My Attraction to the Southern Gothic Tradition.

Sometimes it's hard to account for the direction of one's interests. For some reason I've been drawn to Southern Gothic literature for much of my reading career. Sure, it started out with William Faulkner. I started with his most difficult work- The Sound and the Fury. I didn't know what the hell I was doing with that book, but I plowed through despite myself. I understood it to be about the madness of one insular Southern clan and their relationship with their region's history. I didn't get much further than that. Yet I knew I had touched on something great, and resolved to continue my explorations of this seminal American author. I read his most accessible book next (The Reivers) , and realized that Faulkner was not just deliberately obtuse.

I continued my exploration with As I Lay Dying, and decided that the book was probably where I should have started with this author. It was straightforward, and yet encapsulated many of the elements and themes that Faulkner is celebrated for. I particularly enjoyed the multiple narrators. The more I consumed, the more I became addicted to tales his about fictional Yoknapatawpha County. I found Absalom, Absalom and Light in August, and figured out that these works would live inside me forever. My Faulkner phase came upon me so fast and hard that I quickly came close to exhausting his entire oeuvre. Wanting to extend my relationship with his extraordinary work, I chose to save his trilogy (The Hamlet, The Town and The Mansion) for a future date.

Having moved on to other things, I soon found myself pining for Southern literature in the tradition of the master. I heard about a contemporary author named Cormac McCarthy, who was said to be influenced by the man from Oxford, Mississippi. The first title I picked up was Suttree, and I was immediately hooked. Not only was it written in the same spirit, but it exhibited some of the stylistic mannerisms I had come to love. As with his progenitor, I quickly went through all of McCarthy's books. And as I read them over the years, McCarthy evolved into a master in his own right. While there is no denying the craftsmanship of his early works, one would be hard-pressed not to recognize The Road as a modern classic. If he never hits that level of excellence again, I will still feel that he met his full potential.

After Faulkner and McCarthy, I knew I was hopelessly addicted to stories set in the South. Someone recommended Harry Crews, and I found him to be a harder-edged, trashier writer who caricatured his gritty Southern locales and the inhabitants that populated them. Due to proximity, I also became fascinated with the enigmatic qualities of West Virginia. I encountered the posthumous stories of Breece D'J Pancake, the singular literary voice of the Mountain State. His short career (punctuated by his 1979 suicide) was a tantalizing glimpse into the dark ways of the backwoods hollers. His work moved me to begin my own personal explorations into the mysteries of the state. I became aware of the excellent documentary filmmaker Jacob Young, and his subject from Boone County- Jesco White.

It's hard to say just what compels me to sustain my travels through this shifty and evocative terrain. The culture and politics of its people are about as far from my own upbringing as possible. Maybe it's the fascination with the 'other' that keeps me returning to this region. Or perhaps its because it's the one part of America that seems to hold on to its authenticity. If there exists a place in the United States beyond the reach of the homogenized suburban development and the consumer hell of strip malls, then it is surely to be found somewhere on a Southern back-road.

Danial Johnston, and his movie.

I finally got the chance to watch The Devil and Daniel Johnston (2006), a documentary film directed by Jeff Feuerzeig. I had been intrigued by this story of a mentally ill man who wants to find fame as a singer-songwriter. In fact I'm generally interested in psychological portraits of artists who fight against convention to express themselves. Daniel Johnston fits that profile. He struggled with a bipolar disorder for decades. Still he believed that one day he would be famous, like his idol John Lennon. He used film, songs, and drawings to document his daily life. He recorded his raw, warbly, voice and simple guitar-playing on cassette tapes, and distributed them to everyone he met. Eventually people began to take notice. Musicians like Thurston Moore, Steve Shelley, Tom Waits, David Bowie, Yo La Tengo, Beck, and The Flaming Lips became fans of his work.

Daniel Johnston grew up in the northern panhandle of West Virginia. He was the youngest of four children born to a pair of Christian Fundamentalist parents. From the very start his parents realized that he was different. He had a hard time controlling his impulses, and he liked to spend all of his time in the basement playing a rickety piano and creating line drawings. Sometimes he would enlist his brother's aid in making home movies. But he mostly kept to himself, articulating his dreams. Upon graduating high school he briefly attended Abilene Christian University, and later transferred to a branch of Kent State University in Ohio. It was during those years that his bipolar disorder began to manifest itself in serious ways.

