Nonetheless I came to the conclusion that if nothing else, the Secret
Service could serve me well --- well that is if I could somehow persuade
s
ome
agents from the Portland filed office of the Secret Service to see me
off at Portland International, where I intended to catch a flight home
back to LAX Los Angeles, some four days later on Friday, March 30th 1979.
For me, one big
hurdle I had to overcome was the fact that never liked police informants,
'snitches', 'finks', 'squealers', 'Narcs' etc. --- just on general principle
as a former 'pot-dealer', plus the fact that I was busted in high-school
by a 'snitch' back in 1969 --- and the role of reputed police informants
there in the murder of a friend back in July '71 made me even more adamant
in this respect --- and so it then and there in March 1979, a 1000 miles
from home, friends and family --- that I was now compelled to inform the
U.S. Secret Service of my suspicions.
However
I was finally able to overcome this issue thereby the facts and circumstances
of this rather desperate situation I then found myself in --- due to the
fact that it was apparently the CIA and local branch of the FBI that were
setting me up as some kind of 'assassination patsy' at the Portland Hilton
--- and besides it was my duty as an American Citizen --- even though I've
rarely been treated as one --- that I go Secret Service and give them the
goods, on the upcoming 'hit' on President Carter at the Hilton which I then
believed must have been set for some time, from mid-to late Spring 1979.
Not
trusting the Portland police or the Secret Service who I feared might detain
me once inside there Portland field office --- and later turn me over to
the very people that I was trying to escape from --- on the morning of Monday,
March 26th 1979 --- that I made the first in a series of phone calls to
U.S. Secret Service in Portland from my Westslope apartment.
My
first call to Secret Service was then forwarded to agent Donald Robinson
--- who rather than talk too much over the phone, I attempted to set up
a meeting with him, --- or any one of the Secrest Service agents from the
Portland field office they selected there on the condition --- thar the
meeting take place there in some public place where I might feel a bit less
paraniod and could possibly escape from should things get too heavy and
they try and grab my ass --- so I suggested the ice-skating rink at Portland's
Lloyd Center as one possibility.
After
a couple more phone conversations with agent Robinson later that same morning
--- it became plainly apparent Robinson and I could not possibly agree,
as to where to meet that on Monday of March 26th --- so I told him that
I would try and sleep on the matter, as best I could and possibly call him
back on the following morning --- should I reconsder and decide to see it
his, Robinson's way, and come on into the Portland field office of the Secret
Service for a chat.
Having
slept on the matter, on the morning of Tuesday March 27th, I decided that
it might be absolutely essential for me to go on into Secret Service offices
in Portland if I was to expect them to send some agents there to Portland
International to see me off --- it was a calcualted risk that they might
also grab me and hand me over to the FBI in Portland and if they did that
I was as good as dead --- perhaps worse, much worse.
Having
accepted this as a necessary calculated risk, I then made a brief phone
call from my apartment to Secret Service --- I then notified agent Robinson
of my intention to come into Secret Service offices later that morning,
and had my live-in 17 year-old girlfriend, take the day off from work at
her grandfather's film company --- in order to drive me into downtown, for
my interview with agent Robinson at the Portland field office of U.S. Secret
Service --- then situated inside the PG&E utility office building complex
located in downtown Portland, Oregon --- just a few blocks or so, from the
Portland Hilton where I then worked.
during
March '79 event 'rewind' weekend --- that I decided to arrange for an interview
with the U.S. Secret Service in Portland the following Monday, March 26th
1979 --- whereas this situation I was in was far in a way much bigger than
the local Portland Cops could handle.
My then recent memory of an on-duty Yreka Police Officer that I knew through
a friend, only some eight-months months earlier in July '78 --- during one
of the relatively few nights, I just happened to spend in Yreka --- and
all the fucking mystery involved in that murder and cover-up, was evidere-Hallowen
incident which resulted in my brief interrogation by a Senior FBI agent
in Portland --- and how this alerted me to the fact that I was under continuous
FBI surveillance --- meant the FBI was ance enough for me. ---Nope it as
the U.S. Secret Service or nothing for me.
In Chapter __. of my book "1979" --- I give a vividly detailed
account of the October 1978, ppparently in on the then active conspiracy
set-up, to somehow 'frame' me at the Portland Hilton in March of '79. ---
All this meant that contacting the FBI was most definitely out of the question.
As for reservations about booking a flight out of the airport in Portland
back to L.A. by the end of that week on Friday March 30th 1979 --- these
were further exacerbated by the then recent crash of a United DC-8 out New
York --- thereon approach to Portland International --- only 3 months earlier
back in late-December '78 --- only a mile and a half from my then new home
in Northeast Portland.
