Bill Arnold’s Black Box

One Flew Over the Coo-Coo’s Nest’ is fiction, as is ‘Of Mice and Men’ and East of Eden, are fiction. Rosemary’s friends made this home movie. I believe the man with the pipe is the head psychiatrist of the newly opened Camarillo State Hospital that you will see from atop a small mountain. My mother told me this man wanted her to check in.

I will not leave my dear friend, Bill Arnold, alone with the monster. I completely forgive him. He ran into a very dangerous and treacherous predator that did her best to get me and destroy me. She failed – to destroy the beautiful friendship Bill and I had, that she was extremely jealous of! Nancy and I associated Bill with McMurphy. I was Chief Mop. I have escaped the attempts to depict me as stark raving mad – and dangerous! Here is a video of the dedication of the Ken Kesey Mural where Nancy and I meet again. That is Ken Babbs in white.

chamush3

Myself, and a friend who reads my posts regularly, have noticed I anticipate the headlines a day before they appear. Last night I awoke with dread, feeling I had revealed too much in regards to my mother and Bill’s father causing the suicide of my childhood friend. This afternoon when I turned on the news I heard about the epidemic of suicides amongst Vets, and the truth the gods at Penn State shoved child rape into a black box and sealed it in order to protect themselves, the monster, and the university. They did nothing knowing another innocent child was on his way to the shower to be raped by the monster.

When Vicki Arnold and I looked in that black box, we looked at the possibility Bill killed himself. I suggested he did so to get out of going into the Army. Vicky’s profound reply, shocked me.

“Greg! We were born in the Army. We lived in the Army most of our lives!”

The idea that Bill killed himself to get out of the Army was like a blast of clear – a beacon of truth!

Retired Lt. Colonel Bryan C. Arnold was a career officer who did not adjust well to civilian life. Once in commanded of thousands of men, he was left with only one soldier, his thirteen year old son. When I came to Bill’s house one day, I saw his room was disheveled. Things were broken. There was a big dent in the frame of his army bed. I saw what looked like bruises on Bill jaw and shoulder. We were fifteen.

“What happened here, Bill?”

“My father woke me by spraying water in my face with a toothbrush. I got angry.”

Vicki later told me her father would prepare a cold bath for his young son at six in the morning, open the windows in winter, and make him sit in that bath for almost an hour. This happened before Bill went to school to be around normal children – civilians! This was Bryan’s way of toughening Bill up so he would become a super soldier, go farther then he did, and become famous. This was Bryan’s dream he was vicariously living through his son who wanted to be an artist, a poet, and a playwrite.

“Why don’t you fight back? You’re as big as he is!”
“You don’t understand. I love my father. Stay out of it!”

Employing water to torture a human being in order to break their will, and do what they are dinamically are opposed to, is on par with waterboarding. Bill was tortured by his military father so he would put down his brush, and pick up his gun – his father’s gun!

When I was seventeen I stopped Rosemary from pulling more fistfuls of Christine’s hair out. The next day I quit my job and hitchhiked to New York. In tears, Christine begged me to take her with me.

“Don’t leave me with the monster!”

Before I went to Bullhead City Vicki and I talked for hours about her abuse. Within hours of meeting Bill Cornwell he is telling me how he wans my grandson to be just like him. His father was a cop and career military man. Bill challenged me from the get with his high testrseoen bullshit level which Heather allowed – before we met! When he threatened me with the loss of my six year grandson, I told him he was a drunk and a liar.

“If you were just some dude on the street, I would kick your ass!” says Bill who is vicariously living through my grandson, because, that is what his father did to him. Bill is not married to my daughter, and only knew her two months before our meeting. This is a control freak who would beat on a senior citizen if he got in his way.

I have reposted my post about the criminal abuse of my dear friend. Bryan and Rosemary should have been locked upon jail – instead of Bill! Rosemary took advantage of a minor who ran to us, the Prescos, to only y find another monster waiting for him, a more lethal predator.

It’s time to open all the black boxes and let the evil out, so predictors will no longer have a place to hide.

As for Bill loving his father, I would learn from my programs that victims of abuse often embrace their abuser, hug them, in order to get inside the full force of the blows, often claiming they are doing no damage because they are delivered with love – for your own good!

I shared this in 1992 at a AA meeting.

“I feel like I am a seven year old elf sitting on a hill who has spotted the giant coming. I run down the hill and climb up the Giant Allert Tower to ring the the bell. But, the clapper is missing. Who took it? Was it the giant? No, it was my fellow elves, for they would rather endure another beating from the giant, then be traumatized by the sound of the bell.”

