The opening was great. Shows how “escorts” do their job, the kids are injected with a sedative before being plastic cuffed. Next they are on a boat to Fiji.

And the actors did a great job when they first arrived on the island, being totally clueless why all of the abuse was necessary? I felt the same way when I arrived at RMA, just this feeling of being in a totally alien environment, far from home, far from sanity. Seeing everyone completely in to the program, unquestioning despite how abusive and confrontational and deeply personal it all was. There were no boundaries and I think that scared me and probably many others.

I also liked how the staff at the camp would retaliate against friends for wrongs done by you. It reminded me of bans and booth restrictions. How there was a punishment for any minor infraction, yet the punishment was anything but minor. And how friends who didn’t pull you up or confront you got punished as well, even though they didn’t do anything except not confront you or yell at you enough to suit some staff member.

And of course, I loved how the guy running the show had a fake degree and didn’t really have the credentials to be treating kids, how his program was a cult through and through, and how his status as a guru was portrayed unquestioned by everyone. And how his background included criminal activities much as the staff at CEDU and RMA all seemed to have truly despicable people before becoming staff.

Just an all around good movie with a lot of parallels to what we went through.

I just watched this movie on Netflix called “Boot Camp”. It is from 2007 and stars Mila Kunis and Gregory Smith. It is about “troubled teens” who get sent to this camp in the remote Fiji islands to get help with their problems etc… Now of course it was a movie and thus was very revised compared to a genuine 2.5 year stint at let’s say Cedu, RMA etc.. As a CEDU survivor myself some parts of the movie really hit home as per relating to some of the truly ghastly mind rape we all went through at these schools. Like I said it was only a 2 hour flick but in my opinion well orchestrated. I recommend anyone who has not seen it to check it out if you so desire. Does anyone else who has been to CEDU or any of these schools feel this overwhelming sense of wanting to avoid confrontation with people. I do not mean to sound nutty or anything but lately I have just been feeling like everyone is staring at me or some shit, probably just me. I am really begining to think that CEDU did indeed alter my mind in some wicked way. CEDU dreams have been recurring alot lately. Some messed up shit I tell you.
Anyhow, check out “Boot Camp” 2007 folks it’s worth a watch…

-Peace-

CEDU- Feb. 1992-Apr. 1994
RMA-Apr. 1994-Jun. 1994

http://ficanetwork.net/

Tim Earle? I guess he’s just following in the old man’s footsteps. I went into Bonners Ferry and saw him appear in a play at Bonners Ferry High School back in 1983. We were both 17. The only difference was that his father, the director of RMA, thought it was more important that he receive an education at the local public high school, and my dad was bamboozled into believing that RMA was providing us with a decent education.

Anyway, my point is what’s up with Montana? And I guess these two clowns, Pat Stambuski (for some reason changed his name to Patrick McKenna) and Tim Earle, have teamed up to continue the unique form of torture known as RMA/CEDU. (See Monarch School of Montana. Funny how they relate a carnivorous program of attack therapy dedicated to ruining childrens’ lives to a gentle butterfly which feeds upon a poisonous herb milkweed, or maybe they are referring to a power mad king.)

Montana must be the last wild frontier of child abuse.

Chris Sims
First new student at RMA
82-84

Also, Johnny that was compelling information, about Mr. Diamonds son. Talk about the Twilight Zone.

Chris

82-84

As per Michael’s post above:

DEATH ROW SERIAL MOLESTER CONNECTED TO CEDU

http://ficanetwork.net/death-row-serial-molester-connected-to-cedu/

This is insane. I personally knew Jonathan Inman from the article above. I was at CEDU then. I remember staff telling us he ran down the backside. Then weeks or months later at a house around the pit they told us his remains had been found on the backside. To think now that he possibly was abducted and raped/murdered blows my mind. This is yet a further outrage to me that any kid should ever have been sent there or to any place with the same practices such as CEDU.. I do not remember the animals mentioned in the linked article above. The fact that such people were @ CEDU dealing with kids which in and of itself (CEDU) was such a mind warping fuck zone is utterly morose to me. I am so f*&^%ng pissed to have just read this article. Sick..

Liam, great job on all you do once again! Please do let me know how I could obtain a copy of the final product.

I hope everyone on here had a wonderful holiday and I hope you all have a safe prosperous New Year! God Bless..

