Wayne called me on Friday night, September 4, 1970. It was Labor Day weekend. He asked me if I could drive him to Lake Tahoe on Saturday. I told him that I couldn’t go because my wife was pregnant and it was a holiday weekend. He said it would be a quick trip and we would come back the same day. I asked him why he needed to go to Tahoe and he told me that he was going to meet a friend there. He said it was very important and that he didn’t want to drive because long drives gave him migraine headaches. He was not in good health. He always complained of being nauseous and short of breath. I gave in and said that I would drive him.
I told my wife, Linda, that I was going to drive Wayne to Lake Tahoe on Saturday and that I would be back that night. Linda didn’t like Wayne. She always told me that he would get me in trouble someday.
I had a bad feeling about that trip. I went over to my mother’s house and told her I was taking the ambulance driver Wayne to Tahoe to visit his friend. My mother was scared. She didn’t like Wayne. Nobody liked Wayne. She told me not to go. She said that I should be with her on Labor Day weekend. I told her that I was already committed. I had to go. She said that it didn’t sound right, but if I was going to go I should be careful and don’t get in any trouble.
I left Saturday morning knowing that I shouldn’t go on this trip. Was God telling me not to go? In retrospect, I really believe that He was. I felt very nervous that morning so I took my Valium with me. I picked Wayne up at the house in Broadmoor. (This was his second home, the first one being Mercy Ambulance where he slept most of the time.) I was in my personal car, a white 1968 Chevy Malibu. Wayne had to tell me how to get to Tahoe because I had never been there before. I had an uneasy feeling that I was doing something wrong, a premonition that something evil was going to happen, but I continued to drive. To make matters worse, Wayne started talking angrily about some woman. He said, “I’m gonna kill that bitch!” Wayne hated women, so I thought he was just shooting his mouth off and didn’t think much more about it. How was I supposed to know that he was confessing to me? My god! Why didn’t I turn around and go back to Colma, but I continued on.
We turned off Highway 50, went a block or two and came to a “T” in the road. I remember seeing a street sign, but I don’t remember the name of the street. Wayne told me to turn right and stop in front of the third house. It was a beige one story with a one-car garage on the left. I started to pull into the driveway and he yelled, “No, no, no, park out here on the street.” At the time I wondered why he didn’t want me to park in the driveway, later on I found out why! We walked up to the door and Wayne knocked. The person who opened the door was Bruce Davis. (I had met him before at the shooting range.) I thought to myself, “What the hell is Bruce doing here?” As we entered the house I saw there was a hippie girl with Bruce. I don’t remember her name. She didn’t talk much.
There was no wall between the living room and the kitchen. There was a long green sofa facing the front door, which served as a divider for the two rooms. To the right of the sofa was a matching green armchair. On the left wall there was a door that led to the garage and beyond it was the bathroom and a small bedroom. On the right wall by the front door there was a cuckoo clock and in the center was a large picture of Charles Manson. (It was the same picture that I had seen on the living room wall in Wayne’s house in Broadmoor.) I felt very uncomfortable and I thought to myself, “What the hell am I doing here?” Everyone in the house was a Manson follower except me.
We sat around jus