GAY BARS, DANGER, MURDER

   Now that I have your attention, you are forewarned that this post might be offensive to some people.....

.....but you're not easily offended, are you?

This originally appeared on my old Texas blog Lone Star Concerto. I'm rehashing it here. It's (annoyingly) long, but I have the desire to unleash some dark true confessions.......including an intricate encounter with a murderer.....

Jon V.     2025

Recently, I accidentally discovered a video on YouTube that jolted my memory. It recounted the savage murder of Danny Lockin (1943 - 1977). Lockin was a 34-year-old dancer and actor, who is best remembered for portraying the role of Barnaby Tucker in the 1969 film Hello Dolly starring Barbara Streisand. He also appeared in numerous other movie and TV roles.

Lockin in Hello Dolly, 1969

 

One night in August, 1977, Danny Lockin was at The Mug - a gay bar in Garden Grove, Calif. He happened to meet up with Air Force Veteran Charles Leslie Hopkins (1943- 2006) who was a regular customer at The Mug. The two left together and went to Hopkin's apartment. It isn't exactly clear what transpired that fateful night, but Hopkins tortured and murdered Lockin - stabbing him over one hundred times.

Due to incomprehensibly lenient California laws, Charles Hopkins only served four years in prison. When the homicidal maniac was released, he got married and sired four children. His eventual long, slow death from cancer, I suppose, was appropriate karma.

 

The Mug

The only existing photo I could find

So, why is this of interest to me?

During the time of Danny Lockin's murder, I was a frequent customer at The Mug and knew the local bar "scene" very well. It was an extremely dangerous time for many reasons.

Orange County Memories

 Garden Grove is a city in Orange County, California - which, at that time, was infested with vicious vice cops, homophobic psychopaths, and other assorted undesirables. There were also several Orange County serial killers who targeted young gay men - including Randy Kraft and William Bonin. Delving into the seedy underworld of hedonistic pleasures was very risky business.  

A glimpse of the ghost of my past

during my turbulent terrible youth

 

In my youth, I divided my time between Orange County and Hollywood. The two places are only about 25 miles apart but seemed more a distance of light years.

Orange County - which consists of a haphazard conglomeration of many cities crammed together - was once a strictly white, very conservative, Republican area of Southern California. Things began to change after the Vietnam War, when a massive influx of Vietnamese refugees infiltrated Orange County. Most of them were good, honest, hard-working people....but that also happened to be the time when seedy "massage" parlors (featuring Vietnamese women) began cropping up on nearly every street corner. Much more than massages were offered.

Some parts of Orange County remained unblemished, but suddenly adult bookstores and porno theaters began appearing in certain areas. By the 1970s there were about a dozen gay bars in Garden Grove - which, ironically, was more than there were in Hollywood.

My familiarity of Orange County came from the fact that my parents lived there. I went to college in Orange County. I also got my first job as a security officer there (at Hughes Aircraft) my first gig as a pianist, and (strangely enough) my first job as a movie extra (I appeared in "Malibu Beach"). I even met actor/icon John Wayne in Orange County. Twice.

My (transitory) fascination with the bar scene culminated in Orange County. I got into the  habit of bar-hopping on Garden Grove Boulevard, where most of the bars were located. I'd often start in early evening and traverse from one bar to another, until 2:00 a.m. closing time. By then I'd be so thoroughly drunk that I didn't care what I did or who I went home with.

My two favorite bars were the Tiki Hut and The Mug, but I also frequented The Saddle Club, Rumor Hazzit, The Iron Spur, and DOK West. DOK was more of a disco/nightclub. Since I didn't like to dance, it was the least desirable haunt on my agenda.

Fling with a Nazi

The Mug seemed to attract a host of sleazy characters. That's where I met the guy who turned out to be a Nazi. When I first went to his house and saw a startling array of Nazi flags displayed in the living room, I assumed I was in possible peril. After a drunken night of semi-rough debauchery (use your imagination), he showed me the sizeable collection of loaded guns that were stashed under the mattress of his bed. I was astonished (and relieved) that none of those guns went off. 