It was as I recall thereas the result of my personal knowledge --- thereof
the U.S. Secret Service's complicity in the 1963 assassination of President
Kennedy in Dallas, and later the Secret Service's glaring failure to protect
Senator Robert Kennedy, only minutes after winning the 1968 California Presidential
Primary in Los Angeles, which I, amd millions of other Americans witnessed
on live, nationwide on television --- that I didn't trust the Secret Service
as far as I could throw one of it's agents.
Nonetheless I came to the conclusion that if nothing else, the Secret Service
could serve me well --- well that is if I could somehow persuade some agents
from the Portland filed office of the Secret Service to see me off at Portland
International, where I intended to catch a flight home back to LAX Los Angeles,
some four days later on Friday, March 30th 1979.
For me, one big hurdle I had to overcome was the fact that never liked police
informants, 'snitches', 'finks', 'squealers', 'Narcs' etc. --- just on general
principle as a former 'pot-dealer', plus the fact that I was busted in high-school
by a 'snitch' back in 1969 --- and the role of reputed police informants
there in the murder of a friend back in July '71 made me even more adamant
in this respect --- and so it then and there in March 1979, a 1000 miles
from home, friends and family --- that I was now compelled to inform the
U.S. Secret Service of my suspicions.
However I was finally able to overcome this issue thereby the facts and
circumstances of this rather desperate situation I then found myself in
--- due to the fact that it was apparently the CIA and local branch of the
FBI that were setting me up as some kind of 'assassination patsy' at the
Portland Hilton --- and besides it was my duty as an American Citizen ---
even though I've rarely been treated as one --- that I go Secret Service
and give them the goods, on the upcoming 'hit' on President Carter at the
Hilton which I then believed must have been set for some time, from mid-to
late Spring 1979.
Not trusting the Portland police or the Secret Service who I feared might
detain me once inside there Portland field office --- and later turn me
over to the very people that I was trying to escape from --- on the morning
of Monday, March 26th 1979 --- that I made the first in a series of phone
calls to U.S. Secret Service in Portland from my Westslope apartment.
My first call to Secret Service was then forwarded to agent Donald Robinson
--- who rather than talk too much over the phone, I attempted to set up
a meeting with him, --- or any one of the Secrest Service agents from the
Portland field office they selected there on the condition --- thar the
meeting take place there in some public place where I might feel a bit less
paraniod and could possibly escape from should things get too heavy and
they try and grab my ass --- so I suggested the ice-skating rink at Portland's
Lloyd Center as one possibility.
After a couple more phone conversations with agent Robinson later that same
morning --- it became plainly apparent Robinson and I could not possibly
agree, as to where to meet that on Monday of March 26th --- so I told him
that I would try and sleep on the matter, as best I could and possibly call
him back on the following morning --- should I reconsder and decide to see
it his, Robinson's way, and come on into the Portland field office of the
Secret Service for a chat.
Having slept on the matter, on the morning of Tuesday March 27th, I decided
that it might be absolutely essential for me to go on into Secret Service
offices in Portland if I was to expect them to send some agents there to
Portland International to see me off --- it was a calcualted risk that they
might also grab me and hand me over to the FBI in Portland and if they did
that I was as good as dead --- perhaps worse, much worse.
Having accepted this as a necessary calculated risk, I then made a brief
phone call from my apartment to Secret Service --- I then notified agent
Robinson of my intention to come into Secret Service offices later that
morning, and had my live-in 17 year-old girlfriend, take the day off from
work at her grandfather's film company --- in order to drive me into downtown,
for my interview with agent Robinson at the Portland field office of U.S.
Secret Service --- then situated inside the PG&E utility office building
complex located in downtown Portland, Oregon --- just a few blocks or so,
from the Portland Hilton where I then worked.
A rather interestingly, ironic tidbit here being that when I walked into
the PG&E office complex for my interview at the Secret Service field
office in Portland on March 27th --- I was wearing my mid-70's department
store-knock-off , leather bombers jacket, which I had so skillfully adorned
with a large custom made insignia on one sleeve, consisting of the silloette
image of Nuclear plant --- with an 'Anti' back slash accross cutting across
cooling tower.
which
I had designed and made myself some weeks earlier, back January '79.
The design of this rather large insignia on my jacket sleeve, had 'anti',
back slash through running through a sillohette profile of the cooling tower
located at the Trojan Nuclear Power plant, some 30 miles or so, up the Columbia
River from the City of Portland.
Back in March '79 I was kind of a weekend anti-nuker who opposed the operation
of nuclear power plants on grounds of public safety combined with the fact
that the very Columbia River which ran along Portland was reportedly the
most radioactive river in the entire world, due in part to the fact that
the Hanford Nuclear waste dump was located on further up the Columbia in
Washington State.
I really wasn't a fanatic about it in 1979, but I then believed and still
do now in 2006 believe that the closing down all of the atomic power plants
nationwide as well as the one near Portland is good move, on ground of environmental
as well as fiscal concerns there in the wake of the "Whoops" nuke-plant
money-laundering scandal of the late 1970's and early 1980's.