Oh yeah, Johnny Propheet, trust me I still have the dreams too! A couple of times a month at least. Some are extremely vivid, whilst others are more vague. I personally think we have all been mentally stained with the sick shit we all went through at these schools. Hopefully one day the dreams will cease, yet it seems unlikely at least for now! For me when I have a CEDU dream the next day I smoke like a chimney drink coffee like there’s no tomorrow and do what I can to mentally bitch-slap myself so that I remember “It”s okay, it’s okay it was just a dream. You are not there anymore! You can do whatever you damn well please today!” Then I feel better!

Till next time….

Ian Z.

CEDU (Feb. 92-Apr. 94)
RMA (Apr. 94-Jun. 94)

Neil Diamond’s son Jesse went to Cedu 86-88. Think about how crummy it would be to listen to those songs (while at cedu) and dealing with all of that and they are playing music by your father?

For me, “I Need You” by America and “You needed me” by Anne Murray are two songs that if I hear them in a grocery store, I still go nuts like a Pavlovian dog 20 years later. I am a huge collector of music and respect all types. However, it is still hard for me to appreciate some of the stuff we were tortured with. The memories just come flooding back to a room of 20 kids crying at the top of their lungs snotting to the floor with tissue all over the place.

I actually had a cedu dream last week. I have come to the conclusion it will never go away…

Of course music in general was important at CEDU/RMA. Those in charge were very aware of its power. They banned it and controlled it to such a degree that most of it was considered unacceptable. Ultimately it was a powerful therapeutic tool used to subjugate us to their rule. The staff seemed hellbent on destroying any taste or love for music we had as students.

Their taste in music was dated even in 1982. It seemed hopelessly lost in the early to mid-70’s. John Lennon, Neil Diamond, and John Denver all had Propheets named after and themed around their turgid hits: “Imagine,” “He Aint Heavy (He’s My Brother),” and “I Want to Live.” It was a Logins and Messina nightmare, laced with seeds of Joni Mitchell and Kenny Rodgers, and the music was used to reduce us to gibbering sobbing fools, then conversely it was used to put us back together again and inspire confidence. In fact Mel and company used music much the same as the FBI used it torture the Branch Davidians in Waco before they burned them alive. I remember every Propheet, they had a stereo in place and there was a cassette tape suitcase filled with tapes that had the same song recorded over and over on them to provide a soundtrack to the therapeutic nightmare as it unfolded.

But thoughts of John Denver and the Propheet I Want to Live always lead to yet another artist Jimi Hendrix. Jimi Hendrix was not even in the same realm as John Denver. He was perhaps the most interesting electric guitarist to have ever lived. His death at the age of 27 was truly tragic (interestingly John Denver’s death at the age of 47 in a plane crash off the coast of Carmel, California barely registered as a blip on the radar of cultural significance). When Jimi Hendrix died the world truly lost a unique voice. Even mentioning him in the same sentence with John Denver is almost criminal, yet the program at CEDU/RMA made such vapid comparisons possible.

Deprived of sleep and crying over our total failings as human beings, as the sun came in through the windows in the early morning hours, I remember Carmine and Dan Earle telling us they were going to take us back to the streets. They said they were going to let us know how low we had sunk before arriving at CEDU. They said, “Look at the crap you put in your heads! Look at the shit you thought was cool! Listen to the confusion and negativity and see where it takes you. See where it leads you back to. Remember how it faced you in the direction of life instead of death.” Then they played it, “Purple Haze” by Jimi Hendrix. I remember it was the first real music I had heard in six months. But in the world of CEDU Jimi Hendrix was so bad that his whole discography was completely unacceptable. In fact even talking about it would wind you up on a fulltime throwing rocks from on pile into another or digging holes and filling them up for at least a week.

“Purple haze all through my brain/ Lately days don’t seem the same.” Some of my fellow students in my peer group seemed to go with it. Their sobbing increased steadily while Dan and Carmine continued to point out that it had been a soundtrack to our own slow suicides prior to our arrivals at CEDU/RMA.

But it had an opposite effect on me and some of the other students. We actually liked the song and my best friend actually became very angry. When they finished playing the song and asked him where he was at. He said he resented Dan and Carmine for playing the song of an artist he loved and respected. He said, “What am I supposed to do, drool like one of Pavlov’s dogs whenever I hear this song in the future?”

“Look at how you still cling to negative thinking and the garbage of the past,” was Dan Earle’s response. There was no room for discourse that was of a contrary opinion.

