There’s some reason why I have to be here, and I can’t tell you what it is.  It’s like the Mysteries of the Universe; something that I don’t know yet.  And, to most logical people, that sounds crazy. And that’s my reputation!

Lynette Fromme, 2000

Photo: Lynette Fromme at FMC Carswell, 2000

At Carswell.

FMC Carswell, Fort Worth, TX—Click for Image (300KB; opens in a new window)
This is Lyn’s current home.

FPC Alderson—Click for Image (868KB; opens in a new window)
Red and Blue lived here for several years. This is the prison from which Lyn escaped on Christmas Eve, 1987. She was recaptured two days later.

Red at Alderson—Click for Image (opens in a new window)

At Carswell.



“Squeaky” Ignores Parole Hearing

From the Philadelphia Inquirer, September 5, 1985:

“Squeaky” Ignores Parole Hearing

Ann Kolson, Inquirer Staff Writer
(The Associated Press, Reuters and United Press International
contributed to this report.)

Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme, serving a life sentence for attempting to assassinate then-President Gerald Ford in 1975, chose not to appear before a parole commission yesterday. The follower of Charles Manson is incarcerated at the Federal Correctional Institution for Women in Charleston, W. Va., where a prison spokesman describes her as “pleasant and cooperative.” Under federal statutes, Fromme is allowed to apply for parole after serving 10 years of her term. Although she turned down this chance, Fromme will have the option of appearing before the commission every two months. “She has not given us any reason for not having this hearing,” spokesman David Helman said. “I don’t know what her thinking is, but it’s not uncommon. Some inmates don’t think they have much of a likelihood of gaining parole anyway.”

Letter, on birthdays Appeared in part in Schreck’s The Manson File—No date.

Mr. Connolly — (your title)

Mr. Robt. Russell
[address deleted]
[address deleted]

wrote & I got it the same day yours came. He wanted to know my birthday also. Does that mean anything to you?

It meant to me that I had to write another letter that couldn’t get too real or it would be misunderstood.
I can’t help you with your school report. Earth cries and you want my birthdate. If the report had something to do with survival when the money reality falls, you wouldn’t know what to write because the money mom holds the leash & the reigns—mom earth is under her trampling discontent—Look at the Big Bitch selling pieces of Air, Land, Water & her children’s asses

And you people look down at me.

When you are gasping for air we’ll see who is hysterical.

I’m not fighting for a cause. I’m fighting for my life, trapped by my own knowing. (The soul is it’s own reward). But you sit back and enjoy your T.V. life a little longer.

Don’t let your personality fool you into being offended. Personalities & words are just clothes. I really don’t play that birthday game.

L. Fromme

A note on this letter.  This letter, originally handwritten, covered two pages, the second of which appeared in Nikolas Schreck’s excellent book, The Manson File, published by Amok in 1989. To see the second page as it was reproduced by Schreck, 

Letter 2/12


     5 pages enclosed expressing current feelings & statements ranging from 1970— recently. The final 2 pages I wrote as frontispiece to a story a magazine wanted to use. We decided later against allowing them to make money off of us. The book was a large paperback w/ contributions from numerous writers. Manson said that he might have given me some encouragement on that project, but I think that what the publishers did put in the book was far better than the story I had written. (They reprinted in the book part of a magazine article about him that was good).

I’m wondering about sending all material I have, if I do decide to contribute, to Boyd since he’s to be the editor of the proposed book. I’ve sent him copies of these 5 pages. He can make copies, tho his $ is scarce.

I sent you a letter of mine and one of CM recently. You should have it by now. Please copy his letter for me. I liked it & I wanted to re-read it, however I’d kept it for long enough & thought I best mail it.

