Taste Test

William Seabrook was a journalist, active during the years of 1919 to 1945, whose thirst for esoteric knowledge was only matched by his thirst for booze. He got his start in the news business as a reporter and later editor for the August Chronicle of Georgia. After World War One, he contributed articles to the New York Times, Vanity Fair, and Reader's Digest.

Perhaps it was the suffocating boredom of Reader's Digest that pushed Seabrook into a life of world travel. He was fascinated by occult practices and foreign mysticism, and sought out then-unusual locales to investigate. He wrote accounts of his time spent with the Bedouins and Kurds of Saudi Arabia, the habits of voodoo practitioners of Haiti, his adventures with daredevil pilots, and what must have been an extremely stressful weekend with self-proclaimed evil wizard Aleister Crowley. In adherence to journalistic standards, he claimed to never embellish his stories, but the books were very much like pulp novels in their subject matter.


In addition to these pursuits, Seabrook also dabbled in culinary criticism, submitting perhaps the definitive analysis of the taste and texture of....human flesh. For Seabrook, cannibalism was apparently just another exotic experience to write about. The man had books to sell, after all.

While visiting the tribes of West Africa, Seabrook met up with some cannibals and was disappointed when they were unable to fully articulate the process of cooking and eating people. Determined to find out for himself, Seabrook departed for France and somehow managed to get a large chunk of flesh from a hospital. He proceeded to get a stew going and the results were apparently delicious, with Seabrook comparing human to "fully developed veal."

The decision to become a cannibal may or not have been made under the influence of alcohol. Despite checking himself into a mental institution to deal with his addiction (which he wrote about in his book Asylum) Seabrook's alcoholism lead to the ruination of his marriage to novelist Marjorie Worthington, which in turn lead to his suicide in 1945. Aleister Crowley marked the occasion in his diary, referring to the Seabrook as a "swine-dog."

An indecent epitaph, even for a cannibal.


But don't take my word for it!
-You can read about it in a book!

The Christ of California

The army had a profound effect on Francis Pencovic's life. Formerly a petty criminal, Pencovic had joined the service after working on a chain gang and the experience left him a changed man.

In Simi Valley, California, 1946, Pencovic announced that he was actually Jesus and (departing from the conventional Biblical texts) explained the Son of God was a being from the distant planet Neophrates and had journeyed to Earth many thousands of years ago in a spaceship piloted by Adam and Eve. Shortly after this astonishing anouncement, Pencovic changed his name to "Krishna Venta" and adopted a suitably messianic haircut along with some Jedi robes.


It wasn't long before Pencovic had amassed a small but fervent group of (largely female) followers who donated all of their possessions to his new church, referred to as WKFL ( for Wisdom, Knowledge, Faith, and Love) or The Fountain of the World. Pencovic used at least some these donations to make bets on dog races, at which he was apparently quite successful.  As his reputation grew, so did the numbers of his cult and eventually they opened up a second branch in Homer, Alaska.

Pencovic's preachings resonated among those who felt fearful in the new Cold War. He told his followers of an imminent doomsday (which would take the form of a Soviet-instigated black vs. white race war) that would claim the lives of all humanity, save for 144,000 "Elect" that would go on to Paradise under his leadership. Until Judgment Day, the parishioners of the Fountain of the World cult were to assist the homeless and spread the world.

After a few run-ins with the police for refusing to pay child support Pencovic was killed in 1958; in a double suicide-bombing carried out by two of his own followers. One man was fiercely jealous of Pencovic's power and influence, and the other believed Pencovic had been sleeping with his wife.

After the death of their prophet, the Fountain of the World limped along for about a decade, teaching Pencovic's apocalyptic visions to all who would listen. Before their ultimate dissolution, the group provided a home for an itinerant would-be musician.

His name was Charlie Manson.

It appears that the cult left quite an impression.


Would you like to know more?
-Read this article from the International Cultic Studies Association
-Watch this newsreel from the British Pathe Film Archive.

Sour grapes or evil eyes?

The enlightened 21st century is merely a group consensus. If modernity doesn't suit you, there is always an opt out clause. Superstition continues to thrive all over the world, and its adherants recently made the headlines in Romania.