I think John Denver, the good one, and Jimi Hendrix, his evil nemesis, clearly illustrates the mindset of those in charge. On the one hand you had dated kitsch and on the other total genius. We were expected to embrace the inferior artistic achievements of John Denver over the creative angst of a truly compelling artist like Jimi Hendrix.

I just wonder if CEDU/RMA ever paid any royalties to John Lennon, Neil Diamond, or John Denver for having used their songs repeatedly as musical accompaniment to their profit making therapy venture? I’m certain they never paid the estate of Jimi Hendrix a dime.

Chris Sims
CEDU/RMA
82-84

I find it hard to believe that you were fooled into playing by the rules. Also the insanity of having to ask a 45 year old woman if you could jam it into maryjane rottencrotch … Well, it just seems weird.

Anyways, I hav been searching high and low to find a law firm that will take on CEDU/Wasserman/et al, I think most attorneys are pretty gun shy after the failed Brown Schools case in Austin, where Brown schools filed for chapter 11 instead of paying some pretty trivial judgments (considering Brown Schools brought in $76 million a year).

We will get there though eventually. We’ll make ‘em pay.

Ironic, my RMA girlfriend also arrived via the Mike Parr Express. But we skipped the privs and did what nature intended. We got caught in the walk-in freezer in the Spring Room and did a full time. Well, I did, she got pulled by her father three days later.

But all I remembered was being scared to death we would be caught. And where you followed the agreements, I generally did as well. My feelings told me that what we were doing (For six months) was natural and normal, but my head kept screaming that the punishment we faced was not worth the rewards. I was very conflicted. It was almost impossible to enjoy the brief moments of escape, hidden away somewhere on campus together, because of the deep fear of being found out.

The school made me feel like what we were doing was dishonest, and wrong, yet I kept thinking it was logical. And this was the conflict. Before it was my feelings that told me it was normal, and now it was my head saying it, with my feelings siding with the school philosophy. We had “dated” for many months before our first kiss. We just got closer and closer to the point where it really felt like a natural progression.

But alas, we were caught. And then paraded around as though we had truly sinned and had “shit” on the school. They tried really hard to cast us in a poor light, but the students didn’t buy in to it. Indictments in raps were rather sedate. Everyone claimed they “knew” something was going on, but none did. They were surprised, without actually being surprised. The understood we had been close for a year or more. They had trouble visualizing me breaking the agreements, but the relationship made sense. And when they didn’t see it as all that dishonest, that it hadn’t been some “quickie” but had been a relationship that had built up and progressed on its own, in a natural way, nobody had the desire to beat me up in raps. They might have laughed about the walk-in freezer aspect, and wondered how we could have fit in there and been doing anything, but nobody, except staff, could muster up anything harsh to say to us. So the students understood the situation. Two teens built a friendship that progressed to something more, did what teens do, what’s the problem? They all shared the same desires we had.

Even my parents understood. The school called them and told them what had happened and they were like… he’s being punished? They made Tim Brace sit down with me and specifically say, “What you did was wrong only because you broke the rules, not for what you actually did, which was a perfectly normal thing.” He hated it. But my parents did not want them to make me equate having sex or a relationship with a female as being something terrible and wrong. Which is exactly the message RMA wanted to send to me. And I know my parents, in doing this, took the wind out of their sails. They could punish me, but not humiliate me any longer, and so my full-time was brief.

The girl and I stayed together for several more amazing years before she too found someone else. And while traveling. Go figure. History repeats!

But what a truly bizarre way to begin your journey in to physical relationships. I just remember when I learned there were actual school privileges for dating and having sex that it just seemed so odd and humiliating. I actually pictured having someone like Carmen coming along on a date, saying “You may now stick your tongue in her mouth when you kiss her and I will describe how that will be done. And she will undo just a single button from her blouse to tease you with her breasts, though you will not be allowed to see or touch them for another two months and only if you have filled out the specified number of rap requests and told your story to the specified number of new students during that time period. Are we all in agreement?”

Gives me shivers just thinking about it.

Michael Parr, the original teenage bounty hunter (meaning a grown man who hunts teenagers of the rich), who later opened his own for profit child behavior modification school in Colorado, only to have it shut down by the authorities for physically abusing the kids, captured my future girlfriend for $10,000 from a crash pad in San Francisco and plopped her down on a couch in Northern Idaho just as she was crashing on speed.

