When I moved back to West Virginia in 1986 after living with my Grandma Jane and my dad, I tried to fit in with the locals even though I knew that they hated us “critters. I knew they hated us by the way they talked behind our backs about us when they didn’t think we were around. “Critters were dirty, they smelled, they were lazy and they stole.” Now I knew that this wasn’t true but there was no way I could tell these “billies” the truth without admitting I was a “critter”. There were absolutely no black people or Mexicans around and so to me it felt like the “billies” had just taken all the stereotypes usually reserved for African Americans and Latinos and applied them to us. Not all of them. There were some exceptions but most of the locals were “Christians” which to me at the time meant that they pretended to follow Jesus and hated everyone who didn’t believe in their ridiculous fairy tale.
We believed that the soul was eternal and would reincarnate into another body in the next life depending on what we did in this life. Christians believed that the soul only had one life and that after that life your soul and your body would go into the grave where you then waited for the return of Jesus Christ when only 144,000 of you would be saved. To us this was about the dumbest thing we had ever heard. At first I tried to explain that if God was eternal and the soul was eternal then damning a person for eternity because of what they did in one lifetime seemed cruel but I soon gave up. After a while every time someone asked if I had been “saved” I just answered “Yes.”
The problem was that just as the “billies” (hillbillies) and the “necks”(rednecks) hated us and looked down on us “critters” we despised them and looked down on them too. We came from a highly regulated and cultured environment. No meat eating, intoxication, sex outside of marriage or gambling were the pillars of our morality and our society. These people ate meat which we thought was absolutely disgusting. After all, who wanted to eat rotting flesh? They drank alcohol and smoked cigarettes and their women were low class, they cussed like sailors and dressed like prostitutes. They played “quarters” and cards and gambled their money away like donkeys. We looked down on them and to be fair most of the “billies” who picked on “critters” were white trash losers who lived in abusive homes and trailers that smelled like beer and cigarettes. The people with “class” just ignored us. Still after I turned my back on the Hare Krishnas I tried to fit in with them as best as I could.
When I first came back to West Virginia to live with my mom and my brothers and sisters I would go to New Vrindavan for festivals and there I was reunited with some of my old friends. They would go on to become my best friends and I am still close with many of them to this day.
One day while I was walking along the road on my way to the temple a maroon Toyota Land Cruiser pulled up beside me and stopped. It was Kirtanananda Swami, the guru at New Vrindavan dressed in the saffron robes of a sanyasi monk. Laying beside him on the passenger seat was the cane he walked with. In the back seat was a giant German Shepard who went by the name of Gudakesha and who now looked at me suspiciously.
“Do you need a ride?” he called from inside.
“Thanks.” I replied. I had just walked up to Ma Eddy’s General Store on Route 250 and bought a Mountain Dew and a pack of Newports. I had been buying cigarettes for my dad for years and now that he was gone I still went in every now and then and asked for a pack of Newports for my dad and they sold them to me. I preferred Marlboro Reds but my dad smoked Newports and I didn’t want to make Ma Eddy or her husband suspicious. I had just finished smoking at one of the Newports and I hoped that Kirtananda Swami wouldn’t notice the smell.
I opened the door to the Land Cruiser and got inside. Kirtananda took his cane off the seat, then took his foot off the brake and put his foot on the gas. We started off down the hill toward the temple which was still around 3 miles away.
“So where have you been?” Kirtananda Swami asked me as if I had just come back from vacation.
“I’ve been living with my Grandma in Maryland.” I replied.
“Have you been chanting?” He asked me instantly, making me feel guilty about my lack of devotion.
“No, but I went to church when I was at my grandma’s. I answered.
I had known Kirtananda Swami for my entire life. After all, my father had been his right hand man for years and some days Kirtananda Swami would show up at our house first thing in the morning with some new idea or needing a solution to a problem and we had many conversations while he waited for my dad to have his coffee, smoke his first joint of the day and get ready. Though I would not say that we were close, I had grown up believing that Kirtananada Swami was Krishna (God’s) representative on earth and I still had great respect for him and for what he was building at New Vrindavan.
“You should never stop chanting.” Kirtananda said. “Krishna is present in His name and if you call out to him He will always protect you.” he said.
“I’ll try.” I said sheepishly.
“So why did you leave us?” Kirtananda Swami asked me. “You were our best student and there was never any doubt about your love for Krishna. Srila Prabhupada (Bhaktivedanta Swami) said that you were very special even among devotees.” Kirtnananda Swami continued. At one time I thought you would be part of the future of this community.”
This was true and he was right. When I was only 4 years old a senior devotee by the name of Brahmananda had complained to Bhaktivedanta Swami that though I had not been initiated in the renounced order of a Sanyasi but that I was dressing as a Sanyasi monk.
“Pretending to be an advanced person is the greatest Aparada (sin) but KIba Jaya is dressing as a Sanyasi and preaching” Brahmananda complained to Bhativedanta Swami.
Bhaktivendanta Swami then answered Brahmananda.