On December 6th, 2009, Romania held run-off elections so the nation could choose between closely-matched presidential candidates Mircea Geoana (of the Social Democratic Party) and Traian Basescu (of the Democratic Liberal Party). Basescu narrowly defeated his rival, and Geoana was quick to cry foul, his party alleging that the election had been rigged. While no concrete evidence of fraud was ever discovered, Geoana continued to level accusations at Basescu. Even for an election that was fraught with mutual mud-slinging and charges of corruption, Geoana's comments became especially bizarre.

According to Geoana, he lost the election due to the sinister mechanizations of one Alidor Manolea, a parapsychologist who employed "negative energy waves" to disrupt a crucial debate with Basescu. In short: he was hexed.

Manolea works as a "bioenergy therapist" and aparently posesses numerous psychic abilities (as stated by the Romanian Association of Transpersonal Psychology). Manolea is an aquaintence of Basescu, and Geoana insists that Manolea disrupted his concentration through supernatural methods. Photographs and video footage confirm Manolea's unexplainable pressence at the debate, standing directly behind Basescu.

Spokesmen for Basescu were slow acknowledge the story or divulge any influence Manolea might have had on the campaign, but finally denied any underhanded witchcraft at work. Geoana has been criticized for his claims, with some members of the Social Democratic Party calling for his resignation as party leader. Despite the pressure, he remains steadfast in his assertions. Perhaps he would be wise to acquire a psychic ally of his own. This may be the beginning of metaphysical politics.




Would you like to know more?
-Read this article from the Bucharest Herald
-Read this post from Romania News Watch

Maverick from Another Planet

Gabriel Green ran as a write-in candidate for president in 1960 and 1972. Although he was a third-party candidate and could not afford the advertising materials that his political rivals employed, Green had an ace up his sleeve and had secured the endorsement and aid of a difficult-to-reach demographic.

You see, Green had assistance from beings from another planet.

Green was a native of Whittier, California (the same area that launched Richard Nixon to superstardom). A graduate of the Woodbury Business School of Los Angeles, Green worked as a photographer under the employ of the Los Angeles school system, taking pictures of children and faculty for yearbooks. In 1957, Green founded the "Amalgamated Flying Saucer Club of America, Inc." and announced to the world his fantastic encounter with humanoid aliens. Three years later he launched his first bid to become the president of the United States, representing the Universal Flying Saucer Party.

Green claimed that the aliens had taken him for a long space voyage in their flying saucer, and showed him their home planet of "Korender," orbiting around the star Alpha Centauri. They were wise and benevolent humanoids, and created a permanent telepathic connection for Green to communicate with them across the vastness of space. They also, according to Green, helped him gather votes when he was campaigning.

Green ran on a platform of reform, peace, expanded social services, and low-taxes. He explained that the inhabitants of planet Korender had helped him devise a new political philosophy of United World Universal Economics. While campaigning, Green also claimed that he had graduated from UC Berkeley in 1953 with a PhD in physics, and had contributed to the development of the Standard Model of particle physics. Presumably, he hoped that pretending to be a scientist would give a much needed boost to his comparatively lackluster credentials.

It was a tight race, but Green failed to win the 1960 election, eventually dropping out and endorsing Kennedy. Two years later he ran unsuccessfully for U.S. Senate in California. Green took a brief sabbatical from the world of politics to write Let's Face Facts About Flying Saucers, an account of his meeting with extraterrestrials as well as reports on other flying saucer sightings. Five years later he began his second presidential campaign, this time from Iowa. Again, he met with defeat. Green retired to California, where he occasionally spoke at UFO conventions and New Age gatherings. He died in Yucca Valley, California, on September 8th, 2001.

Green was just one of many people who claimed to have been contacted by aliens during the fifties, but he remains one of the most obscure possibly due to the political incompetence of his alien allies. Whether or not the inhabitants of Korender have selected a new candidate to fight for the principles of United World Universal Economics has not been disclosed.





Further Reading:
Let's Face Facts About Flying Saucers by Gabriel Green
UFOs and Popular Culture by James R. Lewis

The Original Fat Cat

Everyone is driven by different dreams. Some crave conquest (whether in the boardroom, bedroom, or battlefield), and others have devoted themselves to intellectual pursuits. Those who are more romantic yearn to discover true love, while others covet fame and celebrity status. There are also those miserly people whose sole pursuit is wealth.