While at Kent State, Johnston met what would turn out to be "the love of his life". Although they never even established a romantic relationship, the troubled young man became entirely obsessed with a girl named Laurie Allen. Through the years he would write hundreds of songs about her, claiming that she was his one and only muse. At the same time he was having a lot of difficulty living with his parents, and his siblings in Texas eventually invited him to live with them. It was upon his move to Austin that things began to develop for him. Johnston worked at McDonald's and in his off-hours began to establish himself as a bit of a local celebrity. His big break happened when MTV came to town, and he managed to worm his way into their programming.

As his exposure grew, and his music began to make its way into the hands of musicians and recording industry professionals, Johnston's behavior became increasingly erratic. He began to take LSD. His hallucinogenic drug use combined destructively with his millenarian biblical views to produce severe delusions. He began to act out in strange and maladaptive ways. His condition deteriorated until he ultimately tried to bring down a plane in which his father was attempting to fly him home. Although both Johnston and his father survived the crash landing, this stunt landed Daniel in a mental institution. Incredibly, he had become such a legend in the music underground that major record labels were offering him lucrative contracts while he was under commitment.

The Devil and Daniel Johnston brings us up-to-date with its subject's life. Johnston lives in Texas with his aging parents, in a home adjacent to their own. Although he seems relatively stable (thanks to a comprehensive regimen of modern medication), he is in need of support and care. He still records and performs music, and is assisted on the business end by his father. Tastes are different from the 90's, and there isn't such an appetite for quirky and raw fragility in the guise of indie pop-folk. While Johnston still has his following, he increasingly becomes a novelty act. I'm convinced that people go out to see him for his legend, rather than his actual creative output. He's even gotten his drawings into the Whitney Biennial, which pretty much guarantees that he is past his artistic zenith. But he is still a curiosity, and for those that are unfamiliar with him, the documentary is quite amusing.

Hubner and Gruson, "Monkey on a Stick" (1988)

I've written on a few occasions about the Hare Krishna farm community in the northern panhandle of West Virginia. I have visited New Vrindaban four times. It is an impressive retreat located in the wild hills near Moundsville. Its central focus is Prabhupada's Palace of Gold, a grand edifice built to honor the founder and spiritual master of the Krishna Consciousness Movement. The place has a storied history, and has weathered a lot of controversy over the years. I learned a lot about its development by watching a documentary called Holy Cow Swami- a documentary film made by West Virginian filmmaker Jacob Young. I thought that Young's examination and portrayal of New Vrindaban was fairly balanced, and that his appreciation for his subject was sincere.

Still there are plenty of crazy and dark tales to tell about both New Vrindaban and the Krishna movement throughout the West. During further research on these topics I became aware of a book by John Hubner and Lindsry Gruson entitled Monkey on a Stick. It was written in the midst of the media frenzy that followed the trials of Kirtanananda Swami Bhaktipada (Keith Ham), and the shocking tales being told by disgruntled devotees and fringies* across America and beyond. People had viewed the Movement with suspicion ever since the New York Times covered the activities of the very first temple in Manhattan in the mid-60's. Despite this nation's professed respect for freedom of religion- if you are not a conventional Christian, a lot of folks will view you with distrust and confusion. Certainly some of the harsh criticism leveled against the Krishnas in the 80's was a result of such attitudes.

But if you dig a little deeper, you can find plenty of salacious details originating from within the Movement itself. Hubner and Gruson did a thorough job of cataloging the negative perspectives of both current and ex-devotees, along with those of independent observers, law enforcement figures, and peripheral adherents. Before reading Monkey on a Stick, I could have outlined a basic overview of some of the difficulties that New Vrindaban has faced over the years, but I was missing a lot of the background details that would explain some of the complexities involved in the community. This book filled in the gaps. Even more helpfully, the authors put the local problems in a wider frame by examining the conflict between the Governing Body Council of ISKCON (that was supposed to manage the Movement) and the initiating gurus who viewed themselves as individual succesers to Prabhupada himself.

