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Posted Saturday, August 8, 2009

We stop for lunch at the Oregon Trail Diner in Baker City: a prime rib which refuses to part at all under my knife, and so remains uneaten. Hey-ho. Two thumbs down for the Oregon Trail Diner.

[Previous Radical's Diary]

click for origin

July 15, 2009 (Wednesday)
Salt Lake City (Utah) -- Boise (Idaho)

MY posted diary arouses some skepticism. Jonathan B. comments: "A poor night on the rollaway" --

Okay, so let's get this straight. You're sharing a luxus suite with the hottest girl in town, but you're sleeping on some rubbishy camp bed? I don't mean to be vulgar, but...ehrm...!

Paperwork all morning, then we drive north to Boise in Idaho.

At six-fifteen pm we reach the Red Feather Lounge in 8th Street in Boise; I wait outside as our first guests turn up. All goes well until two journalists of the Boise Weekly (a free sheet) also arrive, "Nate" and a female who insists on invading our private room, uninvited, taking photos of guests, and who then tries to tape an interview with me; she loudly calls me a Nazi and anti-Semite, and we accordingly refuse admission both to her and her friend. ("Nate" has tried yesterday to get the location. Following our security routine, I told him to come to 6th Street this evening and phone again). Rachel, the female, says she recognized me by chance while sitting at the bar, which is rather implausible.

Jae later identifies the noxious pair from the Boise Weekly website by name. Perhaps unfortunately Jae lets fly a string of well-chosen invective at Rachel, the dumpy little Jewish reporter-female, and we shall certainly not hear the last of that in the media; I lecture Jae about that and urge her not to do it again.

Upset by the obscenities uttered by the Journaille, some of our guests have left before I begin speaking. Back at the Hilton Inn afterwards, I find that one of them, Joe D, has emailed:

I would like to thank you for coming to Boise. I want to apologize for leaving the discussion before it started. I was really looking forward to hearing you speak. I have lived and worked in the valley my entire life. I had hoped for a smooth event, but instead had a camera shoved in my daughter's and my face along with constant drool of obscenities from the reporter's foul mouth. Fearing media smear and loss of my job I did not feel it was appropriate to continue to subject either myself or my daughter to the reporter's crude disruption so I chose to leave.

I reply:

I am so sorry about this evening's minor fracas with the two Jewish journalists "Nathan" [Nathaniel Hoffman] and "Rachel" [Rachael Daigle]. They were not invited by us, and of course we could not allow them to stay after "Rachel" insulted me to my face outside in the street. We had an interesting talk and discussion afterwards, and have just got back to our hotel (10:46 p.m). Let me know if there's anything I can do to make up for this disappointment for you both.

A Sara Smithe has emailed to Jae's private email address: "My name is Laney Smithe and I'm interested in attending Mr. Irving's upcoming book signing & speech in Seattle. How do I find out when/where this event will take place? Thank you!" Our software identifies her without difficulty as suspect. Jae drafts a mild refusal, and then does not send it, at my request; instead I write to this lady with a spurious location many miles to the south of Seattle (in London, we usually send enemy moles to wait all evening in a notorious homosexual pub). My message reads as follows:

Saturday night's Seattle location is
The Ram Restaurant & Brewery
8100 Freedom Ln NE
Lacey, WA 98516

This is in strict confidence. The meeting will start at 6:30 pm, earlier than usual, at the management request. In view of security concerns the management has agreed to deny the meeting to outside callers turning up without a copy of this email.

-- all of which is of course shamelessly untrue.

The waters around us now teem with such lame and toothless sharks. Jae finds that a David Gorski, who registered under an easily detected false address for the Las Vegas meeting -- that of his hotel, the South Point Hotel Casino -- has written a pathetic Internet account on his failure to wheedle our meeting's location out of me.


July 16, 2009 (Thursday)
Boise (Idaho) -- Spokane (Washington)

WE have an all-day drive ahead to Spokane. Another of last night's guests at Boise, Jim C., has written some valuable après-pensées:

  1. Your assistant is stunningly beautiful. Well done. And with the character that she has, which reflects true beauty ... even better, in all respects, especially at such a young age.
  2. Your "Code" lecture is brilliant, even under the most challenging circumstances imaginable. Your memory of dates, translated code intercepts, and police officer names is phenomenal, truly impressive.
  3. I thought the venue in Boise was an undesirable choice, upon which we can improve greatly. I will also volunteer to find a better venue, when you return to the Boise area (as I hope you will). With notice, I can guarantee TWICE the attendance, book buyers, and a far better security situation against the "traditional-enemy" instigators. I have never liked downtown parking or center-city locations in Boise. Outskirts (including motels) would serve you better. My town, approx. 12 miles away, would offer easy parking and easy-to-spot control of outsiders (most of whom would not bother to come out this way, where they would "stand out" in a way uncomfortable to them).
  4. No tight spiral staircases, please. That is a detriment to your work. Level meeting rooms. Lifting at ground level is best for heavy book boxes.
  5. With today's FBI budget directed against "patriots" and "conservatives," etc., we can assume that ALL of your lectures are infiltrated, in every city. This means even the quiet attendee (i.e., plant). So be it, since nothing done is "illegal" anyway, but it is something to be aware of. I always assume this.
  6. With God's blessings and prayers to you both, in your travels, and to Rifleman Irving, I remain, etc., etc.

