Here are more of George Lincoln Rockwell’s hilarious recollections of his experiences with racially-conscious conservatives in the late 1950s, this time from chapter 11 of This Time The World.
The best part is the story of the multi-millionaire who claimed that America only had five years to save itself, and then pledged $1,000 per year in order to protect his nation, his family, and the $80 million he was holding in reserve.
He promised this princely sum for one year, four years after which, presumably, his millions would be confiscated and he and his family would be liquidated. It is not clear if he even paid the $1,000 in the end.
Well, that pretty much sums up the lack of moral and intellectual seriousness that infects our movement today from top to bottom, and not just the tirelessly-talking tightwads who frequently give less in relative and even absolute terms than idealistic school teachers and small businessmen who take this cause seriously.
I had already sold Russell Maguire, the publisher of Mercury Magazine, an article about U.S. follies in Iceland, so I now planned to propose further work for him. I called and arranged an appointment in his lavish Park Lane apartment in New York.
I had never met him and was happy and relieved to find him the opposite of my recent employer in Memphis. He was small, intelligent, unassuming and seemed utterly dedicated to the cause of America and the White Race. We talked over the ‘movement’, as patriotic leaders inevitably do upon meeting, and agreed that what was needed was what he called a “hard-core”. I told him I thought eventually we would need a Nazi Party, and he agreed, but said it would have to be done with extreme secrecy. At the time, I didn’t know enough about it to argue him out of that idea, as I do now, so I went along with that, too.
Then he offered to put me on the payroll in his Fifth Avenue offices as his assistant, to help promote Mercury Magazine, his beloved project, and to begin quietly setting up the ‘hard-core’ he wanted. Even if this had not been what I dreamed of, I would have taken it at the handsome salary. Here was the opportunity praised for by many a young American I knew: getting paid for fighting treason! I reported for work almost immediately and had the trailer hauled by a moving company to a trailer park in Moonachie, New Jersey, just across the river from Manhattan.
For awhile, it seemed too good to be true. I ‘broke my neck’ for Maguire, and he seemed to appreciate it. He was willing to listen to suggestions and accepted them. It was heaven after the office in Memphis! But then I began to get into the office intrigues, which go on in every office in the world and my position, which had no title, became difficult. Sometimes “R.M.”, as the staff called this tiny multimillionaire, would send me over to pounce on all the mail at his Mercury office on 50th Street and search through it in order to see if the staff over there — including his own daughter who was the boss at Mercury — were filching from or messing up the mail accounts! This did not endear me to that staff, nor did I gain any popularity when I discovered leftwing sympathies in some of the editors and presented the evidence as was my duty, to the boss. Part of my job was also to filter the thousands of requests for financing which plague every wealthy man and throw out the scoundrels, the fakes, the boobs and quite a few decent people with whom R.M. simply did not want to be bothered.
Meanwhile, I was busily searching out and rounding up the talent for Maguire’s ‘hard-core’. In the process, I came across a man named DeWest Hooker. When I met Hooker, once again, my life changed permanently. Hooker already knew Maguire and Hooker had been the nearest thing to a Nazi since the Bund. He was a graduate of Cornell, exactly my age, with the same temperament, same ideas, and infinitely more experience.
He was handsome, so handsome that he made money as a professional model, whom I still see in cigarette ads. His rugged, aristocratic face was framed by perfectly groomed hair, greying at the temples. His build was athletic and tall, and he walked with a bounce and spring in his step which is rarely seen among our beat people. He was a descendant of the Hooker who had signed the Declaration of Independence, with millionaire parents and a millionaire wife.
But, most important of all, Hooker was a Nazi! He was not a ‘patriot” or a ‘right-winger’ or a ‘conservative’, but a fighting, tough, all-out-Nazi. He had gone into the streets of New York City and rounded up gangs of tough kids and potential juvenile delinquents, and converted them to fanatical loyalty to the United States, the White Race and Adolf Hitler. He called this gang of little hoods the Nationalist Youth League, and I was deeply impressed when I saw what leadership and guts will do to make decent, dedicated Americans out of little lost baby gangsters. Hooker had those kids worshiping him! He was an obvious aristocrat from a mansion in Greenwich, Connecticut, who wore a Homburg and a Chesterfield with supreme dignity, and he led those little New York gutter kids out of despondency to form picket lines against Jewish Communism, right in its filthy stronghold: New York City!