Kirtanananda wasn't the only swami who ran afoul of the law after Prabhupada's death. A California-based guru named Hansadutta (Hans Kary) collected an arsenal of weapons near San Francisco to confront what he thought would be a massive invasion of Karmis**. He fortified himself with illicit drugs and sex with his female devotees. Jayatirtha (James Immel, the London guru ) used LSD to connect with Krishna, and decided to likewise avail himself of the flesh of his disciples. He was later killed and beheaded by his most ardent follower, who had decided he was a modern-day Rasputin. Bhagavan (William Ehrlichman) ruled over multiple European temples with an imperious approach. He had an overwhelming weakness for luxury that earned him the nickname "The Sun King". He lived a lavish life in a mansion and drank out of a $10,000 goblet made from pure gold.

Ultimately Monkey on a Stick makes a pretty convincing case that the downfall of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness followed quickly upon Prabhupada's passing in 1977. He gave instructions from his deathbed for succession. He designated 11 of his disciples rittvik representatives, and gave them the power to act as his deputies in initiating future devotees. Unfortunately the chosen ones viewed themselves as divine acharyas- or as the infallible representatives of God on Earth. They became trapped in Maya (the sensory world of the ego) and misused their perceived authority to further their insatiable desires for power. The danger of a religion based upon a master-devotee relationship is that it is particularly vulnerable to exploitation. Luckily for Krishna Consciousness there have been 'reformers' in the Movement like Ravindra Svurupa (William Deadwyler, Philadelphia) and Bahudaka (Peter Chatterton, Vancouver) who have arisen to keep ISKCON 'Honest'.

*"Fringies" are those that generally follow the teachings, philosophy and faith-based beliefs of Prabhupada and Krishna Consciousness, but do not adhere rigidly to the strictures of devotees.

** "Karmies" are the meat-eating heathens who have yet to embrace Krishna Consciousness. They are doomed to a cycle of reincarnation on the "material platform" until they surrender fully to God and work off their accumulated karma.

MTV's Fear Series

It's surprising just how far behind I find myself when it comes to popular culture. Not having cable television constitutes a huge handicap, and I often discover things several years after they were first released. I suppose I prefer it that way, because I don't get sucked in by marketers bent on selling products to "my demographic". Instead of being force-fed entertainment, I generally make my own way around the mediasphere. So in some ways, YouTube was designed for me. It's a self-directed portal that accommodates serendipity. Last night I found myself sitting in front of the computer with a snack, aimlessly surfing, and I came across a video titled "Fear- West Virginia Penitentiary (Part 1/7)". Naturally I tuned in and discovered that it was an episode of a strange reality TV/game show that once aired on MTV. I had some vague memory of a friend of mine telling me that he once worked on such a series. Given the setting and the personal connection, I decided to give the show a try.

MTV's Fear series (2000) worked like this- the producers would choose six participants (generally from the X- Generation) and they'd send them to some creepy locale. The contestants would be expected to spend a couple nights at the place, and fulfill a series of challenges. If they stayed the entire time and completed their dares they would be awarded $3000 (a seemingly paltry reward, in retrospect). If, on the other hand, they chickened out- they had to leave with nothing at all for their time and efforts. The show was sold as a cross between an extreme sport and a scientific examination into paranormal activity. These kids would enter the site alone, with (allegedly) no cameramen or crew. They were outfitted with vests that included attached night-vision cameras with spotlights. Both the setting and their reactions to it were recorded.

The premise of the show was immediately appealing to me. Whether or not each (or any) spot lived up to its billing as a "haunted location", the idea of being compelled to stay in such a modern-day ruin does lend itself to chilling and foreboding feelings. Over the years I have sought out these types of settings and have explored them voluntarily, with no hope of recompense other than personal experience. But then again, I like those spooked out feelings. I'm not sure why and I don't feel any pressure to fret about that fact. For some reason I enjoy mysterious and/or scary phenomena. So not only was I a bit envious of the participants getting the opportunity to explore, I was also taking it for granted that watching the show wouldn't have much affect on me. That ended up being a mistake.

You see, I have toured the abandoned prison in Moundsville. I know firsthand just how oppressive its halls and rooms can be. There is certainly something that works on the darker parts of your psyche when you experience such a place. What I felt was obviously ameliorated by both having a guide and taking the tour in the daytime. I can only imagine what I could have projected onto the surroundings had I been alone and in the dark. Some of the tasks the contestants were asked to perform were especially frightening. One young guy had to walk through a series of pitch black chambers, and squeeze down a narrow passage, only to enter a barred room and have to remove a cover from a piece of furniture. Even on my computer monitor the prospect of touching that tarp was daunting. Similarly the fear elicited by having to spend 15 minutes in the deep darkness of a large graffiti-covered basement corridor (that was notorious for violent assaults) was palpable.