Big sigh of relief.

My "relationship" with the Nazi quickly waned. He wrote me letters, asked me to move in with him. Nope. No, thanks. Trust me, boys and girls, I ain't no Nazi.

S&M with a Blond Mexican

The Mug is where I also met a handsome green-eyed blond, who was born in Mexico but spoke fluent German. It was an unnerving surprise when I discovered he was heavily into SM. He had an array of wicked-looking whips and buckled belts - and begged me to beat him. My hesitation only served to make him grovel on the floor and cry (real tears). Since pain is the very least of my hedonistic pleasures, my half-hearted attempts with the belt were met with annoying moans of displeasure. I faked my way through an evening that was much more tortuous for me than for him.

I'm definitely not into S&M. No way. I only saw the Mexican German once. Once was enough.

Tacos or bratwurst?

Caught!

One bar--hopping night I was so drunk I lost sense of everything. Can't remember what bar I was in. An intriguing stranger invited me to his home.  I foolishly followed. Of course we wound up in bed. Right in the middle of.........inebriated ecstasy.....his wife came in!!! Screaming! Enraged! She grabbed a lamp from the nightstand and hurled it at us with remarkable aim.

I FLEW out of bed, grabbed my clothes, ran outside stark naked.

The End

Am I saying too much? Probably. Hang on and try to relax. The ride isn't over.

I'm not in the least surprised that a murderous maniac was a "regular" at The Mug (I'm referring to the aforementioned Charles Leslie Hopkins). I did remember seeing Charlie once or twice, but I had absolutely no interest. He gave me unholy vibes.

I never saw Danny Lockin, but heard rumors that he occasionally showed up at the Mug. His murder deeply disturbed me.

Danny Lockin

Come to think of it - - I encountered more weird, frightening, dangerous characters in Orange County than I did in Hollywood

I'm saving the very best for last

Grim Brush with Death

By far, the very worst and most dangerous incident I ever experienced didn't happen via the bar scene - but did occur in Orange County. I wrote a blog post about it called "The Midnight Shift" in case you're interested in more details, Look it up.

I was in my early 20s, working as a security guard in a large (well-known) store and warehouse in Santa Ana. I worked the midnight shift and was there entirely alone until 7:00 a.m. 

The janitor - who was supposed to leave at midnight - began staying overtime. He would hang around with me for hours, annoying me with nonsensical (and disturbingly strange) conversations, and following me on my hourly patrol around the building and yard. I felt extremely uncomfortable with him tagging along, but reluctantly endured his company.
When he began making sexual advances, I politely but firmly declined.

To condense an extremely long and complex story, a few days later the janitor murdered a young (daytime) employee at the warehouse, who looked very similar to me and had the name John. 

He hid the body right outside (a deliberate omen) near my office door. I was unknowingly there all night with a corpse - which wasn't discovered until dawn!

This incredible story is filled with many bizarre twists and horrifying turns. In the end.....the janitor escaped and was never caught. I quit my job, fearing for my safety.

There are many more astonishing details concerning this story that I haven't yet publicly revealed. I strongly suspect he murdered his wife ( for insurance money). And I still shudder when recalling psychopathic  things he confessed in our long midnight conversations.....

 I truly know for certain that he had planned to murder me - for private reasons that I won't disclose here (he stole information from office files and got my home phone number and address).

Yes, I had an interview with the homicide detectives. Said I feared for my life.

The janitor (Robert) is probably deceased by now. He was at least 25 yrs. older than me.

I write, reveal, and confess the absolute truth - - and yet I hardly scratch the surface.

This horrifying misadventure wasn't thrilling. It was extremely dangerous and sobering. I never had long, intricate conversations with a maniac before. He would go way "off" track, as though he was in a trance. I had a subtle way of calming him down and defusing him from evil intensions.

I think it saved my life.

Many thanks for reading this and enduring my verbosity.

Jon 💜 probably tainted but undeniably intriguing

P.S.

