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I THROWED A TOMATO AT RICHARD NIXON

It was September of 1978 and I was just coming out of the most down and out period of my life. My book, Coup D'Etat in America never made it into paperback, thanks to efforts of the CIA (however thanks to Ed Rosenthal it eventually did so). When editors

at New American Library were interested in it, the publisher told them "We cant publish this book and I can't tell you the reason why." Later on it was revealed that one of the principals I named in the book E. Howard Hunt, had served as the liason between NAL and the CIA. Every time I got booked on a TV or Radio show to talk about garbology or Dylanology, or Yippie stuff, my appearances would be canceled shortly after I was booked. The Feds had my telephone tapped and were adept at suppressing me. Shit, my old lady left me and this fucking Nazi ex-FBI informant named William Depperman (Diapermann) was threatening me. Everything was fucked up and in a state of flux. I had just finished researching NIXON’S part in the Kennedy assassination when I learned the fucker was coming to New York. I stuck a few tomatoes I had gotten out of a dumpster on 2nd Avenue into a plastic bag and then put the plastic bag in my pocket. We had a split in the Yippie movement regarding dumpster diving. Pieman Aron Kay and me were for it but High Times originator Tom Forcade was against it and said he would not eat garbified or semi-garbified food. Anyway he made bombs and shit so what the fuck....Nixon was visiting the Elmer Bobst Library at NYU in Greenwich Village. I had a crew of people there that day and all of them were armed to the teeth with rotten tomatoes. So up pulls Nixscum's limo and I threw a tomato at him just like Jonathan Winter's character, Maude Frickert, threw a tomato at a Martian she encountered. All of a sudden a guy who looked like NIXSCUMS son-in-law grabs me from behind and says "None of that!" Then I see that a police officer got in the way and he got hit with the tomato, not Nixon. The cops surrounded me and next thing you know I am in a cell at a local precinct house. I am being charged with felonious assault on police officer, officer Gallagher, who went to the hospital because he claimed to have gotten tomato pits in his eye. I says, COME ON FELLAS, A TOMATO IS NOT A LETHAL WEAPON, and I took a leftover rotting tomato out of my pocket. They seized it as evidence and added possession of a deadly weapon to felonious assault on a police officer. I was going to be locked up until Nixon left town...this town wasn’t big enough for the both of us. So I was trying to get some sleep while that cops questioned and tortured a transvestite: SEX: MALE or FEMALE? YOU ARE SURE YOU ARE MALE? YOU DONT DRESS LIKE A MALE Blah Blah Blah Catholic School Boys...It wasn't that bad in the jail cell, the floors were concrete and it was warm. Back on Bleecker Street, where I lived, the floors were cheap wood and cold air came up from the floor below. The next morning I was handcuffed to the transvestite dude, whom Officer Beagle said was going to be my cellmate on Rikers Island. Ah, that sweet smell of ammonia as I entered Central Booking at 100 Center Street, a fine example of Depression architecture - very depressing. A older black homeless dude in the holding cell tried to rip out the sink. Some younger black dudes told him: Don't do that man and he cooled it. Blacks were upset about how many Jews there were in the legal system and hoped to get Judge Bruce Wright for a judge. Cut em loose Bruce. I met this dude that got caught with a knife and a little coke. He pointed out these three other dudes: Murder One, Murder Two and Murder Three. Word started to get around the bullpen: He took a shot at Nixon. I met a dude who was dumb and deaf who got caught exposing himself in a men's room. It was part of his sign language, that's all. Finally after a nice nap, someone called my name and I went before Judge Eric Williams, a man whose ancestors were brought to this continent as slaves. I was comic relief after a parade of

junkies and purse-snatchers for the judge. My lawyer, David Michaels, now dead, a fallen comrade, told the Judge that I threw a tomato at Richard Nixon but hit a police officer by mistake. Judge Williams laughed at gave me a $25 dollar fine for using loud and abusive language in public. When I paid the fine the guy behind the window asked: "What did you do? You dont look like one of our usual customers around here." I told him I threw a tomato at Nixon. When I got back to Bleecker Street and heard the phone ring I appreciated freedom more. When Nixscum visited London and few weeks later some kids who heard about me, I was now known as tomato man, threw some tomatoes at the fucker. I ran into Officer Beagle in front of the UN when I was walking my two Dobermans, Morty and Helga. I told him the police had revoked my pistol permit after the tomato incident and he said he would try and help me get it back. He said that Officer Gallagher was changing into uniform in the locker room when a plate glass window broke and landed on his head! He was on disability leave. Gallagher had a penchant for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

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