Why earlier that very month, in early March 197, .I had just then recently
attended the Portland first-day opening day movie premiere of the film,
"The China Syndrome" --- a film about intrigue, corruption and
murder at a scripted nuclear power plant in California --- sort of a message
movie for us 1970's anti-nuker types.
In fact I even attended anti-nuke rally, held by some Portland clique of
leftists, government informants, stooges and femi-Nazi type bitches called
the 'Trojan Decommissioning Alliance', which took place at River Front Park
in downtown Portland back in April 1978, only eleven-months earlier. ---
I get into even how this simple act was intended to help 'frame' me in then
upcoming year year 1979 --- as covered in Chapter __. of my book "1979".
What makes all this so very fucking ironic --- is the fact that the very
corporate owners of the Trojan Nuclear Power plant near Portland was in
1979 --- PG&E, (Portland General Electric) --- the same company that
owned the PG&E building complex located in downtown Portland --- therein
which the Portland field offices of the U.S. Secret Service were also located,
and were thus situated, thereon the ground floor of the then ultra-modern
PG&E building complex.
As I walked into the PG&E complex for my Secret Service office for my
March '79 interview with agent Robinson I was greeted by a surprisingly
attractive, upbeat and yet very businesslike receptionist who was surprisingly
cordial and gracious as she stood behind a podium like desk, apparently
with some kind of metal-detector device scanning me for weapons as we talked
--- whereas I expected that I might be frisked or patted down when I went
in, what with all of the freaking 'kooks', the Service musts have to deal
with, from time to time.
After the receptionist had confirmed my scheduled appointment on that March
27th with agent Robinson, in a very cordial and businesslike manner ---
I causually walked over to one of the glass walls and looked out at the
radically modern look of the structure of beams and supports all painted
white --- I needed this diversion, in order to keep to keep my intense fear
and paranoia of possibly being grabbed and kidnapped there --- down to a
controllable level, whereas as I had keep it together if I was to get out
of Portland alive.
I vaguely recall that I may have put out my cigarette when Robinson soon
appeared about a minute or so later, through an entry way located near the
receptionist podium., therein grey and somewhat tastefully tailored suit
and tie ---- just like on the TV news when they would have to pick-up President
Ford off the ground after a fall.
The 'butterflies' from my stomach felt like they were going to bust out
of my esophogus --- as agent Robinson then proceeded to lead me through
a dimly lit and narrow corridor, all strewn with what looked like construction
lights outfiited with super-low wattage bulbs --- resembling the entrance
to some kind of a mine-shaft, rather that of my preconcieved notions as
to what a U.S. Secret Service field office might have looked like --- having
previously toured a number of local police station and jails during my spring
1971 college police science class, that I took in my senior year of high
school.
As I walked down this construction site like corridor with walls of tarps
draped in what looked to me to be a rather odd and irregurarly shaped manner
--- my dread terror of the Secret Service increased --- whereas at that
time in March '79, there was the then very real possibility --- that Portland
branch of U.S. Secret Service was somehow complicit therein what was then
going down at the Portland Hilton where I worked --- and this might just
be the last fucking mile for me.
The dimly lit corridor then led to what looked like a most, irregularly
shaped and rather large room with vaulted ceilings and acute right-angles,
that was compartively well lit, though not very bright, and which had a
rather large two-way mirror on one wall, like the ones in the police stations
I had visited a student --- or had once actually stood in front of, at the
tender age of 15 during a police line-up, whilst in Sheriff's custody over
a curvew violation back in my hometown --- Jeeezz !
Robinson then directed to a ramp which led down to a lower level of the
room --- whilst he Robinson walked over to a raised level portion of the
room like an actor on cue --- the imagery vaguely reminiscent of the old
1950 Sci-Fi movie; "The Day The Earth Stood Still", with actor
Michael Rennie all tricked out in his silver suit gazing on hordes of terrified
soldiers and sightseers from entry way of his flying saucer.
During
my brief interview at U.S. Secret Service in Portland with agent Robinson
--- which lasted only a few minutes, if that at best --- I informed agent
Robinson thereof my suspicions at the Portland Hilton, regarding what I
then suspected --- and am now absolutely convinced more than ever in 2006,
was then in March 1979 --- a very active assassination plot then taking
place at the Portland Hilton.
To me agent Robinson looked like one of those almost faceless, expressionless,
machine-head manicured dummies one sees at a department store wearing a
well tailored suit next to some plastic smiling bitch in a dress. --- Judging
by what little I could read from the look in his, Robinson's eyes, looking
up at him from the lower level of the room, he was gonna be one hard fucking-sell
indeed.