 My horrifying "adventure" with the janitor Robert lasted several very unnerving weeks. He confessed many dark secrets to me. I have no doubt that he killed his wife and several others. He previously did medical work and knew a lot about drugs and medications.

And I have absolutely no doubt that he planned to murder me. 

When he murdered the young man named John where we worked, and put the body near my office overnight, it was a bizarre "warning" to me. It's all too intricate to fully explain.......

I know far more than I can reveal.

By the grace of God, I know I have a guardian angel.

Ok, you might not respect me after reading this post, but you have to admit.....my life wasn't bland or boring!

Your comments are welcomed, even if they're verbose  😸

A PLAUSIBLE RESOLUTION TO THE MYSTERY

 Everett Ruess

Note: this is a continuation of my previous post

I've been thinking about the scope of Everett Ruess's wanderlust adventures and the many possibilities of danger that they presented. It's almost inconceivable that someone so young (and inexperienced) would even attempt such an epic journey, let alone do it with surprising expertise and undeterred enthusiasm.

The places where he traveled are the most desolate and perilous areas in the country - formidable to access even now, with the aid of modern technology and conveniences. I can only imagine the complete isolation and extreme vulnerability of a boy alone, armed with little more than stoic determination.

Ruess with his dog Curly

I've been to many of the places where he traveled: the Mohave Desert, the Painted Desert, the Grand Canyon, Zion National Park in Utah, the Colorado and New Mexico mountains. Anyone who has experienced these overwhelming wonders of nature firsthand can fully understand how they inspired such an obsessive rapture and enchantment in Ruess.

The great tragedy of his disappearance at age twenty almost seems an appropriate end to his short saga. It enhances the allure and intensifies the romance. In a hauntingly unnerving way, it almost seems that this is how he would have envisioned his final exit: immortalized in eternal youth and perpetual mystery.

 The land he explored

 

This was a very roundabout way of getting to my point - - the grim reality of what really happened to Everett Ruess. My amature armchair deductions have completely ruled out suicide. He loved life far too much. An accident would be a much more plausible assumption, despite the fact that he was extremely competent and self-reliant. I have always tended to believe that perhaps something much more sinister was involved, and the other night I stumbled upon some startlingly reasonable proof.

The theory of murder has always been a possibility, and information uncovered by novelist C. Joseph Greaves (also known as Chuck Greaves) makes the theory very probable. In 2012, Greaves published an historical novel entitled Hard Twisted.(click title for link). It is a fictionalized account of the real-life psychopathic murderer James Clinton Palmer, who happened to be living in the area of southern Utah where Everett Ruess disappeared. Author Greaves' research yields reasonable evidence that Ruess and murderer Palmer might have crossed paths.

In 1934, shortly after being released from Leavensworth Penitentiary in Kansas, James Clinton Palmer went to Oklahoma. There he befriended a man named Dillard Garrett and his thirteen-year-old daughter Lucile. Palmer killed and decapitated Garrett and kidnapped Lucile, forcing her to be his child bride. He took the girl to Utah and they settled in a very remote area called John's Canyon. Palmer found work as a sheep herder and eventually murdered (and decapitated) two more people - a retired sheriff and his grandson.

 The site at John's Canyon where murderer James Clinton Palmer lived with his kidnapped child bride Lucile Lottie Garrett

Everett Ruess was last seen in Escalante, Utah, before he disappeared in November, 1934. Escalante is about 40 miles away from John's Canyon, where murderer James Clinton Palmer was. Recently discovered evidence indicates that Ruess traveled east after leaving Escalante and was in the vicinity of John's Canyon.

Everett Ruess often referred to himself as"Nemo" (Latin for "no man"). One of his trademarks during his travels was to carve the name Nemo into stone at various locations where he had been. He carved the graffito "Nemo 1934" at an Anasazi ruin near Escalante, Utah, shortly before he disappeared.

 Near Escalante, Utah

In 1984, a previously unknown "Nemo 1934" etching by Reuss was discovered in Grand Gulch, north of the San Juan River - which was less than ten miles from where murderer Palmer was living with his kidnapped child bride.