My first meeting with Hooker was on a Thanksgiving Day, when he was due at a family dinner, but we got so totally absorbed in our discussion that he kept his wife waiting hours, until she was very angry at him. As we talked, he told me one amazing thing after the other.
Wes explained the Jews to me more clearly than I had ever figured out before. He described, with dramatic gestures, how they operate like a snake with different skins, which they crawl out of or into as the strategic need may arise. When Jewish Communism begins to get too ‘hot’, as it has here in the U.S., because of the millions who saw the parade of Jew Communist spies, they slide out of that skin and become Zionists. And when this also gets too hot, then they molt and become ‘anti-communists’ or something else. In the excitement, nobody ever seems to notice that it is always the same snake.
Even more enlightening, he gave me a sparkling clear picture of the mess I had come to know on my own as the ‘movement’ — the cowards, the loud-mouths, the hobbyists, the ADL agents, the ‘prostitutes’ who make money out of it — the whole depressing lot of them.
. . .
I discovered Hooker hated Maguire, for whom I was working. Maguire, he said, was rabid only on one thing, the Mercury, his pet project — and the hell with the cause itself. He told me that Maguire was utterly ruthless financially and would weasel out of any deal he could, if it cost him money. He even claimed that Maguire had tried to hire him, Bill Evans (for whom I had obtained the loan from Snowden) and another man to kill key Jews at $10,000 a head, but that he became so difficult to pin down on the money question, they felt he would never pay. In fact, some of the boys wanted to shoot Maguire instead. Hooker said Maguire would talk forever about his ‘hard-core’, but would never do anything.
Meanwhile, in our trailer in Moonachie, my wife and I were very happy, considering the restricted living-space. She was once more pregnant, but we had money in the bank and our family grew daily more loving and united. With the pay coming in steadily and Maguire promising me raises for a job I wanted very much to do, the future seemed ideal.
I spent a good deal of time with Wes at his place in Greenwich and in New York. He had been driven out of business and political activity by the Anti-Defamation League and Jacob Javitz who was at that time New York Attorney General. The Jews had even obtained a permanent injunction against him in New York, as they are trying now to do in my case. He had to move from Larchmont, New York, to Greenwich, Connecticut.
Hooker was convinced that the ‘movement’ would never succeed in the U.S. because, he said, “The ‘fat-cats’ are too selfish and greedy ever to support a movement the way the Jews support their boys.” He was disgusted, and I couldn’t blame him, after I heard the series of experiences he had had with the ‘fat-cats’, as he called them — experiences which I have since ‘enjoyed’ myself.
These creatures would pay any amount for some little pet project they had in mind, but they would not pay any money to the human talent necessary to get a fighting, efficient organization together, as the Jews do.
I still felt then that they could be persuaded to back a responsible plan and responsible people, and talked West into holding off on his plans to quit the movement and go back into business to make money, as he had previously done in TV, for instance, where he had made $40,000 a year. I told West I was working for Maguire with specific instructions to organize such a group. He scoffed and said Maguire would welch. I felt differently and stuck up for Maguire all the way. I felt sure I could bring these two good men together eventually, in spite of the wild talk and charges.
Hooker has the genius which is desperately needed by the dead right-wing, and I felt sure I could get Maguire to back him eventually as a leader. I had to run back and forth between them, as you would between two pouting school girls who had turned their backs to one another. But little by little, I got them closer together. Finally, Maguire agreed to a secret meeting between Hooker, himself, Fred Willis (Maguire’s oldest and best friend), and myself at Maguire’s Park Lane apartment.
Hooker put his full faith into the effort and came up with complete list of all the people and ‘leaders’ in the movement, their records, their potentials and their drawbacks. He also had an accurate list of the spies and agents of the Anti-Defamation League which had Maguire itchy-fingered. Although it irritated him and went against his nature, I even got Hooker worked up to the point where he called Maguire “Sir”, as I did.