Thanks for the ph. # & letter etc duplicates to send on. I dreamt of taking out “The Crawl” about the 70 mile Sunset Blvd. experience 5 of us had crawling to the Hall of Justice where Manson was held in L.A. It ends with us being snubbed by the press after 7 full days on our hands & knees (& numerous experiences behind us that I only can allude to in a frightened story). (I’m not a writer but I can play thoughts—yet it’s not enough to meet my own standards). Still I’ll see what it looks like. Oh! I started to say —it ends with us sitting on the sidewalk, wrapping out bruised, scabbing bloody knees & cleaning our grubby hands w/ alcohol just as the sun is getting hot & the prosecutor in his 3pc. tweed suit meets us on his way to work. Always dapper & snappy he greets us as if meeting us for a luncheon recipe.

“Hi girls,” he says (and w/o flinching) “what’re you doing?” Brenda looked up & told him we were trying to wake a few people up.

“You’ll never do it that way” he said, shaking his head. “You’ll have to put a bomb at their feet.” And with that he was off, said he’d be late—to the prosecution of our friends for mass murder, & though his may sound like the wisest words, being as we thought 9 dead bodies would be enough, I recall vividly the bitter irony through the smoggy sunlight & our weariness and I’m surprised we’ve lasted this long in the pursuit of peaceful change except for our unwillingness to run amok. It wasn’t suicide we wanted but the burial of dead systems of thought.


As for “Manson’s right wing revolutionary cause”, I believe that if Manson had wings he’d have at least two of them and a substantial body of his soul self in the center.

Letter 1/10/83


     Your letter—short as it is—touched on a lot of subjects & inspires a lot of comeback.
I’m sending an article about the punk rock movement—if it can be called a movement. Check how the Jews got in to turn it.
Manson is versatile & can deal with & move a lot of different thoughts to a balance for natural order.
Also a photo of Blue & a visitor (Rick) You know him?
—And a couple of articles
We’d like to read The Lightening & The Sun—Can receive books anytime w/o prior approval—should be sent from any type of book store or established seller or religious place.
Blue asks if you wrote “Good Riddance, John Lennon” for the Liberty Bell & if George Dietz is the friend you mentioned who prints his own material, books.
Also if you know any of the fellas in the Odinist bike club.

Will write more—


Oh yes—send pictures of yourself if you will & we would appreciate seeing photos of your paintings—We always have been interested in art

Three Excerpts from Lynette Fromme’s Unpublished Book

Three Excerpts from
Lynette Fromme’s Unpublished Book


We all came from houses with doors, doors that were supposed to be closed when there were things going on that we weren’t supposed to see, and when our pants were down. Making love was never shown to us. It was explained, as if a chore and a duty, hidden behind those doors. And little by little, action by action, we learned not to believe in anything, and that the word “Love” was not understandable, so, therefore, not to be discussed often. In essence, we learned all the guilt, the heavy guilt, that makes bad out of feeling good.

Out from under we popped, to get away from those doors, and the chore of it, and find something exciting, and do something that felt good.


My father had kicked me out of his house at the height of an argument over an opinion difference. He had become so enraged. He told me never to come back, and that was all the severance it took. I had no place to go. I stuck out my thumb on a freeway entrance, going through all my tears to Venice, where I remembered beatniks lived. Afraid, with all my books, my dictionary, my eye makeup clutched to me, I sat on a bench staring at the ocean.

Suddenly, an elfish, dirty little creature in a little cap hopped over the low wall, grinning, saying “What’s the problem?” He was either old, or very young. I couldn’t tell. He had a two-day beard and reminded me of a fancy hobo—rather elegant, but my fear was up.

“How did you know?” I started to say, and he smiled really bright, and I had the strangest feeling that he knew my thoughts.

“Up in the Haight I’m called the gardener,” he said. “I tend to all the flower children.” My mind was struck with the thought . . . that a gardener plants seeds, and I became more afraid and clenched my legs together. “It’s alright,” he told me, and I could feel in his voice that it was. He had the most delicate, quick motion, like magic, as if glided along by air, and a smile that went from warm daddy to twinkely devil. I couldn’t tell what he was.

I was enchanted and afraid all at once, and I put my head down and wished he would go away, and when I looked up, really he was gone! And I turned my head, wanting to talk to him now with urgency. And as soon as I turned back around, there he was again, sitting on the wall, grinning at me. I had only conceived of such things in fairy tales.