 

Recent studies have confirmed that the "Nemo" etching at Grand Gulch is authentic, and definitely written by Everett Ruess. Due to this discovery Reuss was assumed to have been headed towards John's Canyon, where he would have almost certainly encountered the dugout homestead of Palmer.

It's only a theory that Everett Ruess was murdered, but this newly-uncovered information is strong enough evidence to be seriously considered.

by Jon V.
(copyright 2016)

Postscript:
James Clinton Palmer was eventually apprehended and sentenced to 99 years. He died in prison in 1969. Lucile Garrett was prosecuted for "associating with a known criminal" and sent to a girl's reform school until she was 21. She died in 1991.



Excerpts from writings by Everett Ruess:

At evening I would go out into the glade and climb high above the river to the base of the cliff. I would gather scarlet flowers and come down when the stars gleamed softly. Sighing winds would eddy down the canyon, swaying the tree tops. Then the leaves would cease their trembling; only the sound of rippling water would continue, and the spirit of peace and somnolence would pervade and the red embers of my fire one by one turned black and shadows deepened into a gently surging slumber.

---

---

Always I shall be one who loves the wilderness:
Swaggers and softly creeps between the mountain peaks;
I shall listen long to the sea’s brave music;
I shall sing my song above the shriek of desert winds.

---

When I go I leave no trace.
The beauty of the country is becoming a part of me.
Now the aspen trunks are tall and white in the moonlight.
A wind croons in the pines, The mountain sleeps.

---

---

Alone, I shoulder the sky,
And hurl my defiance
And shout the song of
the conqueror
To the four winds,
Earth, sea, sun, moon, and stars.
I LIVE! 

 

CELL PHONES, HEAT, POSSIBILITY OF MURDER

Yesterday I received more mail for the guy who used to live here (see my previous post for explanation).

I am starting to get very slightly suspicious. 

I've lived here for four and a half years and never previously received any mail for him at this address. Not one thing.

Here's the Big Question (capitalized for emphasis):

Why this sudden postal surge?
It seems kinda odd.

I know the guy has a dubious past, but I genuinely believed I could trust him.  Now - however - I'm wondering if he has a plan to murder me and reclaim his old homestead.

Don't laugh. Stranger things have happened. He seems like a nice person, but.....

....Jack the Ripper probably seemed like a nice person, too. Until you got to know him. 

The rain has stopped (finally) and the summer heat has arrived a little early. Gorgeous sunny days.

On Tuesday morning the water pressure (here in the house) was very low. Finally there was no water at all. I didn't panic. This happens sporadically.
I said "To hell with it" and decided to drive to town.
By the time I got back home, the water was on again. 

I bought some good things: fresh corn on the cob and tomatoes. Roasted chicken. Ice cream. I haven't had ice cream in years. Tried some yesterday and it was heaven.

I also bought a new cell phone.

The recent Tracfone that I purchased is absolutely worthless. I seldom get a signal and can't text at all. Every time I try to text I get a "Check your network connection" message.

My first Tracfone was great. I had it five years with no problems.

Tracfone now features Alcatel phones, which are so bad that you'd do better using two cans and a string. Or Indian smoke signals.

I recently did some research on Alcatel phones:

They are designed in France.
Anything designed in France is crap.

They are owned by a Finnish company.
What has Finland ever given us but cheese and Sibelius?

They are assembled in China.
This conjures visions of eight-year-olds
working as slave laborers in Mao Tse-tung factories.

Anyway, my new phone is a so-called smart phone. Which was a big mistake - considering that I hardly ever use a cell phone. I only need a cell phone for texting - -
and for emergencies, like if a former resident of this place tries to kill me. 

This "smart" phone is at least five times more expensive to maintain than the Tracfone was. And it has loads of bells and whistles that I'll never use. You can supposedly watch a movie on it.

Who the bloody hell would want to watch a movie on a cell phone??? 

I haven't yet activated my new phone. But I did read part of the 700-page instruction booklet. Which is in about 450 languages.

Globalization, my ass.