“KIba Jaya is very special even among devotees. You just leave him alone.” and they did. From that point on no one tried to stop me from dressing and acting like a sanyasi.
I thought of how Prabhupada had treated me and then about how my ashram teachers had treated me, but that was not what was bothering me at the time. When I came back from India I had wanted to get married to a girl that I loved but I had not been allowed to marry her. Even though she was my age she was betrothed to someone else.
“Then why wasn’t I given initiation and promoted with the rest of my class? I was a Kshatriya(warrior). Why was I put in the Sudra(laborer) Ashrama (class)” I asked bitterly.
“That was your mother.” Kirtananda Swami protested. “She said that you were too young to take the vows.” he answered.
“You married all the girls our age off to older men.”
Now I was starting to get angry as I remembered that the girl I was in love with had been promised to someone else who did not love her and who she did not love.
“That is Vedic culture and that is what we are trying to establish here.” He shot back. Now his voice softened and he continued.
“I know your father and I have had our differences. You know his drinking is a problem but you can’t turn your back on who you are.”
Kirtananda Swami’s carefully chosen words, spoken softly, cut into me. My father’s drinking was a family secret carefully hidden by us all and even the mention of it by someone outside the family filled me with shame instantly.
“Srila Prabhupada said that you were an incarnation of Lord Nityananda the brother of Chaitanya.” he continued.
“I told you. I wanted to get married. I wanted to have a family.” I said.
“How old are you now?” he asked.
“I’m 14.” I answered.
“Do you even have hair on your genitals yet?” he inquired.
“Yeah.” I answered thinking that now he wanted to find out if I was old enough to get married and have children.
“Can I see?” He asked which I regarded as a challenge to my manhood. Now this became the confrontation that I had been looking forward to for years. Damn right, I was old enough and I had been through enough to be a grown man.
With my left hand I unbuttoned my Levi’s 501 jeans revealing my white Hanes jockey shorts. Using my right hand I pulled down the waistband of my underwear revealing my flaccid hairy dick.
Kirtananda Swami’s right hand shot over and attempted to clutch the crown jewels. I quickly released the waistband of my jockey shorts covering up my business and pushed his hand away with my left hand.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“It’s ok.” he replied, looking over at me as the Land Cruiser edged toward the right edge of the road.
“Just watch where you are going.” I yelled.
In the back seat the German Shepard Gudakesha began barking and snarling. I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. I was terrified that he would bite me but he just stared at me.
“Can you pull over! I asked. “I want to get out.”
“It’s okay.” Kirtanananda replied softly.
“Stop! I yelled. “Let me out. I’m not going to the temple.”
Kirtananda Swami pulled the Land Cruiser over to the side of the road. Gudakesha was still barking at me as I opened the door and got out.
“Everything is ok. You will be fine.” Kirtananda Swami said as I closed the door.”
“You need to find Jesus.” I yelled at him as he pulled away and I meant it. I had been going to church on Sunday at Hope Presbyterian Church while living at my Grandma Jane’s house. I had developed a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. I thought of Jesus Christ as my guru and I prayed to Jesus Christ when I wanted something from his father Krishna. Jesus’s instructions seemed a lot easier to follow than the ones of the gurus that I had grown up with. Just be kind to people. Now after what had happened today I was determined not to have anything else to do with the Hare Krishnas.
I pulled one of the Newports out from the inside pocket of my Levi’s jean jacket. “What the fuck had just happened?” Well it was obvious. The man I believed was God’s representative on earth and who everyone believed was celibate monk was an old pervert who liked boys. But who could I tell? And if I did tell who would do something about it? People had tried before. Kirtananada Swami was god to these people.
In 1983 our neighbor Charles St. Dennis learned that the man he considered his guru Kirtanananda Swami aka Keith Ham was not a celibate monk as he claimed to be but was in fact in a homosexual relationship with his life long partner Hayagria aka Howard Wheeler. Charles St. Denis then began openly accusing Kirtananda Swami of being a fraud, of being a homosexual and not a celibate monk. He also accused him of being involved in other criminal activity, such as kidnapping and insurance fraud and not a divinely empowered representative of God as he claimed to be. This did not go over well with Kirtananda Swami’s more fanatical disciples. Charles St. Denis disappeared soon after he began to make these accusations and was never to be seen again.
Earlier that year Steven Bryant had accused Kirtananda Swami of masterminding a massive criminal organization and using beatings and murder to cover up the abuse of minor children. Not long after that Steven Bryant was found shot in the head in his van in West Los Angeles. Almost everyone knew that Tirtha aka Thomas Dreshcher had killed him for blaspheming his guru. Who could I tell? Absolutely no one.
Shortly after this Tirtha aka Thomas Dresher, a former Green Beret and Vietnam veteran was arrested and charged with the murder of Charles St. Denis and Steven Bryant. Dresher was arrested while trying to leave the country and Kirtananda Swami’s fingerprints were found on the cash that was in his possession. The US Attorney William Kolibash thought that he had the Swami dead to rights, but Dresher swore that Kirtananda Swami had not hired him to kill St. Denis and Bryant. Dresher instead claimed that he had killed St. Denis and Bryant on his own for blaspheming his guru as authorized by his faith.
