Re: [ira-einhorn] Recent Phillynews Einhorn articles
- View SourceI do not want to seem to be defending Einhorn here, but his behavior with
Theresa is consistent with his being either innocent or guilty of the murder of
Holly. I can only report that I have not heard from Ira for many months since he
inexplicably became angry over Norman Quebedeau's animated cartoons of Stephen
S. Schwartz in http://www.stardrive.org/schwartz/ This was part of periodic
psychodrama of the Caffe Trieste Irregulars of which Schwartz is a charter
member. Outsiders like Einhorn take it literally and do not realize it's zany
San Francisco Performance Theater among the Boheemed of The Barbary Left Coast.
Schwartz is now living in Sarajevo and thinks that Ira may have been framed for
the murder by Serbian assassins back then. Schwartz and Einhorn are in e-mail
communication about all this. Ira was allegedly involved with Andrija Puharich
in Beograd on Tesla's work dealing with psychotronic weaponry. Schwartz is an
expert in similar assassinations by Stalin's Secret Police and their satellites.
Ira also was inexplicably angry with me because he believed I did not know much
about UFO Sightings. I am not sure about the logic of that. Ira had told me that
someone had recently offered him money to attack my ideas on the Internet. I
periodically pressed him to reveal the identity of the parties involved and he
refused. This would be a reason for me to be angry with him not vice versa.
Perhaps he was lying about that? It is puzzling for a man allegedly interested
in the physics of consciousness who has gone on record in several, most recently
in Dec 99 Esquire, that my theory is a major contender, to suddenly run off in a
snit over personal matters between Stephen S. Schwartz and me he was only
peripherally involved in? Your guess is as good as mine on the mind of Ira
Einhorn. Suppose he is innocent, the stress Ira is under is enough to drive most
men off balance after 20 years. Schwartz, on the other hand, has no such excuse.
David Crockett Williams wrote:
> [Theresa Conroy, example of Philadelphia tabloid journalism]--
> April 7, 2000
> Confronted by DN reporter and photog, fugitive stunned
> by Theresa Conroy
> Daily News Staff Writer
> CHAMPAGNE-MOUTON, FRANCE - Through Paris and Chartres and Ruffec and Civray
> and Beaulieu, this was where we were headed.
> This tiny, peaceful, achingly quaint, wind-snapped farming community has
> been lurking in our minds since we boarded Air France Flight 379 at
> Philadelphia International Airport.
> For five days now, we've prepared for it, psyched ourselves up for it,
> steeled our nerves for meeting Ira Einhorn.
> First, we needed to capture the killer on film.
> This meant that, even during our reconnaissance mission to the town the day
> before our planned confrontation, we couldn't tip off the 1,000 residents
> that we were journalists from the United States. We couldn't risk scaring
> Einhorn into hiding to avoid us.
> We needed to see him face-to-face, to gauge his reaction to our visit, to
> see how he responded when I told him that the Daily News had collected
> nearly 5,000 signatures from passionate readers petitioning the French prime
> minister to send the fugitive home.
> Most urgently, though, I needed a definitive answer to a nagging question.
> Has Einhorn's steadfast refusal to respond to repeated requests for an
> interview - passed to him through several phone calls, e-mails to his AOL
> account, through an Internet chum and even Einhorn's old "psychic" pal,
> famous spoon-bender Uri Geller - been the result of anger or, as I
> suspected, fear?
> Einhorn has granted several interviews recently, but they've all been to
> media outlets less familiar with the grisly case of how he bludgeoned
> girlfriend Holly Maddux to death in 1977, then left her corpse to rot and
> ooze from a steamer trunk stored in his closet.
> He's talked to a radio station based in Washington, D.C. He's talked to
> ABC's Connie Chung. He sat down with several French reporters. He even
> talked to Esquire magazine.
> He's bargained with journalists to receive some kind of assurance that he'd
> maintain control over the interviews. He's extracted promises and
> concessions. He weaseled a free computer out of ABC.
> Before agreeing to talk to two U.S. print journalists, Einhorn reportedly
> put them through a series of e-mail worthiness tests - one reporter called
> it a "seduction."
> Well, the Daily News would not be seduced or make concessions or submit to
> tests. We would at least challenge Einhorn's wacky excuse that the CIA or
> KGB killed Maddux in order to eliminate his alleged work in psychic
> This unwillingness to compromise was, perhaps, the inspiration for the
> disturbing nickname Einhorn has given me: My Demon Lover.
> So, the old hippie and the old tabloid have not met face-to-face since
> Einhorn fled the United States. just before his murder trial was to begin in
> This was it.
> The weathered red Fiat slowly passed behind our Citroen, the flash of Annika
> Flodin's red hair visible in the driver's seat, Einhorn's scraggly white
> goatee bobbing next to her.
> I smacked photographer Alex Alvarez's right thigh. Alex bolted from the car,
> juggling three cameras, one equipped with an impossibly long 500mm lens.
> Flodin slid the car into the dirt lot across from the police station, where
> Einhorn must check in twice a week.
> Then, a moment three years in the making.
> Einhorn appeared.
> He stepped out of the Fiat, wearing faded jeans, a white shirt and an ugly
> brown cardigan sweater. Alex ran across the street, directly in front of the
> fugitive we'd been stalking.
> At first the ambush didn't register, and Einhorn took three steps toward the
> police station, pausing as a car passed in front of him. Then Alex gave the
> fugitive his first in-person greeting from the Philadelphia Daily News.
> "Hey, how ya doing?"