Observing these kids with their extreme psychological reactions to this environment actually induced tension. While it may have been easy to believe that I could have handled their challenges with stony composure, I likewise realized that it was easy to cultivate that attitude from the comfort of my own library. I'm not foolish enough to think that I could accurately predict how I would act in their situations. Part of the reason for this is that I have been in similar places, albeit often in the presence of friends who I could count on. Regardless there is not much scarier than the unknown... and if you have the slighest doubt about the existence of malevolent forces that may possess such abandoned and forlorn buildings... then a few hours in the presence of that doubt might prove enlightening.

Berkely Springs, WV.

Well... every once in awhile it's good to have a complete getaway. Part of the joy in such a trip is shirking responsibility and dropping everyday routines. During my first two forays on the road this summer I still felt some pressure from the inertia of this blog. Even though I had met my goal of a year of posts, I still felt compelled to write daily entries. That wasn't the case this time. M. and I drove to Berkely Springs, WV. We chose the location as appropriate for a private weekend. It's only about three hours from the 'Burgh, and the driving mostly avoids the type of mountainous roads that make M. nervous. I had never been there before, and had planned on doing more research than I had, but then the power went out and we spent a tense and hot night in the dark. So when we left Friday morning, we were mostly blind to the area.

The claim to fame of Berkely Springs is that it was the first major spa destination of the republic. Luminaries such as George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Meriwether Lewis were known to take the waters there. It contained sulfates, carbonates, and nitrates, and was considered to be good for digestive ailments and stress relief. When it comes out of the mountains, it is 74 degrees Fahrenheit. There are still multiple spas in modern day Berkely Springs, and they still attract a lot of tourists from the Washington DC area. But the area has also tried to build a reputation as a small-town arts center, and it contains an artist co-op in a converted ice house. Walking down the few streets of downtown the visitor sees galleries, fancy gift shops and a few fine restaurants. Predictably the wares are the furthest thing from being edgy. The stuff is mostly meant to be high-priced wall decoration. And most of the businesses close at 5PM, no matter what day it is. The town is not known for its sparkling nightlife, so if you go- plan your evening activities elsewhere.

We did eat two meals in Berkely Springs. The first was at an Italian restaurant called Maria's Garden. The proprietors are clearly Catholics, and they have a counter where you can buy Christian lit, and sundries with the images of saints. The food was decent, if a bit misleading. M.'s vegatarian sub had bits of meat that were left over on the grill. My Chicken Cacciatore had large chunks of beef in the meat sauce. I began to belief their conversion efforts were twofold, though everything did taste good. Last night we ate Mexican, and it was standard fare. I was extraordinarily pleased to discover that the Creamery (where we got dessert) featured Butter Brickle ice cream. You can't get that in the 'Burgh.

The most distinctive part of our little vacation was definitely our accomodations. M. booked us a little place from Berkely Springs Cottage Rentals. It was called the Back Creek Cabin, and I believe that it lived up to its billing. We had to take a series of increasingly dodgy backroads to get to the place. They narrowed until the point that they were clearly one-lane paths. At the end of the wooded trail was a steep incline that would be impassable if wet and muddy- at least without an ATV. All through our stay I worried that it would rain, and we would be stuck. We were very fortunate in terms of the weather. We also felt lucky when we got in the doors of the cottage. It seemed that the people in charge of the place had thought of everything. Considering its remote location, we were amazed at how well appointed it was. There was a full kitchen with microwave, a TV with VCR, DVD and Direct TV, and a queen-sized bed with lots of extra pillows and blankets. Two comfy recliners were provided for lounging. Outside on the porch there were some great chairs and a grill. A fire pit with a stockpile of wood was nearby. But the biggest treat was the A.C., which was especially appreciated after our experience with the blackout at home. Someone even thought to keep it running for our arrival. The place was immaculately clean and thoroughly insulated. For its reasonable price, we were quite pleased- what a great little hideway!