In January of 1987, the FBI and the West Virginia State Police raided the New Vrindavan Hare Krishna Community charging their leader Keith Ham aka Kirtananda Swami with conspiracy to commit murder, racketeering, fraud, copyright infringement, and being a homosexual child abuser. New Vrindavan then closed the Nandagram School that my brothers and sisters and I once attended, and all the Hare Krishna children were sent into the Marshall County public schools.
Now everyone at Sherrard Jr. High School was talking about how the “the critter kids” would be coming to our school and no one seemed happy about it. The said critters smelled bad, they were dirty and lazy and they stole. I knew that once our sisters Radha, Sarasvati and Saci, and our brothers Syamantaka, and Krishna Das started riding the bus with us our cover would be blown. None of us were fat and we looked so much alike we stuck out like sore thumbs. Everyone would know we were “critters” too.
The dreaded day finally arrived. We were the last house at the end of Stulls Run Road and so the school bus picked us up first. Everyone else would get on after us. First there was Gopal Crocker who went by the name “Paul”, then there were the Prins, Chaitanya and his sister Nityananda, the Cleavers Sudarshana and Radhastami and then the Hertz’s Nama, Vasudeva and Ve. They were all well-dressed, the girls in cotton dresses and the boys in jeans and button-down shirts all from Hills Department Store in Benwood. They were very polite, nodding and smiling to each person who looked at them as they passed. A few of the locals even offered them a seat next to them. No one on the bus called them names or made fun of them that day. I was actually moved and I started to wonder if I was wrong about the “billies”.
By the spring of 1987 during my freshman year at Sherrard Junior High School year I was feeling great. I was on the Track and Field Team and I hadn’t lost a race all year. On top of that the best thing of all happened to me. I met Lisa Marie Henry. I met Lisa at a party that her older brother Jay threw at their house. Lisa and I were on the track team together, but up till then I hadn’t talked to her at all. That night she had a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 and we decided to drink it together. We talked for a long time about what I absolutely cannot remember. We finally ended up kissing and making out but that was it. I said goodnight but from that moment it was on I was madly in love with her.
Lisa Marie Detamore, Rhonda Travis 1991. If you know about hair you know that I got the chick with the best hair too. I win again.
After I started going out with Lisa things changed. It didn’t happen right away but once Lisa and I started dating things started to get weird at Sherrard. Sometimes when I walked past a group of people, I could swear that I heard someone whisper “Critter” which is what the “bilies” called us, but when I turned back to look to see who said it everyone seemed to be talking and acting as if nothing had happened. They said it quietly under their breath at first. Sometimes I thought that people were saying something else and I was hearing it wrong or that I imagined it, but what could they have said? What rhymes with critter? The way the “billies” said the word made it sound a lot like the word “nigger” but there were no black people in our school so I knew that couldn’t be it.
Once I started smoking weed, and I started to get hip to the way things really were, I actually started to identify with black people. There I was the fastest kid in a school, winning every time I stepped on the field but I was hated for my success. Sure they cheered for me in the stadium when they wanted me to win for them but behind my back they called me names and secretly shunned me. We started listening to rap music and just one cassette tape in particular that we played over and over again. It was NWA’s “Strait out of Compton” and I took the words to heart. I was tired of the bullshit. When I started to hear people say shit behind my back I would go “Randy Moss” on them. I would just beat them up right there and then. I got into a couple fights at the end of my freshman year and got suspended for the last 3 days of school. I had been keeping a lot of stuff bottled inside and now it was starting to come out. I was mad as a hornet and I was out of control. Lisa, I broke up that summer.
By the time I went to John Marshall High School I had started hanging out almost exclusively with Hare Krishna kids that I grew up with at New Vrindavan. My best was Matt Horvath aka Vishnudutta Das who I now call Matty Boy. Matty Boy had left New Vrindavan a year earlier and had gone to Bridge Street Jr high where he played football and wrestled for the Red Devils and then had gone on to Wheeling Park High School. Matty Boy was my best friend and he was also dating my oldest sister Vishaka at the time. There was also JR who lived up the road who would go on to join the Navy and eventually marry my sister Radha. There was also Jacob Lennon aka Jayananda who was our age and Devon Wheeler aka Samba the son of Howard Wheeler AKA Hayagriva who had helped found the New Vrindavan community. These guys didn’t go to school with me but they were my family. I considered them my best friends.
I had some exceptional teachers at John Marshall. My favorite by far was Mr. Montgomery who taught Phys Ed and Sports Journalism. He also refereed girls’ basketball games and regaled us with the tales of the ladies’sportsmanship, never missing a chance to humorously point out that the girls were just better, smarter people than us guys. I was also a student in Harold Vitale’s History Honors class and was therefore made a member of the Chester Greenwood Club. The Chester Greenwood History Club and the Kappa Alpha fraternity are the only organizations that I have ever been asked to join and I belong to them till this day. I graduated from John Marshall High School in the Spring of 1990 and enrolled at West Virginia University that fall.