On a chilly November New York City morning in 1953, a scientist working for the CIA on psychotropic mind-control experiments walked off the tenth-floor balcony of the Statler Hotel. He had become increasingly disenchanted with the bizarre and incredibly dangerous work he had been doing in service to national security.
Despite the patriotic rationale, the scientist felt his life’s work was immoral and most certainly illegal. He wanted out, unfortunately, he knew too much, and knowing too much is a very precarious position to be in if you work for a clandestine operation run by America’s very own version of Josef Mengele, the Angel of Death.
The scientist insisted on getting out, and out he got, through the window and off the balcony of the Statler Hotel on that brisk Fall morning in Manhattan. Was suicide his solution for terminating his deal with the devil or did the devil do him in? It’s impossible to say. The evidence although in plain sight is murky and blurred by time and the self-preservation of those responsible.
I know what you’re thinking, not in my America, not in my beloved United States, not in the home of the brave and the land of the free. Unfortunately, it did happen; it’s the kind of thing that happens when governments feel an existential threat.
America has a fundamental flaw, an Achilles heel of perspective and attitude; it fails to understand history and its place in it. In the words of philosopher, George Santayana, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”
If you believe it can’t happen here, I urge you to take a look at The Wall Street Putsch of 1933, and the name of one of the participants. You might find it informative. It could happen again. America is under siege by a series of existential threats. It’s not some crackpot conspiracy theory; it’s history. The question I have is: which is more dangerous, the external threat or the internal threat?
For those who cling to Senator Barry Goldwater’s Cold War aphorism, “Extremism in defence of liberty is no vice.” I urge you to remember the past because if you don’t, you will be condemned to a future you did not expect and an existence you will be forced to endure.
What follows could happen, and maybe will happen if you allow extremism to take hold of the levers of power.
Show And Tell
I’ve recently made some changes in my life. With my career in the dumpster and Harriet gone, I needed something to keep my brain cells active. As you are aware, my only true passion, other than Harriet, is abstract expressionist art.
My mentor in art, tradecraft, and bureaucratic gamesmanship was the late Commander Bowley, who owned the Bowley Gallery, a front that allowed him to travel the world making deals with foreign agents that only occasionally involved oil paint on canvas.
With Bowley gone, I bought the gallery, which included the building on Hazelton Lanes. It’s nice to be rich. I know there was some confusion about Bowley’s demise the last time we communicated, but that cerebral hiccup has been clarified: the man is most certainly dead.
I converted the top floor of the building into a Bauhaus infused retreat with enough room to display my personal collection along with a large enough studio that allowed me to take out my frustrations by chucking acrylic onto large pieces of stretched canvas. None of it ever amounted to anything but recyclable junk, but the enjoyment is in the effort, despite the inevitable failure and frustration. Why should my creative endeavours be any more successful than my less than Bondian career?
On a chilly November New York City morning in 1953, a scientist working for the CIA on psychotropic mind-control experiments walked off the tenth-floor balcony of the Statler Hotel. He had become increasingly disenchanted with the bizarre and incredibly dangerous work he had been doing in service to national security.
Despite the patriotic rationale, the scientist felt his life’s work was immoral and most certainly illegal. He wanted out, unfortunately, he knew too much, and knowing too much is a very precarious position to be in if you work for a clandestine operation run by America’s very own version of Josef Mengele, the Angel of Death.
The scientist insisted on getting out, and out he got, through the window and off the balcony of the Statler Hotel on that brisk Fall morning in Manhattan. Was suicide his solution for terminating his deal with the devil or did the devil do him in? It’s impossible to say. The evidence although in plain sight is murky and blurred by time and the self-preservation of those responsible.
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Matteo Serrago
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