Not being privy to the workings of agent Roibinson's mind --- and being
somewhat, but not too terribly relieved at not having been grabbed yet ---
my impression of Robinson's reaction to me was that repugnace --- with my
long brown hair and short black beard, I must have looked like that 'commie'
Che Guervara to him --- what with 70's style, brown glove leather bomber's
jacket and it's anti-nuker patch embroidered on one sleeve --- I would have
surmised that Robinson must have thought that I was either some kind of
Molotov Cocktail tossing anarchist, or drug crazed kook who took too much
'acid' or just another poor slob from Portland with water on the brain from
all that Portland rain and Oregonian xenophobia.
Needless to say our mutual disgust and antipathy towards one and other was
more than mutual to say the least --- as he, Robinson smugly quizzed me,
in what I thought was an overly smug his chicken shit, I'm a suit attitude
and the blasé manner in which he asked the questions.
As for me, it was like playing to several audiences --- one being Robinson
--- another being that unknown quantity of agents --- and god knows who
else --- may have been taking notes, from behind that two way mirror in
the room --- as the tape-recorders and cameras rolled on as I spoke. ---
And all the while I was still terrified that the individuals who I spotted
at the Portland Hilton and I suspected were CIA on March 22nd at the Portland
Hilton --- which necessitated my interview at Secret Service might jump
out of come out of some hidden door and grab my ass, take me away, 'work-me-over'
and finish me off.
Being more than somewhat terrified, and not having slept very much, since
the March 22nd elevator incident at the Portland Hilton --- I still managed
to keep a grip and tossed out whatever I thought might get Robinson and
a few othrer boys from the Secret Service to see me off at Portland International.
This was because of the fact that was I certain that those CIA 'spooks'
and cohorts at trying to arrange for my 'frame-up' at the the Portland Hilton
weren't about to let me leave Portland, at least not alive that is --- and
so I really didn't give 'half-a-flying-husky'--- if agent Robinson, or the
rest of those well tailored, spit-shine, bastards in the Secret Service,
starring at me from behind the trick two-way mirror believed me or not ---
they only had to show up at the airport as far as I was concerned.
The logic here being that should the CIA and FBI, decided to grab me at
the Western Airlines boarding area of Portland International --- as I tried
to board my flight back to L.A. later that week --- they just might have
reservations about doing so based on a number of "ifs" --- "If"
the Secret Service wasn't part of the 'frame-up' scam at the Portland Hilton.
--- "If" the Secret Service were actually curious enough to send
agents out to the airport to see me off --- to name only two.
"If" the playing field was level --- then the Secret Service would
send agents to verify my departure from Portland International by sending
some agents to witness it --- and should I be detained or in any way prevented
from boarding my flight home back to L.A. --- this would no doubt be some
pretty damning evidence in support of my factuall allegations thereof an
ongoing assassination plot at the Portland Hilton --- and would thereby
raise even more questions and scrutiny as to then recent events there, in
March '79.
As my interview with agent Robinson continued, I never could have imagined
just how right I was to be --- as I soon found out only three later on March
30th thereat the Western Airlines terminal at Portland International ---
so vividly and chillingly depicted there in Chapters __. through __. of
my book; "1979".
Some
of the other topics that I tossed out to agent Robinson during our seconds
long chat --- in the interogation room, complete with a two-way mirror,
during my March 27th interview at U.S. Secret Service field offices in Portland
--- was a brief reference to my ex-wife's secret-life in film carreer, and
oblique references to regarding the complicity of my 17-year-old girlfriend,
then waiting outside in the car for me, her rich and well connected family
--- and what I had already perceived at that time, was their apparent complicity
in the scam to set-up as a 'clay pidgeon' like patsy at the Portland Hilton.
Agent
Robinson, was I could apparently unimpressed with what I had told him, or
at least that's the way he played it off --- or was it that being a native
Oregonian from Portland --- with all that xenophobic, anti-'Californicater',
hater horse-shit with which he was most likely indoctrinated with growing-up
there in Oregon --- and along our obvious socio-economic and political differences
--- agent Robinson had somehow, consciously or subconsciously, disregarded
what I had just told him.
Perhaps it was my desperation of my situation --- or possibly it was because
of the fact that I wanted to see if I could penetrate --- that plastic polymer
aura of invincibility that seemed to emanate from agent Robinson during
our March 22nd that I mentioned the fact that I had to leave my son ---
then a one and a half years old --- that I seemed to break through to agent
Robinson, this was plainly visible, by what appeared to me to be a an ever
so slight crack in the veneer of the agent's facial expression, which I
closely observed in anitcipation of his reaction, or the possible lack thereof.
Being somewhat more at ease during what was for me an intensely unpredictable
situation as a most reluctant informant to an initially truth-resistant
Secret Service agent --- I decided it was time to get, what I came for in
the first place --- that being to give the Service my travel plans for the
end of that week on Friday March 30th 1979.
