Don't Forget Ed Lipman

Don't Forget Ed Lipman

April 19, 1993 : 2:00PM (EST)=1:00 PM (CST)

Of course, we want to hear more about the story that this lovely Black angel who is called the Hurricane Lady has to tell. Now we know there's some folks who would say that Oya is just too pretty to be a real angel, and others who insist that she is of the wrong complexion – but we know that it is simply their jealousy that is speaking.

“I now had enough information about this Edgar Lipman,” Miz Hurricane Lady continues to spin out her tale, “and I ordered that the train to Hell be stopped. Edgar Lipman was informed that his ticket was no good, because after an adjustment was made for childhood trauma and social victimization,  he just did not have enough sins left in his account to pay the fare to the place where he could talk to Adolph Hitler. I told him he would have to talk to me instead, and believe me, I gave him a very good talking to.

“I sure 'nuff let him know that in Heaven, the color of an angel's skin does not give you any clue as to what his or her rank is. I let him take a good look at my skin, which probably southern-fried his eyes, because I am very Black and very pretty. And then before leaving, I made him an honorary angel, and told him to just keep a good watch on Waco and keep checking in.

“Unfortunately, Ed Lipman’s 12 manuscripts remained on the Train to Hell. The fine literary recommendation of the California Social and Health Services delivered it straight to the family outhouse, back outside of Waco. Down there in the ground the sullied pages began smouldering, and the stench went up to Heaven.

“Ed Lipman checked in with me at the appointed time, and he brought his complaint. ‘Foots,’ I addressed him – that had been his nickname ever since he had been a cat-burgler. ‘Foots, those pages cannot be retrieved by the present technology. It’s too bad your fundamentalist relatives are so afraid of Communism. But I will tell you what I am going to do, to let you make a mark on Waco, Texas that will be remembered.

“‘Foots, I have a list of your prayers here. Considering you were a professional criminal, it’s really a pretty large stack. Of course, when the prayer committee looked them over, some of them seemed pretty strange. For instance, this one: Dear God. Before I die, please let me succeed in one more burglary. Believe me, Foots, that is a very strange prayer – but just so that you can learn to believe in the power of prayer, that is the one we are going to answer.

“‘Foots, I am giving you this brand new kit of state-of-the-art burglar’s tools. Now, I want you to take a good look at a spoiled kid who is on his way to becoming a deadbeat with a strong-armed attitude. Your next burglary is going to be on young Vernon Howell’s brain.’” 

In those days Vernon Howell was only 19, but he was already actively recruiting new personalities. He also developed a taste for smoking meth-amphetamine. This went on until one time when he was high the iridescent snake bit him, leaving him with the conviction that he was really God.

While this was going on on the outside, the ghost of Edgar Lipman was doing an inside job with his new kit of Thief In The Night burglars' tools. In no time at all, he had broken into the great big empty room that was Vernon Howell’s forebrain. This cat-burglar spirit now found himself alone in the empty pilot house that operated Vernon Howell.

Nobody home, but lots of control levers, video monitors, and buttons that did things when they got pushed. What a field day for a spook with a chip on his shoulder, who was just itching to get revenge on his home town! Since Edgar Lipman had once been the owner of a forebrain, it didn't take him very long at all to learn how to operate this one.

Since nobody was home, the naughty little probationary angel began playing with Vernon Howell's joystick. The delinquent teenager inhaled one more hit of meth, and saw a vision declaring him the true Son of David.

“God has kept his part of the bargain,” Oya radioed down to the probationary angel who was having such a great time playing with the Vernon Howell forebrain. “As I recall, your part of the bargain is that, as soon as you have completed this operation, you are going to seriously clean up your act.”

“Smells like methamphetamine in here,” grunted the busy little burglar, who was determined not to give his P.O. any more attention.

Instead, the angry little prison poet ghost did his best to look busy. Vernon Howell had never had much insight into his own motives anyway, so why should he question the impulses that were causing him to drift into Waco? Of course when Vernon’s visions brought him into conflict with the leader of the Branch Davidians, Vernon Howell knew that he was right. George Roden believed that after the Apocalypse, the Risen Savior would appoint him as the true King of Israel. But Vernon knew the Branch Davidians had been prepared for the man who soon would be known to the world as David Koresh.

“Vernon became David Koresh, and now everybody wants to know all about him,” sighs Oya, “but the pity is, that no one wants to hear about Ed Lipman. Certainly the FBI wasn’t interested in the ghost-story my devotee tried to tell them. That was a pity. When David Koresh told the reporters that he would come out after he’d finished his prophetic notebook – the gentleman from the FBI should have gathered up what was left of Ed Lipman’s manuscript and read Mr. Lipman's poetry over the radio. The little burglar ghost would have realized that he had gotten his satisfaction, and David Koresh would have fallen flat on his face. Most of the Branch Davidians would have followed the little burglar’s ghost out of the compound, and the rest would have been anti-climactic.