We presented a complete plan for a slow, secret Nazi build-up under Hooker throughout the U.S.A. using the personnel and leaders already so well known to Hooker, a front group with an ‘almost’ Nazi flavor and — financing by Maguire. Eventually, we felt that most of the other rich men would help, if they could see something first. Maguire seemed entranced with everything we presented. Hooker wanted to give him the complete list of ADL and other Jewish agents, plus the evaluations of all right-wing leaders, but I had suggested holding off until we got some kind of commitment. This tactic got results.
“All right!” said Maguire, with the air of a man suddenly decided on an immense step. “I’ll back it! The country doesn’t have five years left! We’ve simply got to do it! I’ll put in a thousand dollars for the first year!”
Hooker looked at me with his mouth open. I looked at Hooker, then we both looked at Maguire’s old friend, Willis. Here was a multimillionaire with over $80 million, sitting in an apartment which was costing him at least $1500 a month, to say nothing of his fabulous palace on the waterfront in Connecticut — and he was telling us that he was going to ‘back’ a national political movement of gigantic proportions to save America, with $1000 a year! And he was going to do this great thing because “we only have five years left!”
Hooker and Willis were all for giving Maguire hell right there and then. Willis was worse than disgusted and said so, but Hooker kept quiet at my request.
I tried again. I knew Maguire spent hundreds of thousands of dollars per year printing Mercury and reprints from the magazine, plus all kinds of material for his four or five offices. I reasoned that if he were too stingy to contribute, perhaps we could get him at least to trade with us as printers, and thus finance the movement. We had dozens of young men who would learn the printing trade overnight and work like horses for nothing — which would make all the printing profits pure gravy for the fight.
Scrambling wildly in my mind to put this deal together while keeping peace at the meeting I made the pitch to Maguire and he accepted it. He agreed to give us the printing and the ‘fabulous’ thousand dollars a year!
We parted at the canopied door on Park Avenue. Willis seemed too disgusted to talk any further. After hearing Maguire moan and groan year after year about the utterly desperate situation of America and the White Race, after hearing him admit that the only way to save ourselves from the Jews was with a tough, hard core, it must have been galling in the extreme to see him sitting on his money bags and offer to toss us a few-coppers for going out into the streets to have our heads bashed in by tyrants.
Hooker and I went to his club (Cornell), right around the corner and sat in the library trying to calm down and get our bearings for further action. In spite of the setback, it seemed to me at the time that I had rescued things with the printing deal. I wanted to plunge full speed ahead with arrangements. Hooker was understandably sour and predicted that Maguire would simply welch again, but I wheedled him into going along on the deal. He admitted that I had had more success than anybody so far with Maguire, just by getting on the payroll and arranging the meeting. Maguire, he pointed out, usually refused to see more than one person at a time, to avoid witnesses. So, West had a flicker of faith in my own enthusiasm and we went to work setting up a printing plant.
We got a press, a little store, started the boys frantically reading manuals on printing, held meetings, planned financing, raised money and generally did all the things necessary to be ready to handle our end of the business deal. Then I went to Maguire and said we were ready to start with some small printing orders, perhaps office forms.
It is probably an insult to the reader’s intelligence to state bluntly what happened. Men do not suddenly change their habits — Maguire welched. There was no printing to be had at any of his offices. Not only did he welch, but I now became a source of great discomfort for him. My presence was a silent, unspoken, even unconscious rebuke to him for his faithlessness. It was hard for him to go through the “we’ve only got five years left” bit with all his visitors, as he did every day, with me at his elbow.
. . .
Maguire’s daughter was the boss at Mercury, and it was not long before I discovered an indefinable blockage to everything I tried to do in the office. I thought at first it was his daughter, Natasha, but found out that the old man himself was behind a few louse-ups. One day he called me from his office and told me to meet him two floors below. He didn’t want us to be seen conferring. We met in the men’s room and he told me that his wife was giving him a hard time about me. She was a White Russian, he assured me, and on ‘our’ side, but didn’t want to jeopardize the luxurious life she had attained with her husband, nor risk the security of her children. It was the old story, but I never expected to hear it from a multimillionaire. Maguire told me his wife was so upset that he was taking her on a Caribbean cruise, a pattern I have since learned that he follows whenever things get too hot, as they did recently when the New York papers blasted him at the instigation of the ADL for being “anti-Semitic”, which the sly little fox denied!