Although I don't remember the precise details --- I do seem to recall informing
agent Robinson that I taking a Western Airlines flight out of Portland back
to L.A. --- so as to make it easier for them send out an agent, or possibly
two to see me off, whereas I didn't want any screw-ups that night --- whereas
I anticipated the need for some agents that to run some defense for me just
in case of CIA pass interference at the Western boarding terminal.
Towards the close of my interview with agent Robinson, I decided that I
should give the Secret Service yet another reason to see me off at the airport,
and just to seal the deal --- I mentioned something about arranging a more
detailed debriefing at the U.S. Secret Service field office in Los Angeles,
whereby I could go into greater detail about the then recent events at the
Portland Hilton only days earlier and those bizzare misadventures that let
up to that point --- assuming that I got out of Portland alive.
arrange for visit --- or possibly push on Central America and hide out in
some cave in area controlled by rebel guerillas, as I was more fucking terrified
of the virtually unlimited resources and ruthlessness of the U.S. Central
Intelligence Agency, and the FBI than you might imagine.
Our conversation ended by what seemed like mutual consent --- as Robinson
could tell by the way that I kept shifting my eyes over to the large two-way
mirror, that I wasn't about to say much more, and walked down the ramp from
the upper level of the room and then led to yet another part of the room
--- which immediately sent a rush of andrenaline through me as I as was
paranoid he was gonna hand my ass over to some CIA 'spooks' for a little
'torture manuel' fun and games.
Robinson then directed to a little corridor and told me to follow it to
the exit door, which I did with some reservations and having reached the
exit I pushed the open and stepped out onto the sidewalk therefrom the sheet
metal covered door, all painted white to blend in with the wall of the ultra-modern
PG&E building --- and then walked south as I recall to my girlfriend
waiting there in her VW 'Bug'.
Only some 12 hours after my March 27th interview wtih agent Robinson at
U.S. Secret Service --- a funny thing happened, well perhaps not so funny
at that --- but it happened anyway --- it was the start of the Three Mile
Island nuclear plant meltdown disaster near Harrisburg, Pennsyvania, some
3000 miles away ---- which kicked off there in the pre-dawn fog andmist
of March 28th 1979.
The Three Mile nuke disaster which was to capture the attention of the American
public and perhaps much, if not most of the world's attention well on into
mid-April '79 --- as the crippled nuclear reactor gave off bursts of pressurized
radio-active gas --- to keep from blowing-up --- and contaminating most
of the Eastern seaboard with radioactive fallout.
I recall that the following days leading up to my March 30th flight out
of Portland --- that my then live-in girlfriend kept mentioning reports
of the then brand-new Three Mile nuke disaster to me as she drove me around
Portland making travel arrangements --- and that I like so many other things
that week, I just tuned her out whereas for one thing I didn't trust her
even though I'd put out and fuck her every night at her request. --- I was
truly amazed that I could be so scared and still get it up at that time.
As agent Donald Robinson of the U.S. Secret Service from my March 1979 interview
in Portland --- Robinson's bloody and mangled body was later found --- along
with that of two other U.S. Secret Service agents --- some 4 years later
on March 1983 --- on a lonely stretch of highway leading into Yosemite National
Park, California --- reportedly as the result of a high speed head-on collision
with some Maricopa County Sheriff's. --- As for me, I know better that than
that and you will too, if you keep on reading, --- so be please be
My
then recent memory of an on-duty Yreka Police Officer that I knew through
a friend, only some eight-months months earlier in July '78 --- during one
of the relatively few nights, I just happened to spend in Yreka --- and
all the fucking mystery involved in that murder and cover-up, was evidence
enough for me. ---Nope it as the U.S. Secret Service or nothing for me.
In
Chapter __. of my book "1979" --- I give a vividly detailed account
of the October 1978, pre-Hallowen incident which resulted in my brief interrogation
by a Senior FBI agent in Portland --- and how this alerted me to the fact
that I was under continuous FBI surveillance --- meant the FBI was apparently
in on the then active conspiracy set-up, to somehow 'frame' me at the Portland
Hilton in March of '79. --- All this meant that contacting the FBI was most
definitely out of the question.
As
for reservations about booking a flight out of the airport in Portland back
to L.A. by the end of that week on Friday March 30th 1979 --- these were
further exacerbated by the then recent crash of a United DC-8 out New York
--- thereon approach to Portland International --- only 3 months earlier
back in late-December '78 --- only a mile and a half from my then new home
in Northeast Portland.
A rather
interestingly, ironic tidbit here being that when I walked into the PG&E
office complex for my interview at the Secret Service field office in Portland
on March 27th --- I was wearing my mid-70's department store-knock-off ,
leather bombers jacket, which I had so skillfully adorned with a large custom
made insignia on one sleeve, which I had designed and made myself some weeks
earlier, back January '79.
The
design of this rather large insignia on my jacket sleeve, had 'anti', back
slash through running through a sillohette profile of the cooling tower
located at the Trojan Nuclear Power plant, some 30 miles or so, up the Columbia
River from the City of Portland.