I reply with last night's diary note, and add: "You are quite right about the last night's venue: most unsuitable, and they hit us for a $100 room fee as we left!" It turns out that the Red Feather Lounge's management have also identified Jae to the enemy louts by name.

At midday we stop for lunch at the Oregon Trail Diner in Baker City: a prime rib which refuses to part at all under my knife, and so remains uneaten. The coffee is a pale lemon-yellow colour. Hey ho. Two thumbs down for the Oregon Trail Diner.

We get to the location in Spokane around five pm, and I unload the books into the spacious dining room set aside for us. Most of those who have registered turn up. We have now started phoning those red-flagged by our software, a screening process which on this occasion at least ensures a quiet evening. It is a long session, but the little audience is very attentive.

Afterwards we have a riotous evening with Jayme C., our host for the meeting, over a late supper at a Perkins. I allow myself two slices of toast, not having much appetite nowadays.


July 17, 2009 (Friday)
Spokane -- Seattle (Washington)

All morning on paperwork and verifying the Seattle and Portland applicants.

We set out after two o'clock for a leisurely drive on the spectacular Interstate from Spokane to Seattle (above) and arrive at the Best Western, at the very foot of the city's iconic Space Needle, with the sun setting brilliantly ahead at around eight pm.

Jae has arranged to meet a friend called Chris -- whom she knows only from the Internet -- with his grandfather in Seattle, but that arrangement gradually changes its complexion, as the old man vanishes from the picture; then when she goes out, well scrubbed up, around eight pm, she returns after half an hour to find me in the bar nursing a most unsatisfactory beer, to say that "Chris" has now retreated to southern Tacoma, and wants her to drive down there to see him -- a one-hour drive at very least, in the darkness each way. That rules that out, and she tells him. I feel smug.


July 18, 2009 (Saturday)
Seattle (Washington)

AS we are setting up in the function room the assistant manager Ian R McClendon approaches, saying that the hotel is already getting threatening phone calls, and that a mass demonstration is said to be heading this way. He promises that any trespassers will be turfed out. Sounds of shouting and screaming soon float down the corridors while our room gradually fills with around forty, then fifty guests. Police officers swarm into the building, and we sight four mounted police galloping around the front lot, which is awash with masked and evidently violent demonstrators.

A yellow sweat-shirted man who could profitably have stood closer to his razor this morning bursts in toward the end. He is escorted out by our people, lamely shouting "fascists!" at us. All rather bewildering. These work-shy scum are reliving the Thirties. The police commander comes in, then the assistant manager, and finally the hotel's owner and Best Western's vice president who happens to be spending the weekend in the building. All very friendly. They suggest, and we eventually concede, that we should not stay the night in this building, for our own safety, as the thugs make plain they plan to wait around to get me.

A limousine with blacked-out windows is brought in, which conveys me with Jae like a mafia mobster to a hotel near the airport -- an immense, sprawling Doubletree in which rooms costs a week's pay, and which certainly ranks among the least convenient I have ever stayed in.

Abdul, a friendly Somalian immigrant, drives us down the Interstate to this new overnight hotel. The Best Western cancels all our bills, even for the coffee and cookies we ordered for our guests, and picks up the tab for the Doubletree and for the limousine rides today and tomorrow (we have to salvage our Expedition from their garage) -- confirming my high opinion of this hotel chain for the last thirty years.


July 19, 2009 (Sunday)
Seattle (Washington) -- Portland (Oregon)

Jae is becoming unwell in consequence of the unsettling scenes she has witnessed, so I have to go back to Seattle myself to salvage our car, which we have necessarily left overnight in the Best Western's basement garage. Abdul is waiting below for me with the tinted-glass limousine again.

Before leaving, I write to the manager of the Best Western: "Dear Ian,

I am just heading south, and wanted to write first to thank you for the extreme courtesy and professionalism with which you handled the situation yesterday. My audience were full of compliments for the Best Western's staff, which I share, and although we suffered some financial loss from the foreshortening of the afternoon's talk, I have no intention of complaining.

There is an unfortunate and incorrigible rabble "out there" who do not share our cherished values of free speech. Once again, my sincere thanks for your kindness, and please pass these on to the other gentleman yesterday, the owner of the premises I believe?