After Bill’s funeral, and while Bryan drove me across the San Mateo bridge in a storm, he broke the sildence with this;

“My son was no good. I am ashamed he came from my seed. You are good. Will you be my son, now!”

I suffer from PTSD, and this is why my daughter, Heather Hanson, and he lover, Bill Cornwell called me a parasite. Heather also shamed me for not serving in the military.

“Did Bill serve in the military?”
“No! But – at least he wanted to!”

Jon Presco

Copyright 2012

New Pentagon data show U.S. troops are killing themselves at the rate of nearly one a day so far in 2012, 18% above 2011′s corresponding toll. ”The continual rise in the suicide rate has frustrated all in the military,” says Elspeth “Cam” Ritchie, a retired Army colonel and chief psychiatric adviser to the Army surgeon general. “The rise in the suicide rate continues despite numerous recommendations from the Army and [Department of Defense] task forces.”

There were 154 U.S. military suicides in the first 155 days of 2012, the Associated Press reports, compared with 130 over the same period last year. That’s 50% more troops than were killed in action in Afghanistan, and the highest suicide toll in the U.S. military since 9/11.

Suicide — and the reasons for it — has been a vexing problem for the U.S. military ever since its rate began eclipsing that of the U.S. population. In 2010, the Army noted that “historically, the suicide rate has been significantly lower in the military than among the U.S. civilian population.”

Read more: http://battleland.blogs.time.com/2012/06/08/lagging-indicator/#ixzz20RYEiPyv

The report, commissioned by the university and prepared by former FBI Director Louis B. Freeh, found that top university officials, “in order to avoid the consequences of bad publicity” for the university, “repeatedly concealed critical facts” from authorities.
The report also condemned former officials, including President Graham Spanier, Vice President Gary C. Schultz, Athletic Director Timothy M. Curley and football Coach Joe Paterno for the “total and consistent disregard by the most senior leaders at Penn State for the safety and welfare of Sandusky’s victims.”
The report found that officials had two separate opportunities in 1998 and 2001 to take action against Sandusky, but chose to keep the matter an internal issue. In 2001, administrators were pushed by Paterno to reverse themselves and keep the matter in-house.

Yesterday I called Vicki (and Drew) on her cellphone. My surviving sister and
our niece were at the pet store buying frozen rats for Vicki’s snake.

“What are you going to do after that?” I asked excitedly.

“We’re going to go food shopping, then go home and play with the cats!”

“How cute! The rat, the snake, and the cats. Sounds like a fairytale.”

When I hung up, I let go a great sigh! I was so happy. Mission accomplished!
Drew is safe. She has a new home, and two loving guardians, her mother’s brother
and sister. For the first time in a very long time, I felt we had a family
again. And we were doing normal things, as normal as a Presco can, because we
have never been normal. The same can be said for the Bentons.

When Vicki called me a year ago and said;

“We’re the only ones left.” Aunt Lilian had just died. I wondered about Drew and
Shannon Rosamond Benton who was adopted by Garth Benton who at the time was at
death’s door. Could they be saved? Could we be a family?

I am going to tell you some very hard truths. I do this because for the first
time I do not feel the presence of an outsiders lurking about, waiting in the
dark to snatch up another Rosamond Art Theme and turn it into a book – a movie
for profit. When Michael Dundon and I talked that morning around a campfire, he
told me Rosemary showed him drawings Christine and I did when children. Our
mother told Michael, who was deeply in love with my oldest sister, there was a
ongoing competition to see who was the best artist. She showed my friend of
forty two years two drawings of a horse this sister-brother rivalry produced.
The only trouble with this fairytale, is, I never drew a horse. What is the
truth here?

The truth is, when I brought my friend Bill Arnold over to the Presco home for
the first time, my sister and my mother fell in love with him. Most women did.
At thirteen Bill was a Nordic blonde with bright blue eyes. He was six foot
three. He had an I.Q. of one hundred and eighty. Bill and I were artists and
poets. We had something very rare, a beautiful rivalry and creative bond that
was the envy of everyone who knew us. World famous artists come from bonds like
this.

There are two great secrets in my family, that destroyed us. Christine was
secretly in love with Bill who came to live with us because his father was
beating on him most every day, this according to his sister who bid me to get
sober when we got together twenty four years after Bill was dead. Her father and
mother were dead, leaving her all alone in the world.

We had celebrated my birthday, and the next day we sat down at a table and
looked at the contents of a black box wherein her father had stored secret
papers. The first thing she brought out were two pamphlets on how parents can
survive the suicide of their child.