Back
in March '79 I was kind of a weekend anti-nuker who opposed the operation
of nuclear power plants on grounds of public safety combined with the fact
that the very Columbia River which ran along Portland was reportedly the
most radioactive river in the entire world, due in part to the fact that
the Hanford Nuclear waste dump was located on further up the Columbia in
Washington State.
I really
wasn't a fanatic about it in 1979, but I then believed and still do now
in 2006 believe that the closing down all of the atomic power plants nationwide
as well as the one near Portland is good move, on ground of environmental
as well as fiscal concerns there in the wake of the "Whoops" nuke-plant
money-laundering scandal of the late 1970's and early 1980's.
Why
earlier that very month, in early March 197, .I had just then recently attended
the Portland first-day opening day movie premiere of the film, "The
China Syndrome" --- a film about intrigue, corruption and murder at
a scripted nuclear power plant in California --- sort of a message movie
for us 1970's anti-nuker types.
In
fact I even attended anti-nuke rally, held by some Portland clique of leftists,
government informants, stooges and femi-Nazi type bitches called the 'Trojan
Decommissioning Alliance', which took place at River Front Park in downtown
Portland back in April 1978, only eleven-months earlier. --- I get into
even how this simple act was intended to help 'frame' me in then upcoming
year year 1979 --- as covered in Chapter __. of my book "1979".
What
makes all this so very fucking ironic --- is the fact that the very corporate
owners of the Trojan Nuclear Power plant near Portland was in 1979 --- PG&E,
(Portland General Electric) --- the same company that owned the PG&E
building complex located in downtown Portland --- therein which the Portland
field offices of the U.S. Secret Service were also located, and were thus
situated, thereon the ground floor of the then ultra-modern PG&E building
complex.
As
I walked into the PG&E complex for my Secret Service office for my March
'79 interview with agent Robinson I was greeted by a surprisingly attractive,
upbeat and yet very businesslike receptionist who was surprisingly cordial
and gracious as she stood behind a podium like desk, apparently with some
kind of metal-detector device scanning me for weapons as we talked --- whereas
I expected that I might be frisked or patted down when I went in, what with
all of the freaking 'kooks', the Service musts have to deal with, from time
to time.
After
the receptionist had confirmed my scheduled appointment on that March 27th
with agent Robinson, in a very cordial and businesslike manner --- I causually
walked over to one of the glass walls and looked out at the radically modern
look of the structure of beams and supports all painted white --- I needed
this diversion, in order to keep to keep my intense fear and paranoia of
possibly being grabbed and kidnapped there --- down to a controllable level,
whereas as I had keep it together if I was to get out of Portland alive.
I vaguely
recall that I may have put out my cigarette when Robinson soon appeared
about a minute or so later, through an entry way located near the receptionist
podium., therein grey and somewhat tastefully tailored suit and tie ----
just like on the TV news when they would have to pick-up President Ford
off the ground after a fall.
The
'butterflies' from my stomach felt like they were going to bust out of my
esophogus --- as agent Robinson then proceeded to lead me through a dimly
lit and narrow corridor, all strewn with what looked like construction lights
outfiited with super-low wattage bulbs --- resembling the entrance to some
kind of a mine-shaft, rather that of my preconcieved notions as to what
a U.S. Secret Service field office might have looked like --- having previously
toured a number of local police station and jails during my spring 1971
college police science class, that I took in my senior year of high school.
As
I walked down this construction site like corridor with walls of tarps draped
in what looked to me to be a rather odd and irregurarly shaped manner ---
my dread terror of the Secret Service increased --- whereas at that time
in March '79, there was the then very real possibility --- that Portland
branch of U.S. Secret Service was somehow complicit therein what was then
going down at the Portland Hilton where I worked --- and this might just
be the last fucking mile for me.
The
dimly lit corridor then led to what looked like a most, irregularly shaped
and rather large room with vaulted ceilings and acute right-angles, that
was compartively well lit, though not very bright, and which had a rather
large two-way mirror on one wall, like the ones in the police stations I
had visited a student --- or had once actually stood in front of, at the
tender age of 15 during a police line-up, whilst in Sheriff's custody over
a curvew violation back in my hometown --- Jeeezz !
Robinson
then directed to a ramp which led down to a lower level of the room ---
whilst he Robinson walked over to a raised level portion of the room like
an actor on cue --- the imagery vaguely reminiscent of the old 1950 Sci-Fi
movie; "The Day The Earth Stood Still", with actor Michael Rennie
all tricked out in his silver suit gazing on hordes of terrified soldiers
and sightseers from entry way of his flying saucer.
During my brief interview at U.S. Secret Service in Portland with agent
Robinson --- which lasted only a few minutes, if that at best --- I informed
agent Robinson thereof my suspicions at the Portland Hilton, regarding what
I then suspected --- and am now absolutely convinced more than ever in 2006,
was then in March 1979 --- a very active assassination plot then taking
place at the Portland Hilton.