During our first night there, I think we were the only people on the mountain. I took a walk to check out the scene. There were a few other scattered cabins and lodges, but no cars or lights in sight. The thick woods obscured the surroundings. This fact made it especially cozy and special. Whenever I went outside the cabin and sat for a cigarette, I marvelled at the sounds of the chirping insects. Between the crickets and cicadas, it sounded like the deep jungle. I loved it. I turned out the porchlights and stared up through the trees at the stars. The total darkness accentuated the experience, and I had the minor thrill of being (almost) totally alone in the wilderness. It made going inside and watching late night television a unique experience. On the second night our distant neighbors were whooping it up with loud country music. A sharp disappointment accompanied the shattering of my illusion of isolation. But once night fell, and the sounds of the forest asserted themselves, I was happy again. It was exactly the experience I had been looking for.

My Return to New Vrindaban.

Watching Holy Cow Swami last week made me want to take another trip to New Vrindaban. I thought about a few people that might enjoy such a trip, and put out some invitations. M. definitely wanted to go (she had never been there), and my friend Mike desired a return visit. He had accompanied me during my visit of three years ago, when we met Tapahpunja Dasa - who gave us a very informative tour of the organic community garden. Our whole group was impressed by this elder devotee's knowledge base, commitment and worldview. When I saw the younger version of Tapahpunja interviewed by Jacob Young for the documentary, I felt inspired to return to see how things were going with the community. I showed Mike Holy Cow Swami, and we had a lot of quality conversation about the way events were portrayed and about faith and religion in general. We could have stayed up talking far into the night, but we wanted to have some energy for our day trip.

Our intention was to leave at 9AM, but Mike convinced me to let him check the oil in my car- which turned out to be a good thing since I desperately needed an oil change. This gave us the opportunity to stop at an Aspinwall coffeehouse and build up more anticipation with talk about what we were going to see. The 70-mile drive was as pleasant as I remembered. Although it was overcast on the way there, it was all sun-and-blue-skies by the time we got to Moundsville and grabbed lunch. We chose a little coffee shop with down-home cookin' (dare I say that I ate a Sloppy Joe?) and few vegetarian options for M. Then we were on our way through the wooded hills on winding back-roads, and the next thing we knew we were greeted with the bright sunlight reflected off of the top of the Palace of Gold.

M. wanted to take the tour, and I'm afraid I couldn't stop myself from badgering the guide with all kinds of questions about the state of the community, and about Prabhupada's life before coming to America. I think he was unsure about where I was coming from, and was a bit guarded about answering. Then again I would assume that tour guides are given a canned speech and encouraged to stick to it. They mostly want to keep it light and general, and include lots of little details about all the fine materials that were used during the original construction of the palace. This was all basic stuff that I had heard previously. I wanted more information. I tried to assure him that I meant well, and by the end I thought that he believed in my sincerity. He told me to take a copy of the Bhagavad Gita when he discovered that I didn't own a copy.

After that M. and I walked around the grounds. I spent some time taking photos with my new camera. It was getting very hot. I thought I'd take M. down to the "Temple of Understanding". To my dismay, it was dark and all the deities were covered. After being told that they would be unveiled in an hour or so, we decided to take a walk by the pond, aviary and guest cottages. For the first time, I noticed Hayagriva's (Howard Wheeler) monument. It is a boxlike container structure, and I wondered if his remains were inside. Mike and I decided to walk up a road between the cottages, and lo and behold we met up with Tapahpunja, who was making his way down from the farm in a car. I asked him if he would give us another tour of the gardens, and he was most agreeable. We all gathered under the pavilion.

I had meant to hear about some of the plants being grown there, but we got sidetracked quickly. I asked Tapahpunja if he had seen Jacob Young's film, but he replied that he hadn't. He did remember getting interviewed for it. I wanted to hear details about Prabhupada's life and the early years of New Vrindaban. I also wanted to know his thoughts on what it means to have a "spiritual master". As he had been a few years ago, Tapahpunja Dasa was gracious and forthcoming. He explained what it meant to be God-brothers with Kirtanananda Bhaktipada, and gave us an idea about what the man was like before the troubles of the 1980's. But he also pointed out that he had been initiated by Prabhupada, and considered him his spiritual master. After a bit our little party was thirsty, and T. sent me for some water and cups from a guest house. We realized what that meant since he had explained that the community was experiencing a shortage of water. We continued to talk, and then Tapahpunja invited us to have some dinner.