He told me his wife had heard of my efforts to organize a ‘hard-core’ for him, and was “terrified”. He whispered on and on so disgustingly about the pressure on him, and kept referring to the possibility of “cutting the thread”, meaning my employment, that I naturally offered to resign. He accepted before I managed to get the words out, assured me that he would secretly support me with cash, instead of the salary, to keep up my work, and “soon” would give us the printing business to launch the movement. Needless to say, none of this materialized.
He did, however, buy two of the articles I did when the Marine Corps was under attack by the reds for its eliteness and aristocratic, tough traditions. . . . But that was about the last I ever saw of Russell Maguire or his money. He is probably still telling people we have only five years before it is all over, so we must hurry and subscribe to Mercury! We are, I suppose, to beat the Jews to death with baled copies of this non-anti-Semitic journal. Since this was written, he has sold out altogether and run.
Many right-wingers are sincerely concerned, I know, about my battles with men such as Maguire, Snowden, et al. and my revelations of what they really are. “They are doing good,” I am told, “why not let them go about their business their own way. They are helping. Don’t hurt them.”
I maintain that they are only giving the appearance of helping. They are the ones who are actually hurting. Before a mass of people will rise up and do anything effective and forceful about a tyrannical situation, there must be built up a certain emotional pressure. A firecracker has not the force of a rifle bullet because it explodes harmlessly in all directions. But the gas from a rifle bullet cannot escape, except by forcing the bullet out at terrific speed,because it is confined and directed into useful channels.
As long as Maguire and all the rest of his ilk, rich and poor, can give themselves the illusion of fighting the Jews by exploding the pressure inside of them verbally and harmlessly — in all directions — without hurting a single Jew traitor, they keep the all-important pressure from building up sufficiently so that we will get mad enough to fight. The Jews know this and so permit these hundreds and hundreds of harmless little right-wing organizations to spout incessantly and unheeded, behind the Jewish ‘paper curtain’ of silence. These organizations don’t reach any significant number of people outside their own group and when they do, their approach is so feeble and wrong-headed that they recruit only a few odd-balls. They never, never get out into the public, into the streets, in order to reach the masses with an inspiring and driving, masculine movement, which alone can win their hearts!
If just one tenth of the cold cash which has been pouring for decades into such ‘firecracker’ movements were to be contained, directed, and channeled behind an ideological bullet in the form of fighting men with a fighting message, the Jews would stop at nothing to crush and destroy that deadly ‘bullet’. Even without the large amounts of this figurative ‘gunpowder, but with force and direction, the bullets we have been firing have earned the all-out attack of the Jews — the only sure sign that we are firing something far more effective than the usual right-wing ‘gas’ at them. The Jews know that our brand of sniping will eventually destroy their illegal, tyrannical power.
. . .
As long as the hordes of tricky little ‘patriot’ societies all over America allow our oppressed and harassed people to blow off the pressure caused by this filthy tyranny once a week in harmless ‘wind’ and ‘gas’, there will never appear in America that holy and awesome power of aroused masses, the raging fires of social upheaval, which alone have always toppled the greatest tyrants, and for which there is no substitute. There are plenty of people already awake in America, They are afraid and they are frustrated by their inability to do anything about the terrible evil which they see growing.
Mercury Magazine does indeed ‘inform’ a lot of people. But we don’t need any more informed people who won’t stand up and fight to oppose tyranny. Such things as Mercury also keep the ‘steam pressure’ of emotions down in millions of Americans who are already informed and who feet that as long as Mercury is published, ‘something’ is being done. Such Americans are also fooled by the constant advice to ‘write your congressman’, as if we can somehow petition or talk our way out of tyranny. But worst of all, Mercury, and a thousand other little projects like it, are financial leaks which keep the right-wing bled to death. There simply is no money for the battle, no money for the bullets and powder, because it has all been spent on firecrackers, uniforms, the band, pictures of the enemy, exciting rallies and bed-time stories for the troops.
. . .
The Surfside Condo Collapse, the Media, & the Polish-Canadian Question
Asleep at the Wheel of a Bulldozer
Even the Military Sees Middle Americans as Nazis
Let’s Have a Sequel Already! Marty Phillips’ Let Them Look West
Here are the Young Men: Remembering Ian Curtis (July 15, 1956–May 18, 1980)
How Conservatives Can Capitulate To The 1619 Project
Black Wives Matter