I was vacuuming the floor in the main lodge of the building when I first saw her. There were only 12 students at RMA. It had been in operation for two months. Only three out of the 12 were girls. The prospects for romance were slim. You had to be there a year in order to receive your dating privileges.

The teenage bounty hunter had bought her to the school sometime in the middle of the previous night. I remember immediately being drawn to her. She was completely oblivious to her surroundings, sleeping soundly. Her hair was blue. It stuck out stiffly in all directions from an application of gelatin. Black mascara ran down her cheeks. But I think it was what was written on her sneaker that really attracted me to her–”Glom, glom, glom, glom, conglomerate” all the way around her shoe ending in a frowning smiley face. As I vacuumed around her sleeping form passed out on the couch, it was this statement, coupled with her punk rock aesthetic that drew me to her.
A day later when I repeated my chore, she was still sleeping on the couch in the living room. But then she started stirring and finally awoke. She sat up from her slumber like some methed-out version of Nosferatu, and asked me “Where the fuck am I?”
“In Northern Idaho.”
“Where?”
“Bonners Ferry, Idaho.”
“What?”
“15 miles from the border of Canada.”
“What the fuck am I doing in fucking Idaho?”

I explained to her that Michael Parr had bought her there from San Francisco. She fell back to sleep.

It was sort of like love at first sight. The possibilities for companionship were slim. But still there was some hope. It was nearly a year before I was granted the right to touch her with the blessing of staff approval.

At that time Carmen Earle was in charge of all dating. Any and everything to do with dating privileges went through her.

Once I had made a decision during my first months of being at RMA to follow their agreements no matter the difficulty those agreements placed upon my personal autonomy, I was given a lot of freedom and responsibility within those restrictive constraints: I was a dorm head. I was in charge of ordering all of the commissary items for the student store. I was the leader of a work crew. I was in charge of Saturday night entertainment. All of these responsible actions, combined with me having sat through the last of the seven propheets, Imagine, led to the final reward of me being allowed to request the possibility of receiving my dating privileges.

Luckily my prospective girlfriend had taken a similar path of responsibility, and since we were both into punk rock music, which we couldn’t talk about, we shared a mutual flowering attraction for one another.

I remember trying to gain an audience with Carmen to discuss my request to be allowed to date. It was difficult. She was very busy. It took me nearly a week of pestering her. Then finally she agreed to meet with me on a Sunday afternoon.

I was 17 at the time and my prospective love interest was 16. You could actually receive your fucking privileges, but you both had to be eighteen. I knew that was out of the question. Besides when it came to dating privileges, it was just like anything at RMA, you had to slowly obtain each level of the privilege, which if you handled appropriately, would lead to another level of the privilege which summarily would build one on top of the other gaining in scope and freedom. But I knew that we would never receive our fucking privileges. She was too young. When we graduated she would only be 17.

There were four levels to the dating scene at RMA: kissing privileges, breast touching privileges, heavy petting privileges, fucking privileges. Each one could only be granted after close review and scrutiny by Carmen Earle. (If you did not stick with the program and tried to jump from one privilege to the other without first getting permission you would lose your dating privileges forever and wind up doing a full time.)

When I finally met with Carmen, a 45-year-old woman with a fiery temperament, it was very awkward and difficult to explain my request. I remember saying, “Carmen, you know, I feel like I have grown so much during the last year at RMA. I mean, so many doors are opening for me. I’ve gotten in touch with so many feelings. I’ve taken on lots of responsibility. I’m learning new things about myself everyday. Can I have my dating privileges?” Then I quickly told her the name of the girl I was interested in dating.

Carmen looked out of the window, put two fingers to her lips, and paused a moment in deep reflection. Then finally she said, “Yes, Chris, I think you a ready for your dating privileges.”

I was elated. Finally after a year, a year of habitual masturbation and total abstinence, I was going to be allowed to grope the object of my desire.

Carmen told me she was going to talk with my perspective girlfriend and see if she felt the same way about me. But first she told me the agreements surrounding being granted my dating privileges. “You must make sure you run a very clean program. Don’t cut corners. Only engage in dating privileges that you have been approved for. In your case that is kissing. At first you may only kiss. You must not go any further than kissing until you receive further approval. Is that understood?”

I eagerly nodded in agreement. Kissing seemed worlds beyond the general isolation of Western Family Lotion and the palm of my hand.

“Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, you must leave the property to go on your date. No dating must ever be done on campus. That is very important. You don’t want one of the younger students stumbling over you on your date while you are kissing. You would make them very jealous. You are one of only four people at RMA who have their dating privileges. If you are caught on campus dating, your privileges will be taken away forever.

“Thirdly you are not allowed to discuss your dating privileges with anyone other than the person you are dating and me. Do I make myself clear?”

I told her that I understood completely the importance and need for discretion.

She asked when I was thinking about going on my first date. I told her I wanted to go see a movie with my prospective girlfriend the following Saturday.

She spoke with the girl. Everything was in place. We went into Bonners Ferry to see the film “Footloose.”

I don’t remember the movie. Just lots of impassioned kissing in the squeaky seats. We left the movie early and continued kissing next to a dumpster by the theater exit. After a while we moved down a side street and kissed more. Then there was more kissing near some railroad tracks. Then back to the secluded space between the dumpster and the exit of the movie theater for yet a little more kissing.

Soon it was three hours later and we had to return to RMA. I was in love, and very frustrated.

A couple of weeks passed, and a few more dates. It was the same each time. We ended up next to the dumpster, etc. The problem was the whole experience was totally frustrating, and we had nowhere to go.

Still, I was determined to reach the next level of groping. Once again, I began soliciting Carmen for an interview. She agreed to speak with me later that day.

It was the same thing all over again. Except this time she debriefed me on the dates, how they were going, and any problems I might be having. I informed her everything was going extremely well. I let her know that I was totally in control of my hormones. I said, that despite the extreme desire to go further, we had remained in agreement and had only kissed. Then I launched into a general overview of my performance at RMA again, my positive experiences, achievements and contributions. Then I ended my assessment abruptly and asked “Can I have my breast touching privileges?” My cheeks were flushed. My heart beat quickly.

Carmen paused and leaned back in her chair. She seemed to be thinking deeply, turning my request over in her mind, as she looked out of the second floor window down onto a field of students sawing wood. “Chris,” she finally said,”it is true, you have grown a great deal. You have stayed in agreement and been a real leader around RMA. You participate actively in raps and prophets. You are doing fantastically well. You are a dorm head and organize Saturday entertainment. Yes, Chris, you can have your breast touching privileges.”

I was elated! Things seemed to be going very well. I couldn’t have been happier. I really was doing well! Now, I had moved onto the next level! I could stay in agreement and touch breasts!

Of course, Carmen had to first speak with my companion and ask her if she wanted her breasts touched. She had to debrief her on the current state of our dating and make certain that we were all on the same page.

I had already discussed my plan with my love interest prior to my latest meeting with Carmine. We both were in agreement that we wanted this. We both felt mature enough to handle this situation. We were almost adults. After all, this is one of the things that young people in love approaching adulthood did together.

As I left the office Carmen noticed the girl I was dating having a conversation in the dinning room area of the main lodge and she called her into the office to discuss the matter with her.

I hung around for a minute talking about the weather with the cook Kindra. I could see Carmen’s hands moving animatedly through the window of the office. She seemed to be saying quite a lot. I hoped the girl that I was dating wouldn’t blow it. I hoped she would just say whatever they wanted to hear so I could fondle her breasts in and around Bonners Ferry, Idaho.

But the suspense was killing me. It was taking too long. So I finally went outside and took a walk down to the pond and waited for my girlfriend (this was our designated meeting spot).

About thirty minutes passed. It seemed like three years. Then finally she came running down from the path to the pond. I could tell by the elated way she was running that our request had been granted: l could touch her breasts. We both embraced joyously.

I said, “She said yes? Right?” She nodded in agreement and then we hugged again.

It was Monday. The dating usually occurred on the weekends. That was four days away. I didn’t want to seem too eager, but I also didn’t want to wait that long either. We had our privileges and we wanted to use them as quickly as possible. I remember trying to come up with a reason to go into town mid-week. But alas I was not able to fabricate a reason and had to wait until the following weekend to implement my concession.

In the meantime I was falling more and more deeply in love with my girlfriend. It was the only form of escapism in the otherwise dreary reality of daily life at RMA. We constantly found opportunities to meet with one another and go on walks, but we didn’t dare “date” on campus due to not wanting to have anything jeopardize the small amount of freedom we were enjoying.

To my surprise I received approval for a mid-week bike ride off of the property with my girlfriend. We were excused from Wednesday raps, which afforded a few hours to explore our sensual desires before dinner.