We gathered around the table for food and more great conversation. Tapahpunja has a wealth of wisdom about the nature of the food we eat, corporate monoculture, and farming. He is also politically savvy and has compelling recommendations of books and documentaries to enlighten those who choose to seek more knowledge. But what I am most impressed by is that Tapahpunja has an extraordinary facility for relating a practical lifestyle to his spiritual beliefs. It was easy to sit quietly and listen, but we also took our turns talking and asking more questions. I am always pleasantly taken aback by the generosity of Krishna and his followers. Annadanum is the practice of sharing food with others, and to many it is a sacred duty. But we felt privileged to receive pasta, salad and a tasty stew from Tapahpunja. We were equally blessed to be joined by his wife.

Inevitably the day grows long and it is time for us to leave New Vrindaban. As I expected we had plenty to think about on the drive home. One of the things that hit home with me was an impassioned claim that Tapapunjah made concerning the human condition. He said that the slaughter of human animals is effecting our karma as individuals, and collectively. The resulting baggage is the reason we are faced with pestilence, war, climate destruction and conflict. Although I'm not a Hindu, I feel that this belief deserves sufficient consideration. A meat-eater like me has to take that to heart. For both "god" and the Earth's sake, perhaps I can at least give up eating the meat of a cow?

Jacob Young, "Holy Cow Swami" (1996).

One of the pleasant surprises of Jacob Young's visit to Film Kitchen last week was the existence on DVD of several of his works that I had been wanting to see for a long time. A couple of years ago I had actually planned to drive down into West Virginia to buy several VHS tapes straight from the director himself. Probably the most intriguing film I had heard about was an almost 3-hour long documentary about Kirtanananda Swami Bhaktipada (a.k.a. Keith Ham), the founder and spiritual head of the Hare Krishna community at New Vrindaban, near Moundsville, WV.

As I wrote in a blog post last summer, I have visited New Vrindaban several times- both while Bhaktipada was going through the worst of his legal difficulties (around 1992), and during the past five years. During my initial visit I wasn't even aware of the problems the community was then facing. Later I heard stories of the Swami getting charged and imprisoned for multiple criminal acts. I never did get the full story though, and that is why I was so anxious to see Jacob Young's Holy Cow Swami. So a couple of days ago, my sparkling new copy arrived directly from Young's distributor, and I watched it earlier this evening.

The film starts with the introduction of ISKCON-founder A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, who came to New York City as an Indian immigrant with $6 in his pocket. He set up a storefront mission on the Lower East Side and began sharing his faith and spiritual knowledge with all the young people then inhabiting that environment. It was at that time that Keith Ham approached Prabhupada, and became his first devotee. While his master traveled to California (and internationally) to spread his message, Ham and his lover Howard Wheeler set out to build a Krishna Community on a 100-acre farm in the wilderness of West Virginia.

As time passed, Prabhupada built temples all over the world. By the time of his death in 1977, New Vrindaban had grown to hundreds of acres, and had hundreds of devotees. Keith Ham had become Kirtanananda Swami Bhaktipada- the head of the community, and one of twelve internationally-recognized spiritual successors to Prabhupada. The mid-80's marked the peak of New Vrindaban's development, and almost 800 inhabitants had built up a thriving center of worship. Almost 500,000 tourists annually were making pilgrimages to the holy site. A grand "Palace of Gold" had been built to honor Prabhupada. Meanwhile the surrounding community in Marshall County looked on warily. Rumors began to spread that things weren't altogether above board at New Vrindaban.

Part of the controversy was the method that Krishnas were using to raise money. They would approach groups of people at sporting events, and issue "citations" for "having too much fun". This was their pitch to get people to contribute to the charities that the fundraisers said they represented- including Jerry's Kid's, Appalachian Orphanages, and (hilariously) NORML. But in point of fact, that money was landing directly in the pockets of Bhaktipada, to spend as he saw fit. At the same time other schemes involved the copyright infringement of professional sports team logos on pirated gear that Krishnas were selling.

