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Posted Monday, October 19, 2009

Dere ain't nothing to be 'shamed of, she says. Everybody gets in trouble some time.

[Previous Radical's Diary]

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October 17, 2009 (Saturday)
Irving - Houston (Texas)

IN THE MORNING I send out, very late, the real location for tonight's talk. We omit Ira Bleiweiss and Mary Lee Webeck after Jae works her marvels on them. Her MAGIC machine reveals that Ira Bleiweiss is an extreme pro-Israeli activist; while Webeck is Director of Education at the Holocaust Museum in Houston. Bleiweiss has given us a fictitious name, Ira Wise, and a false phone number, and Webeck too is a hostile. They get directions to the La Quinta at Hobby airport in Houston instead; last year's location, twenty or thirty miles away.

On the road to Houston by 1:30 pm.

Somebody sends me yesterday's statement from Mayor Johnson of Jackson, Mississippi:

Neither the City of Jackson nor I am hosting the David Irving event at City Hall. I will not be at this event, and I have not communicated at all with David Irving. In fact, I do not support or endorse the claims made by David Irving. It is my understanding that City Hall Council Chambers was reserved through the City Clerk's office, which has purview over scheduling that venue.

Based on the counsel of the City Legal Department, the City of Jackson cannot legally ban someone from speaking in City Hall based on their political beliefs and/or the content of their speech.

Houston Texas skyline 18.10.09

We arrive in Houston at six p.m. with just enough time to set up, which Jae does alone and well. The room rapidly fills until only four chairs are left empty -- those which would normally have been filled by Bleiweiss and his guests and Webeck.

At 6:50 p.m. Ms. Webeck shortly phones (from 512 632 4137), sweetly enough: "I am at the La Quinta hotel at the airport, but can't find the meeting."

"Ah, then you are there ... and we are here," I say evenly, and add: "You probably know why we have not given you the actual location." A few minutes later, at 6:53 p.m., Bleiweiss phones (from 713 898 3102) for the same reason: I give him the same answer, and offer: "You will find a nice female there from the Holocaust Museum, and you may wish to have an enjoyable evening chatting with her."

Oh, bother, he no doubt says, or words in Hebrew to that effect; but I have already hung up. Seconds later he phones again, furious: "We will find out where you are and stop you," he snarls. How can he know the real location? A journalist, Paige, then phones, but I fob her off until later tonight.

I doubt that Bleiweiss/Wise is keen to hear my talk, but nonetheless I go into the foyer and remove all signs relating to the meeting, and try to convey to the large, overweight Black seated alone at the reception desk that he is not to assist any angry-looking wrong-'uns who come in asking where we are. It proves difficult to make him understand.

During the Houston talk, David
Irving displays a picture
of the Enigma code machine.

David Irving talks in Houston, 18.10.09

October 18, 2009 (Sunday)
Houston (Texas) - New Orleans (Louisiana)

Up at 8 a.m., a quick breakfast, two or three hours' work, then downtown for the interview at 11:30 a.m. with Paige of The Houston Chronicle at Don Diego's café in Travis Street.

She is a pleasant, tanned woman of forty-six, with a prepared list of questions, inevitable, predictable, inflexible: Holocaust, racism, "gays", etc. She turns out to have accompanied the troublemakers (including, she says, a Black activist) at their invitation to the La Quinta at Hobby airport last night, from where she phoned me. So it is just as well that I did not invite her straight round to the meeting to attend last night, as my instinct had at first suggested.

I apologise for her inconvenience, but explain that it was their purpose to stop me speaking to "sixty or seventy consenting adults" who wished to hear my views. Toward the end of the interview she becomes fascinated with the "blonde bombshell" sitting at my right, who as usual consistently and sometimes even helpfully puts her oar in to our interview.


Journalist Paige with IrvingA COUPLE of drifters come over to our little huddle in the Houston Market square; the first a White, or rather gray-looking, meth addict, who shuffles over, crumpled and pathetic and incurable, and gets five dollars Danegeld from me to go away so that our interview can continue.

