “As long as I live, I’ll never talk about that.” to take them dumpster-diving—Manson’s because the words were too gnarly for radio The years passed. The Beach Boys slid preferred foraging technique. play, Wilson tweaked them into a standard- into hackery, playing corporate gigs and The drummer also tried to get his friend issue love song. He renamed it “Never Learn Republican campaign rallies. Wilson’s a record deal. Most of Manson’s songs were Not to Love,” and didn’t even credit Manson. addictions spiraled out of control. Just after three-chord folk rip-offs, but Wilson saw The guru was livid. He still hoped to score Christmas in 1983, he began drinking at 9am something in him. His lyrics were like a record deal, though, so he didn’t retaliate. on a friend’s boat, which was docked in the nobody else’s, coming on like hippie murder Things got heavier as 1968 bled into 1969. same slip that had held Wilson’s yacht before ballads or dispatches from the void: Manson foretold a coming race war—the financial troubles had forced him to sell it. I’m scratching peace symbols in your tombstone details of which he claimed to have divined Wilson dove into the water, over and over, I’m scratching peace symbols in your mind from the Beatles’ “Helter Skelter”—in which searching for mementos he had thrown I’d like to know how’d you get there blacks would rise up and murder all the whites. overboard years earlier. Eventually, he quit Can’t you hear, oh can’t you hear up here The Family began stockpiling weapons and coming up. He was 39. Opinion was decidedly mixed. Neil Young prepping a hide-out in Death Valley so it From prison, Manson claimed to have was impressed enough that he lobbied could ride out the apocalypse. cursed Wilson for stealing his song. While he Warner Bros. on Manson’s behalf, but the Manson’s rock-star dreams died that probably never shook Manson’s shadow, other Beach Boys hated him. They nicknamed summer, when he blew a long sought-after Wilson had plenty of his own demons. Even him “Pig-Pen,” after the Peanuts character audition with one of Wilson’s producer so, he’d managed to pull himself together to who trailed a dust cloud behind him, and friends. To his followers, Manson spun this record a solo , , in 1977. refused to sign him to their new label. failure as a sign that Helter Skelter was It’s a transcendent work, sweet and hard- Wilson went to bat for Manson anyway, beginning: they just needed to kick-start the edged in equal measure, shot through with booking studio time, once, in brother Brian’s bloodletting. sadness. He sang: home studio. The sessions were disasters. The bodies soon began piling up. Over All things that live one day must die, you know Manson, consistently out of tune and two consecutive nights that August, the Even love and the things we hold close resistant to instruction, just didn’t have the Family killed nine complete strangers, Look at love, look at love, look at love chops. At one session he pulled a knife on the including the actress . On the Look what we’ve done. recording engineer. second night, they scrawled the words

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