But this wasn't the worst of it. When one disgruntled ex-devotee was gunned down in California, and another was executed at New Vrindaban itself, the authorities moved on the Swami. They charged him with conspiracy to murder, fraud, kidnapping and racketeering. Amidst all these charges ran a constant stream of allegations regarding child molestation that Bhaktipada was said to be personally involved in. For years the community rallied behind their beloved guru, even as he was convicted and put on house arrest pending appeal. But as more bodies began to surface on temple lands, a mass defection started. When Bhaktipada was released due to a successful appeal for a new trial, his return to New Vrindaban was celebrated by his remaining followers.

However, the celebration was short-lived. The last straw occurred when Bhaktivada's loyal disciples bought him a Winnebago to travel to a world religious conference. On the way, the Swami stopped to pick up a Malaysian youth from an airport. The Winnebago's driver witnessed Bhaktipada engaged in hanky-panky with the boy in the vehicle's on-board bed. Word soon passed between the adherents at New Vrindaban, and a group of elder devotees met with their guru and expelled him from the community for good. The permanently disgraced Keith Ham ultimately pled guilty and went to serve his time in prison.

Jacob Young justifiably considers Holy Cow Swami to be his magnum opus. The film runs almost three complete hours, and its production values are the best I've seen in any of Young's documentary works. Its length virtually prohibits any chance of widespread distribution. But Young has no intention of trimming it down. Indeed he says he can't imagine cutting any footage- material for which he risked his very life. The story itself is fascinating, with lovely photography and plenty of illuminating interviews with all of the major players- including lengthy segments with Bhaktipada. It's clear that Young presumed the innocence of the Swami throughout much of the film. For that reason, the viewer is often left undecided about the true nature of the events at New Vrindiban. That makes it extraordinarily compelling viewing.

Bernard Coffindaffer

While driving on our nation's highways, have you ever noticed clusters of three crosses dotting the landscape? If you have ever driven through West Virgina, then you certainly have. I've been seeing them up on vistas above the road for years. Christian imagery is so pervasive in this society that I never really wondered about the origination of the clusters. I probably would have simply assumed that a large Christian denomination was erecting them. Until I saw a Jacob Young documentary (Point Man for God) about the phenomenon, I never would have imagined that all those crosses were the the result of a single man's inspiration.

Bernard Coffindaffer was born to German immigrants in Craigsville, WV in 1925*. He served a stint in the Marines in WWII, and saw action at Iwo Jima and the Okinawan Islands. He went to work in coal-washing and eventually built his own mill. He also profited greatly through the recycling of used motor oil. Coffindaffer worked hard, and he eventually became very wealthy. He also became sick from toiling too hard. He had heart surgery, and while he was in the hospital he had his sacred vision. God had given him a ministry to announce the Second Coming of Christ. This wasn't a "talking" ministry, but rather one of a wholly different sort. Coffindaffer saw three crosses- the center one was painted royal gold, and the flanking ones were powder blue. He founded "Cast Thy Bread, Inc." and began (in September of 1984) placing his clusters all over his home state. Somewhere along the line he also became a Methodist minister, and he consecrated every cluster with a ceremony. He was eventually responsible for the erection of over 1800 of these groupings over 29 states and the Phillippines. There were about 350 sets put up in West Virginia alone.

Each cluster of crosses cost Coffindaffer about $850. He spent between $2-3 million dollars on his ministry. At one point, he had seven two-man crews putting up crosses full-time. He was continually talking with owners of prospective sites, trying to persuade them to let him put his crosses up. Coffindaffer attained a sort of significant status among holly rollers in Appalachia. He hobnobbed with influential church leaders from a variety of Christian sects. But his activities did indeed meet with some resistance. One assistant city editor of the Charleston Gazette was particularly annoyed by the ubiquitous presence of the crosses. She claimed that they marred the pristine beauty of the landscape, and wondered if maybe there weren't a few others who were offended by the clusters. Apparently they were, as Coffindaffer was made irate by the destruction (by chainsaw) on some of his sacred sites. In Young's documentary, Coffindaffer can be seen blatantly threatening the lives of the perpetrators of these misdeeds. I could find no record of whether or not he ever followed through on those promises.