“What the fuck are these? Vicki asked. She was sixteen when Bill died. The day
before she took me to a house that overlooked a secret lake in downtown Los
Angeles. She told me she had once owned this house and had visions of her and I
living in this house together – alone!

“I’ve had a crush on you most of my life.” she said.

Five hours later, the box is empty. We have looked at, and discussed some very
dark things. With tears in her eyes, Vicky held up the box, and asked;

“Do you see what is in this box?
“Nothing is in the box. It is empty. I answered.
“Wrong! Your pending death is in this box. You are killing yourself with
alcohol. I beg you not to do this because I can not live with these things alone
in the world.”

This is why I got sober twenty four years ago. I did not get sober to judge
Linda Comstock, or Bill Cornwell, or look down my nose at my daughter for
drinking.

Now, here’s the hard part. Christine began to blame me for the sudden loss of
the love of her life. She never had a chance to say to say this to my friend I
loved dearly.

“I love you, Bill.”

No one could believe Bill was dead. He was like a Greek god who was destined to
be an immortal. What went wrong? Christine and Bills sister looked to me for the
answer I did not own. I knew I lost face with them, Bill’s beautiful loyal
friend.

With seven years of sobriety, and two mohth after my beloved sister died, I
finally figured it out. I called my mother.

“You seduced Bill. Didn’t you? This is why he killed himself.” There was a long
silence. Then came this reply from a once beautiful woman who was killing
herself with alcohol, who was drunk when she dare say this to me;

“What do you want me to do? Cut my throat?”

I did not get to say goodbye to my mother when she died. She did not want me at
her death scene. Was she afraid I would come with a big butcher knife and get my
revenge – before it’s too late?

Have your heard enough you Rosamond biographers,lurking in the dark? Well, not
quite. The truth will set my family free, of you, because you can’t handle this
truth. No one can. It is beyond any GreeK tragedy ever written.

Bill’s father caught his son with my mother. Bill was put in jail for a year and
released a day before he turned eighteen, because his military father did not
want Bill to have a record that would keep him out of the Army. There was a new
draft. Bill’s lover became pregnant with his son. I believe Bill’s father
insisted Bill enlist in the Army before this child was born so there would be no
deferment. Bill refused. This is when Mr. Arnold said;

“I will tell Greg you slept with his mother if you do not enlist”

Bill knew this truth would destroy me. He sacrificed his life for my own –
because he was utterly trapped, a veritable prisoner without a free will. This
dark truth, destroyed me, anyway, until Bill’s sister saved me. Intuitively Vick
understood our deaths were enmeshed. I was twelve when I met Bill, he standing
in back of me as I worked on a watercolor that would tour the world.

“That is a very fine painting!” This blue-eyed tall boy said. And I knew this
was the boy my friend told me about a week earlier, he playing football without
shirt on in winter, there huge welts on is back.

“His father beat him!”

When my daughter told me I was a parasite on society who did not want to go into
the Army, and, all the trouble in my family, is my fault….I disowned her. Not
once did Heather celebrate my sober birthday. She had no idea my brothers and
sisters in AA do such things because they have found salvation.

Bill Arnold drove on the railroad tracks in Ogden Utah in October of 1964. The
artist Rosamond put herself in a car, had someone snap a photo from which she
rendered the painting `The Crossing’ . This is Christine’s crucifixion, her
going to the cross. People asked her why the back window is blacked out, and, is
there someone sitting in the back seat. If so, who?

There is no one there, but, your impending death, all you who suffer from the
disease of alcoholism. Save yourself. Own what I own….the courage to be happy!

After Bill’s death, Christine looked for Bill in all the men she bonded with,
including, Garth Benton. My sister pushed me out her life because she always
found Bill in me. I reveal these things because I want Drew to forgive her
mother for her abuse when she was a practicing alcoholic, because, she owned the
same vision Vicky Arnold owned, being, one day Bill and Christine would light a
fire in their little home by the lake, and, there will be just her and the love
of her life, just she, and her beloved husband. That was her dream that her
mother intercepted. This is why Rosemary painted the evil picture of me as
Rosamond’s rival. My mother was a jealous monster who captured Christine
Rosamond’s beautiful dream.

Note the mean look on Christine’s face, and her arm dangling out the window.
Note the ciggerette. Rosemary was a chain smoker. Christine almost figured out.
That is not Christine’s arm.

Today, I am clean and sober. I am free!

Jon Gregory Presco

Copyright 2012

About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Bill Arnold’s Black Box

  1. Reblogged this on rosamondpress and commented:

    The days of people making me out to be insane, for their own good, are over!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.