The second, a few minutes later, is a thin young Black girl, Sonia, who turns out to be thirty-one, born in Chicago: she never knew her mother or father, her brother and sister are somewhere she knows not where, her grandmother abused her, and she finally quit doing marijuana and crack four months ago. "I am clean now," she says proudly. She wants cash to go over the road ahead to a Subway -- she nods in that direction -- and when I give her five bucks too she asks innocently whether I can add 41 cents so she can get a "foot-long", whatever that is.

Because of four drug-related felonies, including a "supplying" charge, she cannot get work anywhere, of course, so it is a hopeless cycle for her. I tell her that the [Vienna, Austria] prison which I was in was full of people with the same problem, and a smile, the beam of recognition of an unlikely fellow-felon, spreads across her face. "Dere ain't nothing to be 'shamed of," she says. "Everybody gets in trouble some time" - a sad reflection of her own colored world view.

I ask her (and Paige) if they know the origin of the phrase "sold down the river", and which river is referred to. Neither knows. Evidently neither has read Uncle Tom's Cabin. If slaves misbehaved, those lucky enough to live in Kentucky were sold down the Mississippi to New Orleans where they were, uh, considerably worse off.

Sonia sleeps under "dat bridge over dere," she says, pointing backwards without turning round, to where the police a few days ago trashed all her few possessions. She has bummed a coarse-knit pullover off somebody, its arms several inches too long.

There is something about her that leaves me, a born sceptic accustomed to the wily Romanian gypsy beggars of London's West End, mildly suspicious -- her clothes are rather clean for somebody sleeping rough; her teeth are polished and perfect, though one at the back is missing; and her English is very articulate and her vocabulary well organised. At one point she says "I have to fend them off," an unusually well chosen phrase for a Black. She had nearly completed college when the drugs disaster hit, she explains.

Jae finds her convincing. On an impulse I empty my pockets of cash and hand all the crumpled notes to Sonia without opening them, around thirty-five or forty dollars -- all that Jae allows me to carry around. Paige the Chronicle journalist makes no effort to follow suit, and before the Black goes I lever myself to my feet off the stone bench where we are all sitting and give this pathetic but friendly human being a hug. "If you ever need any help," I tell her, mischievously indicating the journalist, "phone the Chronicle and ask for Paige."


A LONG DRIVE east in heavy traffic along the narrow I-10 interstate highway follows, lasting six or seven hours, and it is nine p.m. before we get into the New Orleans hotel, a brand new one which Jae has found, and which opened only two weeks ago. The rooms are very pleasant but as usual this native of Minnesota turns the suite's heating system to a (for her) comfortable temperature somewhere below Absolute Zero.

Somebody has already emailed me:

I enjoyed your Houston lecture very much and was glad to see that you were well, especially because you have been through quite a bit since I saw you in Idaho some four years ago. I have been a fan for years, but I found particular interest in last night's talk due to the fact that I have just embarked on a new career in Military Intelligence. I find myself referencing WW2 with each new concept I learn in training, resulting in [I believe] a better understanding of the material than my peers who do not study history. For this knowledge of WW2, I thank you. Your books are quite compelling and have been my favorites.

Your lovely assistant mentioned that she will send a copy of your web-archives on disk, just as you agreed to do for another gentlemen in attendance last night. I thank you (both) very much.

Your tour of Rastenburg looks as if it is a one of a kind event. I do hope that things go well enough in order for you to have a second one; I will be unable to go to this one, as I will still be in training. Perhaps I can follow your trip online.

Kindest Regards, S ..., 2nd Lt, USAF

The words fatigue, exhaustion, creep into mind all evening, before I fall asleep in this well-furnished refrigerator.


[Previous Radical's Diary]

US tour : DAVID IRVING is visiting forty cities in the Eastern USA now to talk about Real History: HITLER, HIMMLER, AND ENIGMA: Re-writing WW2 history using Nazi messages decoded by the British secret service.


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