Bernard Coffindaffer died flat-broke in October of 1993. But evidence of his life exists all along our nation's highways. And successors have popped up to carry on Coffindaffer's mission. Sara Abraham of Vicksburg, TN, Sheldon Turrill of Mariettta, OH, and Robert Clark of Faith, NC have banded together to maintain existing clusters and to construct new ones under the name of Christian Crosses, Inc. All three partners claim to have received their marching orders directly from God. They have actually drafted letters to the owners of the properties upon which the crosses stand, asking them to maintain the clusters. The plan is eventually to place crosses every fifty miles along the nation's system of interstates. Although Coffindaffer's crosses were manufactured with wooden logs (of Douglas Fir trees) , new ones will be constructed of plastic for greater durability. God's word may be eternal, but evidently Coffindaffer's crosses were not.


EDIT 6/21/10: I ORIGINALLY FOLLOWED OTHER INTERNET SOURCES IN QUOTING HIS BIRTHDATE AS 1935, BUT AS THE COMMENTER BELOW POINTED OUT- THIS WOULD SEEM LIKE AN INCONSISTENCY GIVEN THE REPORTS THAT COFFINDAFFER SERVED IN IWO JIMA. EITHER THE MAN RECEIVED MORE VISIONS THAN WE KNEW ABOUT, OR SOMEONE DID THEIR MATH WRONG. I'M GOING TO SIDE WITH THE NY TIMES, WHO POSTED AN OBIT REPORTING MR. COFFINDAFFER DEAD AT 68 IN 1993.

THE LIBERAL PRESS STRIKES AGAIN!!

Jacob Young @ Film Kitchen on Tuesday, June 12th.

I know that, during the run of this blog, I've made only scant mention of West Virginian filmmaker Jacob Young. That's a bit of an egregious oversight. Young is one of the most compelling documentarians working in the United States. He's focused his efforts on presenting people and stories from his home state. Of course when you're born in the Mountaineer State (the most beautiful and enigmatic place in the Eastern United States), there is plenty of ground to cover.

Some of Young's early subjects have included Appalachian junkyard owners, the rich industrialist who plagues the land with those goddamned three crosses, the warden from the Moundsville Penitentiary, white supremacist author Dr. William Pierce (author of The Turner Diaries - a book found on Timothy McVeigh after the Oklahoma City bombing), and the swami-turned-felon of the North American headquarters of the Hare Krishnas. Young has received some well-deserved praise for his West Virginia Public TV-produced Different Drummer series, which (of course) documented the antics of a string of eccentric WV characters. One episode is about a senior citizen hussy, who dolls herself up and sings show tunes in the dives of the hollers, performing as "Amazing Dolores".

But Young has received his greatest notoriety with The Dancing Outlaw. This was a documentary about the "Last Mountain Dancer", Jesse White. This Boone County native has appropriated at least two alter egos- Elvis (The King) and Satan himself (nicknamed "Jesco"). Young presented White, his family, and his girlfriend in all their backwoods splendor. Jesco assumes center stage as he relates stories about his lamentably departed father and siblings, and his own gas-huffing, thieving, and alcohol-sodden childhood. But when he's not raising hell White plies his trade in a mix of clog and tap dancing, accompanied by bluegrass music. This was his own father's stock-in-trade, and Jesse has aspired to keep the dying art alive.

Having received his fifteen minutes of fame, Jesco later resumed his place in the spotlight when Roseanne Barr became a fan of The Dancing Outlaw. He was actually invited to Hollywood to appear on her show, and Young was along for the ride to document his adventure. All did not go as expected. Barr had Jesco removed from the set when she noticed a tattoo of a swastika on his arm. White later had the offending symbol covered up when he realized its significance. He explains that it was merely a youthful indiscretion.

It would be a more just world if Jacob Young had received as much acclaim and name recognition as Jesco. But his misfortune pays off for us tomorrow. We can actually meet him in person at Pitsburgh Filmmakers in Oakland (Melwood Street). He'll be at Film Kitchen, presenting his newest documentary- Urim and Thummim*. It's about a man named Todd Walker who bought an object at a Nashville Goodwill for 69 cents. Apparently he was pleased to discover that the thing proved to be a visual gateway to both Heaven and Hell. But evidently others were skeptical about his claims. Young followed Walker on a "witness tour" aimed at convincing the locals that the relic was a genuine and miraculous holy object.

If you are so inclined, you can chat with Jacob Young at the reception (7PM) that precedes the screening. I've spoken with him on two previous occasions, and I've found him to be both accessible and generous with his thoughts. But if you are the shy sort, stick around for the Q & A session after the film. It's sure to be illuminating.


* - Find out more about this obscure-sounding title here.