To
me agent Robinson looked like one of those almost faceless, expressionless,
machine-head manicured dummies one sees at a department store wearing a
well tailored suit next to some plastic smiling bitch in a dress. --- Judging
by what little I could read from the look in his, Robinson's eyes, looking
up at him from the lower level of the room, he was gonna be one hard fucking-sell
indeed.
Not
being privy to the workings of agent Roibinson's mind --- and being somewhat,
but not too terribly relieved at not having been grabbed yet --- my impression
of Robinson's reaction to me was that repugnace --- with my long brown hair
and short black beard, I must have looked like that 'commie' Che Guervara
to him --- what with 70's style, brown glove leather bomber's jacket and
it's anti-nuker patch embroidered on one sleeve --- I would have surmised
that Robinson must have thought that I was either some kind of Molotov Cocktail
tossing anarchist, or drug crazed kook who took too much 'acid' or just
another poor slob from Portland with water on the brain from all that Portland
rain and Oregonian xenophobia.
Needless
to say our mutual disgust and antipathy towards one and other was more than
mutual to say the least --- as he, Robinson smugly quizzed me, in what I
thought was an overly smug his chicken shit, I'm a suit attitude and the
blasé manner in which he asked the questions.
As
for me, it was like playing to several audiences --- one being Robinson
--- another being that unknown quantity of agents --- and god knows who
else --- may have been taking notes, from behind that two way mirror in
the room --- as the tape-recorders and cameras rolled on as I spoke. ---
And all the while I was still terrified that the individuals who I spotted
at the Portland Hilton and I suspected were CIA on March 22nd at the Portland
Hilton --- which necessitated my interview at Secret Service might jump
out of come out of some hidden door and grab my ass, take me away, 'work-me-over'
and finish me off.
Being
more than somewhat terrified, and not having slept very much, since the
March 22nd elevator incident at the Portland Hilton --- I still managed
to keep a grip and tossed out whatever I thought might get Robinson and
a few othrer boys from the Secret Service to see me off at Portland International.
This
was because of the fact that was I certain that those CIA 'spooks' and cohorts
at trying to arrange for my 'frame-up' at the the Portland Hilton weren't
about to let me leave Portland, at least not alive that is --- and so I
really didn't give 'half-a-flying-husky'--- if agent Robinson, or the rest
of those well tailored, spit-shine, bastards in the Secret Service, starring
at me from behind the trick two-way mirror believed me or not --- they only
had to show up at the airport as far as I was concerned.
The
logic here being that should the CIA and FBI, decided to grab me at the
Western Airlines boarding area of Portland International --- as I tried
to board my flight back to L.A. later that week --- they just might have
reservations about doing so based on a number of "ifs" --- "If"
the Secret Service wasn't part of the 'frame-up' scam at the Portland Hilton.
--- "If" the Secret Service were actually curious enough to send
agents out to the airport to see me off --- to name only two.
"If"
the playing field was level --- then the Secret Service would send agents
to verify my departure from Portland International by sending some agents
to witness it --- and should I be detained or in any way prevented from
boarding my flight home back to L.A. --- this would no doubt be some pretty
damning evidence in support of my factuall allegations thereof an ongoing
assassination plot at the Portland Hilton --- and would thereby raise even
more questions and scrutiny as to then recent events there, in March '79.
As
my interview with agent Robinson continued, I never could have imagined
just how right I was to be --- as I soon found out only three later on March
30th thereat the Western Airlines terminal at Portland International ---
so vividly and chillingly depicted there in Chapters __. through __. of
my book; "1979".
Some of the other topics that I tossed out to agent Robinson during our
seconds long chat --- in the interogation room, complete with a two-way
mirror, during my March 27th interview at U.S. Secret Service field offices
in Portland --- was a brief reference to my ex-wife's secret-life in film
carreer, and oblique references to regarding the complicity of my 17-year-old
girlfriend, then waiting outside in the car for me, her rich and well connected
family --- and what I had already perceived at that time, was their apparent
complicity in the scam to set-up as a 'clay pidgeon' like patsy at the Portland
Hilton.
Agent Robinson, was I could apparently unimpressed with what I had told
him, or at least that's the way he played it off --- or was it that being
a native Oregonian from Portland --- with all that xenophobic, anti-'Californicater',
hater horse-shit with which he was most likely indoctrinated with growing-up
there in Oregon --- and along our obvious socio-economic and political differences
--- agent Robinson had somehow, consciously or subconsciously, disregarded
what I had just told him.
Perhaps
it was my desperation of my situation --- or possibly it was because of
the fact that I wanted to see if I could penetrate --- that plastic polymer
aura of invincibility that seemed to emanate from agent Robinson during
our March 22nd that I mentioned the fact that I had to leave my son ---
then a one and a half years old --- that I seemed to break through to agent
Robinson, this was plainly visible, by what appeared to me to be a an ever
so slight crack in the veneer of the agent's facial expression, which I
closely observed in anitcipation of his reaction, or the possible lack thereof.