And then there are those who have resolved to eat more in their lifetime than some Eastern European nations. Of these gourmands, none can rival the passion for food that was possessed by millionaire James Buchanan "Diamond Jim" Brady.

Brady was an enormously successful railroad businessman from the "Gilded Age" of the late 1800's. His nickname was derived from his copious gaudy rings and jewelry, estimated to have been worth around fifty million dollars (adjusted). Asserting that it was only proper for a millionaire to look the part, Brady sunk further millions into custom tailored suits, silk hats, and other finery. In 1895, Brady was the first man in New York City to own an automobile, although he was more frequently seen parading about on one of his twelve gold-plated bicycles. In short, the guy was mind-bogglingly wealthy.

Despite his procurement of such costly items, Brady's principle expense were the lavish meals that he ordered at Charles Rector's Broadway restaurant. Rector once said that Brady was "the best twenty-five customers that [he] ever had." He wasn't joking either.

A typical "Brady Breakfast" consisted of eggs, steak, lamb-chops, hominy grits, homefries, pancakes, corn muffins and a gallon of orange juice. Afterwards he would tide himself over with thirty-six oysters and clams until lunchtime rolled around, during which he'd devour multiple crabs, lobsters, a joint of beef, and several pies. If he felt especially peckish in the afternoon hours, he'd polish off another platter of clams and oysters and that would hold up until dinner, a meal large enough for an entire platoon of Marines.

It consisted of twenty-six Lynnhaven oysters, six crabs, six lobsters, two slabs of turtle flesh, two bowls of green turtle soup, two ducks, a sirloin, a platter of steamed vegetables (gotta' eat your vegetables), an entire tray of pastries and two-pound box of chocolate.

I'll just let that sink in, before continuing.

Seemingly determined to embody the worst excesses of super-wealth while the poor died starving, Brady did not eat the aforementioned meals ever so often or even on a weekly basis, but rather every day. How it was humanly possible to accomplish this feat of consumption is unknown. Furthermore, it is similarly unknown how Brady was able to get any work done what with his constant eating.

Being a millionaire permitted Brady to indulge in the highest quality foods. Upon hearing of new recipes from his high society friends, he would do whatever it took to sample the delicacy in question. While stuffing his face at Rector's Broadway restaurant, he overheard a discussion about the merits of Filet de Sole de Marguery, a dish served only at the Café Marguery of Paris. Its famed sauce was a guarded secret, known only to the head chef. Brady demanded that Charles Rector unlock the secrets of Filet de Sole de Marguery, threatening to never again return to the restaurant. Terrified at the prospect of losing Brady's patronage, Rector forcible pulled his son George from his studies at Cornell to take part an in a bizarre mission of culinary espionage.

The hapless George Rector was sent to Paris to infiltrate the restaurant establishment. Under a pseudonym, he got a job as a dishwasher at the Café Marguery, displaying a calculated enthusiasm that ensured his gradual promotion. After two years of hard work, George had become an apprentice chef and earned the confidence of the culinary elite who operated the Café. Convinced of his skill, they brought him into the fold and taught the fabled secret sauce of the Filet de Sole de Marguery.

The next day, George was on a ship bound for New York City, having memorized the recipe. Hearing the news of George's arrival, Brady was waiting for him on the docks. As the ship slowly made its way to shore, Brady screamed "Have you got the sauce?" into the sea-side air. The obese millionaire proceeded to race George Rector back to his father's restaurant. The Filet de Sole de Marguery was served, and Brady ate nine portions. The Rectors waited nervously for the verdict as he dabbed up the last bit of sauce with a hunk of bread.

"If you poured some of the sauce over a Turkish towel, I believe I could eat all of it."

The corpulent bastard finally died at age sixty-one, donating much of his fortune to John Hopkins Hospital. In his honor, the then-recently established urology clinic was named after him.



Sources
Wallace, Irving and Wallechinsky, David. (1975). "Footnote People in American History." The People's Almanac.90: pp.4-22. ISBN:0-385-04060-1

http://www.gourmandizer.com/ezine/brady/