“So your father kicked you out,” he said with certainty, and once again my mind went with the wind, and I laughed and relaxed . . . We talked and I felt very good with him and freer, much freer. “The way out of a room is not through the door,” he said, laughing. “Just don’t want out and you’re free.” Then he unfolded a tale of the 20 years he’s spent behind bars, of the struggle and the giving up and the loving of himself.

We came back to the fact that I didn’t have any place to go. He told me that he was on his way to the woods up north and that I could come with him if I wished. I declined, having obligations to fulfill, having three weeks of my first college semester left. Then I looked at him, wanting to get up, crunching up my face in thought. “Well,” he said, moving down the walk, “I can’t make up your mind for you.” He smiled a soft feeling and was on his way. I grabbed my books, running to catch up with him. I don’t know why—I didn’t care—and I never left.


I felt close to him and layed on his shoulder, wanting a daddy to hold me . . . I hoped that he would pursue me or touch me, or rape me or anything good really, yet without me giving up to it. It was a little girl-game I wanted to play. But instead he told me: “So, you’ve been hurt and now you’ve locked yourself up. You’ve got all your love tied up in the past, and associated with bad or sad experiences. You wanted your daddy to hit you, didn’t you?” It was so and I nodded. As all daughters, I had wanted all the attention I could get from my daddy . . .

Day by day, we became more aware of Charlie, who was ever aware of us, and each tree and each branch and each leaf. The way he explained it was this: “What’s happened, see, is me not adjusting to the ‘Free World’. I’ve made up my own world. In other words, I didn’t and wouldn’t adjust to society and their reality of things.

Proposed Introduction to an Unpublished Book by Lynette Fromme, 1977

Proposed Introduction
to an Unpublished Book by Lynette Fromme, 1977

As long as the man is tucked away in asylum/prison/grave, you can say anything you want about him. Anything. You can lie in more movies and bogus books for money. You can pretend to play like him. You can orgy with your awkward paws and dance your frantic feet off, joke about his suffering, draw your very life from his blood. But you have not the soul to face him.

He’s a genius you don’t recognize, in a ragged coat, with no tails for you to ride—or in secret, his majesty could blind you. The first time I saw him dance, I ran out of the room. He’s in motions and sounds, not words, and he’s hidden because he gave everything he was asked for.

People said that I was Manson’s main woman, people who didn’t know that Manson treated all women around him as one. His main woman is the truth. She comes before anyone and anything and he’s always with her in life or death. He married her in a dark hole. He knew alone. Three grades of school. Thirty years in a cage. Pulled out of solitary confinement dead—or a reflection and the balance of whatever group he’s in.

Born into this imbalanced world of women’s law in 1967, carrying Truth over the threshold, he met thousands of young in the streets. I was one of them. He stood our words up in Truth. He never broke our wills. We put up our lives, and the symbol of one finger as alternative to anarchy.

He knew what anarchy would do to the Earth. She has been treated like he has, by people too proud to look and too scared to see. He was thinking Earth-balance before I was born, and in the 50s he set the thought for International People’s Court of Retribution so that everyone will know what they’ve done to air, land, water and the soul of the Earth.

Everyone has wanted to make him small. Yet a monster. Stupid. With hypnotic powers. A fascist. And a Commie. And prejudiced nigger-lover. A macho punk. Both Christ and the Devil. Or, on the opposite side of everything.

We told the world Manson is a reflection, yet even President Nixon, a lawyer, publicly declared Manson “guilty, directly or indirectly” before the trial was over, and set his own downfall. Believe it or not, Rome stumbled over the truth in one bastard.

Statement for the Record

Statement for the Record

To the matter of defense:

The court has stated repeatedly that the case is to be tried based on the facts in evidence; that the defendant will not be permitted to make any political statements, nor to use the court room as a forum for talking about such “ecology” issues as endangered redwood trees, nuclear power plants, polluted air and water.

I have talked late into the nights with my client (me), affirming my original position in defense. I have taken into consideration the court’s warnings—and most importantly, the reasons behind these warnings, and I wish at this time to let response to the earlier warnings of the court be known.