We drive down to this afternoon's Portland location, a big hotel near the airport. Jae, now increasingly ill, goes out to buy a small television screen so that we can demonstrate the DVDs, and I begin setting up.

At 2:27 p.m alas a noisy mob has already assembled outside this hotel, and I barely manage to repair into the function room, the Cedar Room, in time. I phone Jae and exclaim: "Get the police. Tell the front desk to do the same. The scum has already arrived!"

I look out briefly to see the source of the shouting. One lad may have seen me but perhaps not recognised me; it just gives me time to get back into the Cedar Room, slam the doors, and put most of our valuable stuff in safety; experiences since Berkeley in 1995 remind me that the first target of these freedom-lovers is to destroy whatever they can.

Looks like we may have to cancel today's big luncheon. Very few people have yet been notified of the actual location; one is a mysterious woman from Eugene who called only ten minutes earlier, but that will hardly have been enough time to get the mob over to this hotel, and to the right end of the building also -- just next to the glass swing doors.

Jae does well, phoning the police -- but they seem little interested as yet: they will be later.

As instructed, our guests now begin phoning us for the location:

2:30 p.m Des G.: I explain that there is a violent mob besieging the location, and as soon as it is cleared I will inform him; as yet there is no point. He should phone again at three-thirty.
2:46 p.m Dylan M. adds, "It appears we've been compromised," and suggests other hotels down the strip. Uh, no.
2:48 p.m Doug F. too: so he's in the clear?
2:52 p.m hotel management phones to ask am I okay, and when should they start with the luncheon service, as the chef needs to know? I say, four pm. They remind me that they have a big society wedding starting at four pm, but they will do as requested.
2:54 p.m Jae phones, the police are just standing by. Everett, a hotel staff member, has been punched in the face, and the management say they are "going to have to put this on file," whatever that means.

The scum are now barricading the Cedar Room outside, which means they know the location: that "female from Eugene" is no doubt the leak of that, as she alone has been told that location.

3:01 p.m Tom T., who has brought six others with him, phones and I tell him we will be starting at four, not three, assuming that the police get things under control.
3:05 p.m Rich T. phones up, can he come in? Yes, with caution.
3:15 p.m management phones, has begun letting guests into our dining room. Jae demands they lock the doors at once. Management appears not to appreciate what kind of damage this kind of mob can do.
3:20 pm the police arrange to escort me to the speaking hall.
3:24 pm a female crone phones from Tennessee (901 267 9865) with a shrill hate-call -- she's the daughter of Holocaust survivors, etc., etc., etc., she claims. I leave her shrieking. -- She is the only hate-caller of the day.

Later today Jae finds that a leftist website is bragging about today's violence, with an article that provides an interesting timeline and all the clues we need to track down the perpetrators.

But what's for them to brag about? The fifty police have cleared the area. Their commander, a big Portland Police sergeant, shakes hands and asks if we can have our function over by five-thirty pm as he does not want to have so many police in action here longer. We finish the discussion period to the minute.

Outside, I spot one of our guests talking to an unknown woman holding a microphone and tape recorder: she turns out to be from a radio station KBOO, and when I confront her -- we have a no-uninvited-reporters policy -- she claims to have received a press release; Jae confirms the woman is lying, and she is turfed out.

The bill for the luncheon comes to a thousand dollars. Unfortunately property worth around that much again has vanished from the Cedar Room (the scum later claim on the Internet to have stolen it, and our guest list too). I send off Jae with an envelope containing some compensation to Everett, the hotel staff man punched in the face by one of the peace-loving protestors; we did the same in Seattle yesterday, leaving small compensation payments for the staff members subjected to violence, threats, and intimidation. Nice folks, these lefties.

A friend tells me that one guest, Des G. has complained to him, "The event turned out to be a wipeout. After speaking [by phone] with Irving a couple of times yesterday and earlier today, I was informed that the meeting (due to start at three pm) would be held at a hotel 'near the Portland airport.' ... I called Irving on a cell phone. He told me that 'a rowdy crowd' was picketing the still unnamed hotel, protesting the meeting. He asked me to call him again after an hour to see what developed. After checking, unsuccessfully, to see if there was any sign of a 'rowdy crowd' outside any of the hotels in the immediate vicinity of the airport, and as my friend expressed a desire to be home by seven, I decided to call the whole thing off and head for home."

I reply: "Unfortunately we had reason to suspect Des G. . . We prevailed and I spoke to fifty people, but only because we had fifty police protecting the building."

We now have a three-day pause to drive down to our dinner in Sacramento on Wednesday. [CONTINUED]



 [Previous Radical's Diary]

Kansas City Jewish Chronicle: Holocaust denier finds few fans here: The Chronicle has learned that Irving, or a representative, arranged for a meeting room at the hotel just minutes before the talk was to begin last Friday evening 
Jaenelle Antas: page and photo gallery 2008-2012

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