Bruce Davis

The trial dragged on for months, and the jury was out for weeks.  My hopes rose during the several days they were hung, only to fall when the last holdout voted to convict.  Finally, scenes of my life, especially of my crimes, reeled through my mind when the judge pronounced the sentence:  "LIFE IN PRISON."

A Way Which Seems Right

    By age nineteen I had little reason to believe things at home would change.  My father's drunken outbursts were always verbally degrading and sometimes physically violent, and my mother's attempts to protect my sister and me were largely ineffective.  I retreated from them both, feeling rejected, worthless and angry.  Behind a smiling facade, I pacified myself with overeating and sexual fantasy.  I decided to put distance between myself and those I considered the cause of my troubles.  From Tennessee I headed west.

    In Southern California, the welding and metalworking my father had taught me led to good jobs, nice things and bad habits.  I believed possessions would satisfy me.  However, the more things I acquired, the emptier and more frustrated I felt, then I began attempting to satisfy myself with drugs.

    "For what will a man be profited, if he gains the whole world, and forfeits his soul?  Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?" - Matt 16:26

    During my first L.S.D. experience, I encountered a compelling spiritual presence, who camouflaged my fears with counterfeit euphoria.  Allured by feelings of self-exaltation, enchanted by prospects of personal power, I was finally seduced by an "angel of light."  "...for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light." - 2 Cor. 11:14.

    As Ecstasy dulled my despair, I accepted psychedelic drugs as the key to happiness.  But continued psychedelic experiences began to whet my appetite for the bizarre, and subtly sowed seeds of destruction, which lay dormant for years.

    Those seeds were germinated in a crowded Los Angeles jail cell.  A false charge against me seemed reason enough to commit myself to rebellion.  This decision was exploited by a spirit-being, like that of my first L.S.D. experience, who encouraged me to reject the system which had falsely accused and abused me.

    Soon after my release, I met Charles Manson and The Family.  His engaging style, plus the offer of sex and drugs, made his invitation to join the Family easy to accept.  The Family gave me a sense of belonging, which I substituted  for the love and respect I craved.  "There is a way which seems right to a man, but its end is the way of death." - Prov. 16:25.  At the end of Spring in 1968, the Family moved to an old movie ranch and I returned to Tennessee.

    My father, I later learned, had become a Christian, which explained his efforts to befriend me.  But, before I could understand the change, he died from a stroke.  Still resentful, I refused to attend his funeral.  I did, however, attend the settling of his estate, took my share and again ran from the reminders of my past.

    I turned twenty-six that fall aboard a Portuguese freighter.  Hashish, Hess's Siddartha and Joplin's Ball and Chain did a lot to fill the time until the Acores anchored off the Biscay Bay in the Spanish Basque port of Bilbao.

    Spain and then Portugal led me to North Africa.  But even Tangiers' abundant drugs were unable to satisfy me.  I drifted to Gibraltar and then to England.

    In London an invitation to a lecture introduced me to the Scientologists.  I was attracted by their hospitality and began to study their New Age philosophy.  These ideas eventually lost their charm and soon afterwards I was back in California.  Manson and one of the girls met me at Los Angeles International.

    "Get out -- This is trouble!"  My gut warned me when I first saw them.  I ignored the warning and returned to the old movie ranch, the point of my previous departure.  "Suddenly, he follows her, as an ox goes to the slaughter ...he does not know it will cost him his life." - Prov. 7:22-23

    During my absence, Manson's mantra of "free love and drugs" had turned to one of racism and violence.

    A few weeks later, I drove three others to the home of Gary Hinman.  He was a former Family acquaintance they intended to rob.  They would not believe Gay's plea that he had no money and the robbery turned into a murder.  When I heard of Gary's death, my gut warned, "Get Out!"  Again, I ignored it.  I was not present at the time of the murder; however, having driven the car and later being in the house, I was implicated.  Later, I was present at the murder of Donald Shea.  This time, to ensure my involvement, Manson insisted I make a cut on Donald's dead body.  I was afraid to refuse and made a shallow three inch cut on his shoulder.  Soon after, I was indicted for conspiracy to commit murder and became a fugitive.

    Being a fugitive from man was easier than being a fugitive from God.  Because of my relatives' prayers, I saw the hopelessness of my situation and after months on the run, I accepted prison as inevitable and surrendered to the authorities on a rainy day in December 1970.  "Man's steps are ordained by the Lord, How then can a man understand his way?" - Prov. 20:24

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