At the appointed time we rode our bikes off of the property, pretty much just outside the gates of the school. We hid our bikes under some branches and leaves, then hiked a quarter of a mile into the woods where we feverishly fell upon each other.

It was better than I imagined it would be. I touched, pinched, jiggled, and kneaded my girlfriend’s breasts with wild abandon. We kissed and rolled around on the ground. Then there was more groping. Then there was more kissing. We were covered in dirt and leaves.

Three hours passed in what seemed like five minutes. We made sure to follow the agreements, doing nothing more than we were allowed. Then it was time to go back and I helped her put her bra back on. We dusted each other off, smoothed out the rough edges, then found our bikes and peddled back up the road to RMA.

On Friday and Saturday we went to see movies. Our love was really blossoming. We watched about one minute of the movies then left through the emergency exit to our favorite spot next to the dumpster. We moved around to the usual various rendezvous exploring our love.

This went on for two weeks.

But then I was feeling very frustrated. Like I said earlier, due to our age differential, I knew we would never get our fucking privileges, and this in and of itself was very frustrating, but even more frustrating than that was that the wall of exploration was not being pushed forward with what at first seemed like a privilege: breast touching. At first it had been fantastically fun and exciting. I thought about them all the time. They seemed to dominate my young imagination: their pendulous sway was fantastic. But very quickly admiration turned to provocation and we both agreed that we needed more. We needed to go to the next level. We were ready.

Four weeks had lapsed since we first received our dating privileges. Now I had to return to Carmine again and try to convince her that we deserved to have our heavy petting privileges. (We both agreed we needed the release that this privilege would provide.)

I was dreading speaking with her. I was beginning to feel like a pervert. Was my carnal appetite too rapacious? Would it be possible to ask for my heavy petting privileges without seeming lecherous and overly horny? I was scared, but me and my girlfriend discussed it and decided that it was an important level of growth and development we both had to experience together in order to move that much closer to becoming responsible, well adjusted adults.

The next day I waited around for Carmine to get out of a staff meeting. I stood around the office looking busy, ordering supplies for the commissary, waiting for her to emerge so I could schedule a meeting with her. Finally a little bit before lunch she came out of her office, walking briskly in the opposite direction of me. I could have sworn she was avoiding me. But I followed her and told her I needed to speak with her when she had the time. I wanted to reach the next plateau. I was feeling very bold.

“What is it?” she asked.
“It’ll only take a minute.”
“Can it wait until later?”
“I promise it’s quick.”
“You’re sure it can’t wait?”
“Two minutes.”

We made our way to her office. Very quickly, I once again reviewed my past achievements, then, despite my sudden embarrassment, I blurted it out, “Can we have our heavy petting privileges?”

“And this couldn’t wait, Chris?” I knew I was in trouble.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“Chris, you are doing wonderfully, but you’re moving too fast.”
“It’s been a month.”
“First you get your kissing privilege, then two weeks later you get your breast touching privileges. This is unprecedented.”
“I’m just asking because I wasn’t aware that there was a fixed time for any of these privileges.”
“I understand. There is nothing written in stone about dating privileges because it is up to the discretion of the staff member in charge.”
“How long do you think is an acceptable amount of time to wait to ask for my heavy petting privileges?”
“That is uncertain. You are very young.”
“I’m 17 and very responsible.”
“She’s very young.”
“16,” I said. “That’s about the age that things of this sort happen isn’t it?”
“You are going too fast.”
“I think we’re both ready for this,” I pleaded.
“Why don’t we just keep things the way they are now?”
“Maybe in a month or two?” I pressed.
“Chris, I don’t know if I ever see you getting your heavy petting privileges.”
“I mean I can understand we are both under 18 and we can’t…”
“This is the end of this discussion. You are lucky to be able to kiss and touch breasts. Don’t press the issue. Most people at RMA can only touch themselves.”
“Sure.”

There were more dates. It was all the same. More kissing. More touching. A little dry humping in and around Bonners Ferry. But there was no cathartic release. There was no satisfaction. Each time there was just more fodder for my fantasies that led to more and more self groping.

The bad thing was my maturity level for handling this relationship within the restrictive confines of RMA was very low. I never broke the agreements. I always stopped just short of heavy petting. And the more frustrated I became, the more I perceived frustration as love.

My outlook on the future of my relationship was somewhere in the clouds. I imagined myself living with my girlfriend for the rest of our lives.