> The familiar Philadelphia greeting stopped Einhorn in his tracks. His arms
> dropped to his side. He stood motionless, staring at the photographer.
> He could have been a well-rehearsed celebrity stopping - as he had hundreds
> of times before - to pose for another paparazzi.
> He could have looked that way, except for his expression.
> Einhorn's face changed from confusion to shock to what appeared - in a
> flash - to be fear.
> A deer caught in the headlights. No, worse. A fugitive coming face-to-face
> with his worst nightmare: Home.
> Within seconds, Einhorn composed himself enough to walk toward the
> Gendarmerie Nationale. The camera clicked incessantly.
> I ran up beside Einhorn as he rang the buzzer outside the police station.
> Flodin stepped in behind him.
> "Ira, what do you think of the Daily News petitions to send you back home?"
> I asked.
> He stared at the door, waiting for an officer to save him. He didn't say a
> word. Didn't even flinch.
> Finally, for his sake, the station door swung open. Einhorn and Flodin
> entered and a rush of lilting French voices - mostly Flodin's and an
> officer's, since, even after seven years in France, Einhorn has failed
> miserably to master the language - drifted out of the station.
> Two minutes and they were out.
> The camera clicked again. I fell in alongside the guru as he headed toward
> the car.
> "I'm Theresa Conroy from the Philadelphia Daily News," I said.
> He didn't react. Didn't even look in my direction.
> "Did you know the Daily News has collected nearly 5,000 signatures from
> people who want the prime minister to send you home?" I asked. "What do you
> have to say about that?"
> He opened the passenger door and stepped inside the car, a mocking grin on
> his face. As he closed the door I got personal.
> "I heard you call me your Demon Lover. Why's that?"
> He closed the door, wordlessly, never even glancing in my direction. He and
> Flodin appeared to be chuckling.
> As Flodin pulled away, we ran the short distance to our car.
> We were in pursuit.
> We followed Flodin as she drove down the street and through a winding alley
> to the village square, a parking lot of sorts surrounded by a loose square
> of shops - a tabac selling cigarettes and newspapers, a boulangerie and
> patisserie selling bread and pastry, a woman's clothing store called Sermo,
> a hair salon and a flower shop.
> Flodin hit the brakes in the lot, looked our way and then took off up
> another one of the town's impossibly narrow streets.
> We ditched her and drove directly to Einhorn's home, an ancient stone
> windmill converted into a cottage paradise nestled between the Silver and
> Gold rivers.
> Delicate yellow flowers filled two planters hanging from the white iron
> gate. A circle of tulips provided brilliant color beneath a tree in the
> sloping garden.
> We pulled up onto the widened shoulder in front of the cottage, a spot the
> Einhorns use to park while they unlatch the tall gate that keeps intruders
> at bay. Flodin pulled in behind us.
> Einhorn looked furious, the strain of controlling his emotions twisting his
> face into a red, tightened scowl. He started toward me.
> Fear ran in a trail of heat from my stomach to my chest and I barked at
> Alex, who was moving back for a shot, to stay close. The heat cooled when
> Einhorn veered instead toward the house.
> "Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you ever talk to me? I've tried for
> three years to talk to you," I said to the broad back of this 59-year-old
> Again Einhorn refused to speak or even to glance in my direction. He kept
> walking, a slow, steady gait, toward the house.
> Inside the gate now, Einhorn turned toward me to fasten the latch. This was
> my last chance.
> "Are you afraid to talk to me?"
> Einhorn's body stilled.
> I'd gotten him, perhaps hit on the dirty little secret of this arrogant,
> blustering, killer who's been running and hiding for 19 years.
> For the first time, Einhorn raised his face to meet mine. He locked those
> famous blue eyes on me and stared into my face. I stared back.
> It lasted, it seemed, forever.
> The left corner of Einhorn's mouth turned up, slightly, nearly
> imperceptibly, into a sly grin. The skin on my arms puckered, chilling me.
> His eyes held mine for just a second longer, then he turned away and quickly
> walked past the carport and toward a rear entrance to the cottage.
> "What's all this Demon Lover stuff about?" I asked again.
> Still nothing.
> He was walking away now. This was it. Before we lost sight of him to the
> rear terrace of the cottage, a spot we can never forget is a favorite place
> to have sex with Flodin in full view of his neighbors, I wanted to give our
> fugitive one parting shot - a little gift for the 5,000 Daily News readers
> who want him brought back home.
> "Hey, Ira," I yelled. "Why don't you come back home with us? We'll pay for
> the plane ticket."
> Einhorn laughed, then disappeared.
> Before we left the house, I grabbed the white paper bag I had brought all
> the way from home. It contained Philadelphia treats: two soft pretzels and
> three packages of Tastykakes - peanut butter Tandytakes, Butterscotch
> Krimpets and a Lemon Pie. I left the bag on his fence post, a scribbled note
> on the outside.
> "A gift from home, from the Daily News."
> When we passed his house again less than 10 minutes later, the bag was gone.
> We hope he found the mustard.
> Send e-mail to conroyt@...
"But the real glory of science is that we can find a way of thinking such that
the law is evident. ... For a successful technology, reality must take
precedence over public relations, for Nature cannot be fooled." Feynman
"I want to know God's thoughts ... the rest are details. ... Great Spirits have
always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds. ... Quantum mechanics
is very impressive. But an inner voice tells me that it is not yet the real
thing. The theory produces a great deal but hardly brings us closer to the
secrets of the old one." Einstein http://www.well.com/user/sarfatti/