Being
somewhat more at ease during what was for me an intensely unpredictable
situation as a most reluctant informant to an initially truth-resistant
Secret Service agent --- I decided it was time to get, what I came for in
the first place --- that being to give the Service my travel plans for the
end of that week on Friday March 30th 1979.
Although
I don't remember the precise details --- I do seem to recall informing agent
Robinson that I taking a Western Airlines flight out of Portland back to
L.A. --- so as to make it easier for them send out an agent, or possibly
two to see me off, whereas I didn't want any screw-ups that night --- whereas
I anticipated the need for some agents that to run some defense for me just
in case of CIA pass interference at the Western boarding terminal.
Towards
the close of my interview with agent Robinson, I decided that I should give
the Secret Service yet another reason to see me off at the airport, and
just to seal the deal --- I mentioned something about arranging a more detailed
debriefing at the U.S. Secret Service field office in Los Angeles, whereby
I could go into greater detail about the then recent events at the Portland
Hilton only days earlier and those bizzare misadventures that let up to
that point --- assuming that I got out of Portland alive.
arrange
for visit --- or possibly push on Central America and hide out in some cave
in area controlled by rebel guerillas, as I was more fucking terrified of
the virtually unlimited resources and ruthlessness of the U.S. Central Intelligence
Agency, and the FBI than you might imagine.
Our
conversation ended by what seemed like mutual consent --- as Robinson could
tell by the way that I kept shifting my eyes over to the large two-way mirror,
that I wasn't about to say much more, and walked down the ramp from the
upper level of the room and then led to yet another part of the room ---
which immediately sent a rush of andrenaline through me as I as was paranoid
he was gonna hand my ass over to some CIA 'spooks' for a little 'torture
manuel' fun and games.
Robinson
then directed to a little corridor and told me to follow it to the exit
door, which I did with some reservations and having reached the exit I pushed
the open and stepped out onto the sidewalk therefrom the sheet metal covered
door, all painted white to blend in with the wall of the ultra-modern PG&E
building --- and then walked south as I recall to my girlfriend waiting
there in her VW 'Bug'.
Only
some 12 hours after my March 27th interview wtih agent Robinson at U.S.
Secret Service --- a funny thing happened, well perhaps not so funny at
that --- but it happened anyway --- it was the start of the Three Mile Island
nuclear plant meltdown disaster near Harrisburg, Pennsyvania, some 3000
miles away ---- which kicked off there in the pre-dawn fog andmist of March
28th 1979.
The
Three Mile nuke disaster which was to capture the attention of the American
public and perhaps much, if not most of the world's attention well on into
mid-April '79 --- as the crippled nuclear reactor gave off bursts of pressurized
radio-active gas --- to keep from blowing-up --- and contaminating most
of the Eastern seaboard with radioactive fallout.
I recall
that the following days leading up to my March 30th flight out of Portland
--- that my then live-in girlfriend kept mentioning reports of the then
brand-new Three Mile nuke disaster to me as she drove me around Portland
making travel arrangements --- and that I like so many other things that
week, I just tuned her out whereas for one thing I didn't trust her even
though I'd put out and fuck her every night at her request. --- I was truly
amazed that I could be so scared and still get it up at that time.
As
agent Donald Robinson of the U.S. Secret Service from my March 1979 interview
in Portland --- Robinson's bloody and mangled body was later found --- along
with that of two other U.S. Secret Service agents --- some 4 years later
on March 1983 --- on a lonely stretch of highway leading into Yosemite National
Park, California --- reportedly as the result of a high speed head-on collision
with some Maricopa County Sheriff's. --- As for me, I know better that than
that and you will too, if you keep on reading, --- so be please be advised.
"1979" "1979" "1979" "1979" "1979" "1979" "1979"
"1979" -- Copyright 2001 - 2010 James Thomas Westbrook --- All Rights Reserved --- The author exercises any and all rights of exclusivity he is lawfully entitled to pursuant U.S. Copyright Law as a literary property, ---- "1979". ---- first registered December 31st 2001 with the U.S. Copyright Office. ---- The author also exercises any and all copyright protection he is entitled to as a graphic artist --- regarding the copyrighted photo art montages included thereon each and every one of the title pages of Parts 1 through 13 ---- as well as the various Roman Numeric Sub-Parts comprising, Parts 1 through 13 --- of this synopsis to "1979" --- my copyrighted non-fiction book on which the copyrighted material posted herein this website is posted thereat http: 1979westbrook.com.--- Any inquiries regarding the material contained herein this website may be made by contacting me at my e-mail address: James@79westbrook@gmail.com or calling me on the phone at ( 310 ) 902-1058.