But then there was this trip to Europe. There were 6 students chosen to go. Me and my girlfriend were amongst the chosen few. It was 4 weeks in Europe. Everyone was very excited. But unfortunately my father refused to pay any more money beyond tuition for this extracurricular activity. My spot was forfeited to another student and I had to stay behind.

Apparently my girlfriend fell for my replacement while overseas. It was bound to happen: Paris, Berlin, Rome. I knew it before it even happened. I didn’t stand a chance.

When they returned from Europe, my girlfriend and I were finished. I was devastated.

I remember sitting up in the living room of the old lodge ordering supplies for the student store with my best friend and coworker. At that time all of the girl’s dorms were underneath the living room on the backside of the building.
You could hear the muffled sounds of voices coming up from the floorboards beneath our feet.

Much to my chagrin, I could hear the voices of my girlfriend and her new boyfriend spilling through the floorboards. It was clearly audible.

They were not following the agreements.

Boy, I sure felt like an idiot for having followed the rules so closely.

Two weeks later I graduated.

They loved tests, and I always do well on tests, so the result was they were baffled why I could score so high, yet perform so poorly in school. Boredom never seemed to be an answer. As such, none came to any conclusions my parents accepted, so I was eventually sent to yet another shink to get the answer my parents wanted. Eventually RMA was the solution. I think they felt they did all they could. In fact, I know it.

Both my parents worked, and not just an eight hour day, but more like twelve. There was no time, no energy and no apparent desire to work with a problem teen. Society says to send them to shrinks, so they do. RMA sold themselves as the ultimate cure-all. A lot of people fall for false advertising. I don’t think they considered the ramifications if this cure-all didn’t work as advertised. The long term effects of two years of slow poison.

Chris

RMA/CEDU
82-84

I later heard that the schools were also a property investment of Wasserman’s, so this suggests to me that buildings were houses since they would sell better. I don’t think actual dormitory buildings or the typical school buildings would sell. Even the giant Denali lodge was house-shaped.

In what little I saw of CEDU in the documentary, some of the buildings looked like houses. And at RMA, in the field they built the “Field House” and later I think they put up a second one. And not just any old place, but perfectly lined up with the first one, like a housing project.

Whereas “The Prophet” by Kahil Gabran was the bible of CEDU/RMA, “Billy Jack” was its adopted celluloid representation of its dogma much the same as Eisenstien’s silent classic “Intolerence” was to the Russian communist revolution or Leni Refinstahl’s cinematic masterpiece “Triumph of the Will” was to the Nazi Party. The only difference was that the two Russian and German tyrannies actually produced the two startlingly brilliant films themselves whereas CEDU/RMA merely lifted their propaganda piece from a shoddy B movie.

It wasn’t enough to just watch the crappy film. We actually had to have a house meeting every time before it was shown and listen to different staffers testimonials as to the deep meaning the film represented to themselves as well as the important historical aspects it represented in regards to the origins of CEDU.

I remember Dan Earle giving an impassioned speech, replete with tears in his eyes, about how shocked he was the first time he saw the film because as he put it “It was almost like they had made a documentary about CEDU. It was really unbelievable that someone who knew nothing about CEDU was able to make a film about a similar place without having even heard about the school before. Many people are on the same page with CEDU. This proves that you don’t necessarily have to have gone to CEDU to be in touch with the deeper meanings of life, which of course are really the deeper universal meanings known since the dawn of time to people who know themselves.”

The song “One Tin Soldier,” the film’s opening theme performed by Coven (a group which interestingly enough prior to their having performed the opening title to “Billy Jack” had put out one other album featuring the three members on the cover in black and red robes entitled “Witchcraft Destroys Minds and Reaps Souls”) was also a very important propheet song which popped up in numerous propheets. It was played over and over again as a musical accompaniment to our misery in understanding how poorly we were living our lives prior to arriving at the for-profit promised land of CEDU/RMA.

During Christmas of 1981, roughly seven months prior to being sent to CEDU/RMA, I remember being in Hattiesburg, Mississippi for the annual extended family get together. After the large turkey dinner, as was the tradition, all of the relatives gathered in my great aunt’s large living room to let their dinners settle and see if there was something interesting on television to watch collectively. For some reason “Billy Jack,” hardly a yuletide film, was on TV. Someone turned it on and everyone was mesmerized.

My family was comprised of four uncles who were lawyers, my father, who was a chemical engineers, etc., and myself, a fifteen-year-old teenager.