* Let the record reflect

*      that this defendant is not charged with the murder of the President; that the charge is “attempted assassination”,

*      that it is this defendant’s understanding that the U.S. Attorney must prove beyond doubt that the defendant intended “knowingly and wilfully” to murder the President,

*      that intent is very clearly a state of mind; that intent is a THOUGHT before and during an ACTION; that the inquiry of such may well open the defendant’s mind for scrutiny; and that the defendant’s state of mind may be directly concerned with such social matters as the court has deemed unfit for court consumption.

In order of due process

Circa 4 Nov., 1975

In order of due process

I am sincere in telling the court that I have only one chance for the defense of myself, the man and the country. I am telling the court that the problems of the country left for the young people to solve are directly concerning my intent on September 5, 1975. I am telling the court that nobody will really know what my intent was unless I testify, unless I give witness to my state of mind. Circumstantial evidence is not a live witness. I want the court to notice that the condition of the United States is most clearly related to Mr Ford the President and to my intent and that to refuse to allow me to present my intent, is to leave me without defense and therefore condemned. The defense has the right to put on the witnesses that will exculpate the defendant-ie take away the guilt. Denial of this right makes “fair trial” just two words.
I am co-counsel and as co-counsel I have the right to represent myself, speak for myself and conduct myself and my trial by myself in my best interests in order of due process.
I fire John Virga as part of my defense. Manson is the only one that can speak for me.
You will not by law, run this trial without me just because the attorney thinks its a good idea. You do note that I am one half of this defense and have already put in my record a clause about moving without my permission which would automatically sever my co-counsel.
I cannot be tried without me. I will not watch your T.V. behind the court room until you put my defense on it. (Manson and all the family). The Red robe belongs to that family. I can go to trial or wear this robe only with their permission. They did not get a defense. Nixson claimed them guilty “directly or indirectly” They did not have a voice in the court room.
I came here to make you aware of that, and to put my life up in their will as it once was. I want to go wherever they go. I cant possibly speak for them as they have layed six years under the worlds guilt and judgements for Nixson’s “Guilty, directly or indirectly.” They have spent years in solitude and have been shown no care of concern by the very communities that raised them. Soon the television will try to sell you the death that you fostered- everyone of you whose will it is to let the world and your air, waters, lands and wildlife die. I dont have the answers. Manson is the only chance to live I have.


In order of due process
I am co-counsel and as co-counsel I have the right to represent myself, speak for myself and conduct myself and my trial by myself in my best interests and the interests of my family. (What they want me to do, I’ll do.) The red robe is their sacrifice. I cannot wear it without their permission. I cannot go to trial as they were not given a fair trial. I came here to plead for the lives of my family, my children and the earth- my plea was innocent.

Letter to Governor Brown

Lynette A. Fromme
620 H Street
Sacramento, California 95314

October 7, 1975

Governor Brown,

Just because you’re between a rock & a hard spot doesn’t mean you will be allowed to make your bed with the money interests & compromise the body of the rest of the world by accepting the suggestion of those who insist we need nuclear power plants.

Your excuses mean nothing, and there are five thousand women who, if threatened enough will show you what motherhood means. Do you understand me?

WE DO NOT NEED NUCLEAR POWER. We need clean air, water & land. We need the OZONE & the SUN. We need to legislate with only the BALANCE OF EARTH in mind.

There are thousands of jobs that NEED to be done & they don’t involve RADIOACTIVE WASTE.

You are not showing wisdom as California’s leading example. Your plans are not based on an overall knowing, nor do they reflect a will to live. You are pushed by fringe constituents that have the rest of the people bound & gagged with money.

We are not interested in money. We want the good life it is supposed to buy. If you are not bright enough to see there IS a workable alternative to Nuclear Power your name will be—Plutonum & you will need to be buried for the next hundred years.

Lynette A. Fromme


My strength is in this letter of conviction. If I could lay on my face before you, & beg, if it would move you to stop, I would. But your own lord hangs before you on a cross to say the very same thing. He already died to save it. He’s not going to die forever.