“I personally happen to think that the reason the F.B.I. didn’t want to hear about Ed Lipman was simply because none of these educated lawmen wanted to admit that a a man who has lived and died as a burglar might still in his life have transacted enough bargains with God, that the angels might raise Holy Hell simply because the manuscripts that recorded those transactions were lying in some cellar, getting rotten.”

Back in 1929, the celluloid crankers from Hollywood were missing the greatest production of all.

Victor Houteff had just been expelled from the Seventh Day Adventist Church in Los Angeles. He found himself out on the streets of Celluloid City, watching the New Gods tromp in from every dominion of Heathendom.

Everything that goes on in Los Angeles, including it’s religious observances, is all one big movie. And Victor Houteff was going to put on an extravaganza that was bigger than anything that Hollywood would ever be able to produce.

Victor Houteff was putting on the robes of Moses. God had given him the Shepherd’s Rod of prophetic authority, and he would lead his remnant out into the desert.

Now probably some folks would question, just whether Waco, Texas really is out there in the desert. After all, Waco is a modern, medium-sized city, with electricity, sewers, and the works. Even the Branch Davidian compound ended up being electrified.

But even electric street lights can’t get rid of all of the sulfur steers that go “bump” in the night in Waco, Texas. And back there in the late ‘70's, one of the things bumping in the Waco, Texas night, was the ghost of a boy who had vowed, he’d never return to that town.

George Roden has now become the Charismatic Control Unit modulating the frequency of the Congregation In The Wilderness that had once been Houteff’s remnant. But the more he learns about that new convert Howell, the more his gut feels haunted by a really spooky feeling.

Vernon Howell loses the first round. He and his followers are banished from Old Mt. Carmel, and must take refuge in Palestine. George Roden now believes that he has regained control over his cult. But since he is The Man, and since he is in full control, he fails to give credence to observations which threaten his assumptions of supremacy. He recognizes that Vernon Howell is a psychopath, but fails to notice that the Voice that is driving his psycho-pathology belongs to a naughty little probationary angel who had once been a prison poet. It’s too bad that all of George Roden’s trainings in spiritual mysteries have not prepared him for an encounter with the Ghost of Edgar Lipman, who now was equipped with that brand new set of Thief In The Night burglar’s tools.

The FBI does not want to admit that a fine charismatic preacher like George Roden could be brought down by the ghost of a man whose greatest achievement had been to write prison poetry – but that is how it happened. There are more things in heaven and earth than a person can shake a stick at, and Allah has more tricks than there are stars in the sky.

George Roden was on guard against Vernon Howell, but he had left the Spiritual Watchtower unguarded. No problem at all for a probationary angel with a brand new kit of Thief In The Night burglar’s tools. In no time at all, Edgar Lipman was seated rather comfortably in the engineer’s chair of George Roden’s control room.

Now I am not sure just what Mr. Lipman was thinking at that particular moment because, after all, most of his poetry has been destroyed. But as Mr. Lipman adjusted a few levers, Mr. Roden’s belly began to blaze with the fire of an unhealthy passion. Mr. Roden stood bolt upright as he felt the Holy Spirit descending upon him, granting him authority over spirits – yea, even enough power to resurrect the dead. 

Vernon Howell had probably heard the rumors about the pretty little parishioner who got sick and had to be buried. Of course George Roden must still be in love with her. Most likely, now that the cat-and-mouse game had killed her, the cat was beginning to regret the absolute nature of his triumph.

But what’s this? What’s this about George Roden proclaiming that he has the power to raise the dead?

When Vernon howled in, his appearance had been predicted by the Prophetic Timetable. Vernon Howell’s prophesy was that George Roden would fail to resurrect the body, and then would realize it didn’t matter because what he had lusted for had not gone off in a wisp of smoke but was lying in that coffin before him, a little worse for wear but still pretty.

Sure enough, when Vernon Howell’s party popped in, the puffy little Branch Davidian savior had been down there with no pants on, straddled between the pretty corpse’s legs, utterly indifferent to her rather pronounced body odor.

One would have thought this would have been enough to convince the elders of the Branch Davidian Church, that they should send out headhunters to find a new spiritual leader. But this was out on that rather barren prairie surrounding Waco, Texas, the land that was won by the six-gun.

The subsequent shoot-out in the O.K. Coral demonstrated that the Branch Davidian Spirit had already begun to operate on the frequency of gunpowder. Roden got chased off to the other side of town, and eventually killed his roommate because he had come to believe that the roommate was an agent of Vernon Howell, who had now become ...

Or rather, it was now David Koresh who now should be addressed. If you are living in Waco, you may address him as “The Worldly Messiah.” 

A Texas ranch-style Messiah, complete with a jealously guarded harem.

The angry little angel who once had been a prison poet now takes liberty to sculpture a face in the black smoke that is rising up from the Ranch Apocalypse compound near Waco, Texas. The cheap supermarket tabloid that reported it as the face of Satan got it completely wrong.  If anyone had bothered to interview the angry little angel who manufactured that sign-in-the-sky as an artistic prank, they would have found out that it was the face of John Brown.