The film was so bad that it was fascinating. My dad and uncles were roaring at the absurdity of its plot line and the poor amateurish quality of the acting. It was kind of like the “Rocky Horror Picture Show.” Every time Jean from the Freedom School, Billy Jack’s girlfriend, would appear on the screen someone in the room would inevitably blurt out “Put some makeup on!” There were numerous impressions and jabs made at the flat acting and poorly delivered lines of the film. One scene, when Jean from the Freedom School narrates Billy Jack’s spiritual path of enlightenment, was particularly memorable: “Billy will be bit by a rattlesnake. If he lives he will be a blood brother to a rattlesnake. If he does not he will be dead.” The flatly delivered lines are followed by an abrupt jump cut of the sun rising with Billy Jack in the foreground wearing an indian head dress holding the rattlesnake in both hands above his head to accompanying dramatic music. I remember someone in my family commenting, “Well, I guess that means he’s a blood brother to a rattlesnake,” and we all laughed until tears ran down our cheeks. The movie was so bad that the participation with my family at Christmas watching it collectively, happily poking fun at it’s shoddiness, marks it as one of the fondest memories I’ve ever had of viewing a film.

But it wasn’t just that the movie was so bad that made it so good. It was, as one of my relatives put it, that it represented the burned out flaky, self important culture of the late 60’s/early 70’s hippie culture and the burgeoning Me Generation that everyone outside of California hated about California, even though the film took place near an indian reservation in Arizona.

(Of course at that time I had no idea the importance this would serve during the next few years of my life.)

I often wonder now when thinking about “Billy Jack.” What it was about the film that so captured the attention of Mel Wasserman and the staff at CEDU. Which characters in the film did the various staff identify with? Did Mel Wasserman see himself as a male version of Jean from the Freedom School? Did Dan Earle cast himself in the role of Billy Jack stridently defending the image and sanctity of CEDU from outside evildoers? Neither the property of CEDU nor RMA were situated on an indian reservation, and most, if not all of the staff, with the exception of Carmen Earle, were white. Similarly CEDU/RMA were certainly not Freedom Schools in name or action. They restricted and made unacceptable almost every freedom imaginable. So what was it about “Billy Jack” that made those in charge of CEDU and RMA see themselves reflected in the characters and plot of the film?

Maybe it was the idea of some outside evil entity, i.e. parents, euphemistically slaughtering the students inner childs prior to our having arrived at CEDU/RMA, that bore in the minds of the staff a resembelance to the evil townspeople slaughtering wild mustangs in the film’s opening credits? Perhaps when Billy Jack was forced to take action against the townspeople who harassed the children as they tried to buy ice cream Mel and his staff saw all of the difficulty they had in selling themselves to the small towns near the remote locations where they had chosen to locate their cults? Who knows for sure? Maybe it was just a cathartic release seeing Billy Jack physically subdue the townspeople in such a way that Mel and Dan and the other staff would have secretly like to have done themselves if the law would have allowed?

I remember during one of my last viewings of the film, a few months prior to my graduating. The whole house assembled for the semi-quarterly viewing of “Billy Jack.” It started with the usual accompanying propagandizing speech by Dan Earle with the standard references of its importance to CEDU/RMA from a historical perspective.
When they showed the film though the desired effect was lost. All of the students in the house laughed and made comments. Once again the film was so bad it was good.

The staff that were supervising nervously tried to subdue us. But it was no use. After all, it was just a movie. From the opening to the end everyone joined in ridiculing the silly film. It was just as fun as it was in Hattiesburg, Mississippi a few years earlier all over again.

After the movie was over, a staff member approached me and three or four older students. He tried to tell us that we were out of line. He said this was a very important film to him. He suggested we were laughing at him and everything the school stood for when we laughed at “Billy Jack.” I remember telling him, “It’s only a movie, Bob. For chrissakes.” And he responded, “Maybe to you it’s only a movie.”

I have to admit upon arriving at CEDU, for the two weeks I was there,prior to driving in a caravan to Bonners Ferry to start RMA, my first impression of the school was that it reminded me of “Billy Jack.” In fact years later one of my friends back home used to always say “I can’t understand why your parents sent you to that Billy Jack school.”

I guess in the final synopsis I was just confused as to why my parents had turned me over to such a horrible B movie version of the world and had allowed its fans to be in control of my life for two years.

I thought they knew that movie sucked.

Chris
CEDU/RMA 82-84