Memories of MK-Ultra is a novel based upon the author's actual experiences. Because of the topic, I have included 3 videos, more available, from YouTube, together with the book description from the book seller. Millions already knew about the atrocities placed upon the Jewish Population under the regime of Hitler. Even when the War was over, there was an ongoing program under governmental action stated to "study" what had occurred and what could be done to prevent such actions in the future. The study was under the auspices of the Central Intelligence Agency. World domination has been a goal of many and various countries since the beginning of time. These attempts have been initiated by men called Strongmen. Defined as a leader who rules by the exercise of threats, force, or violence. There have been attempts to overthrow countries who have achieved freedom for its people, especially. These attempts, as of now, include Ukraine, Israel, et. al.
Inspired by the Author's Actual Experiences
The mystery of what they endured as children took a lifetime to unravel.Tommy, Beth, and Curtis Matthews are young children forced to take part in life-altering experiments in the late 1950s. They are placed in MK-ULTRA, a covert CIA mind-control program that is designed to create super soldiers or spies. The experience dramatically impacts their lives, but they don’t remember any of it—at least not right away. As Beth, Tommy, and Curtis Matthews come of age through the turbulent 60s and into the 80s, invisible strings pull them toward their preordained destinies.
Dr. Rudolph Holtzmann, the Nazi-trained psychiatrist in charge of their CIA program, harbors a secret agenda to turn Tommy into a future world leader, but Holtzmann's work is compromised by dangerous forces surrounding him and by one of his experimental subjects, a Mexican boy with shamanic gifts.
When the MK-ULTRA program is aborted, the siblings are left deeply damaged without access to the memories that can free them. It takes Curtis's psychotic breakdown and Beth's startling vision to open up the pathways to their buried past. These developments lead to the detective work of Lynn Snyder, a diligent therapist—but will it be enough to unravel the hidden tapestry of deception?
The first book of a trilogy, Memories of MK-ULTRA opens a window into the multiple dimensions of the human mind and soul and forces us to question our limitations in understanding reality itself.
~~~
Since we engage in trauma-based mind control,
this practice fits in with our program.”
The chair sat in the center of an otherwise empty room. Behind Holtzmann stood his aide, Bauer, holding a butcher knife, poised to inflict whatever torment his master commanded. The next phase of 24’s programming would begin. Holtzmann went back and forth on whether to start it. From a family bloodlines standpoint, 24 was one of the best four-year-olds to come through the doors of the Gateway School—as the Brüderschaft made unequivocally clear. Unfortunately, the boy’s programming met with one setback after another, and any sane scientist would write him off as an unjustifiable risk. Yet Holtzmann remained hopeful. 24’s behavior was almost normal. He scared easily, especially if he glimpsed Kunz, and he developed a slight stutter. But he displayed resilience too. No matter what happened, he came back the next day replenished, as if a miracle wand whisked his traumas away. Holtzmann had decided it’d be worth it to continue the programming, having finished one key phase already. After several rounds of electroshock, he’d hypnotized 24 with the suggestion his destiny was to become president, associating it with rock ‘n’ roll music. But there must be a threat as well—the warning of a dire fate if 24 didn’t succeed. Nothing fueled ambition better. Holtzmann would associate the threat with things 24 would see in everyday life, like clocks, stoves, knifes, bathtubs, birds, fires, and so on. Holtzmann smiled. “Tommy, what do you want to become when you grow up?” 24’s eyes grew dull, his voice robot-like. “President.” “Excellent. Do you know what will happen to you if you don’t become president?” 24 shook his head. “I’ll tell you. In the future, there is a presidential election, but you’re not in it. You’ve never run for president and never will. You failed to carry out your life’s mission. You failed to defeat Communism and free Eastern Europe. As a result, someone will slice your neck open with a butcher knife.” He paused, watching 24’s eyes dilate into blue orbs, and said, “I see a knife above you now.” Bauer gripped a fistful of the boy’s yellow hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat to the blade, which loomed like a guillotine ready to fall. 24’s eyes grew enormous, almost popping out of their sockets, as he gaped at the butcher knife glittering in the overhead light. Somewhere outside, a dog barked. The knife inched down. 24 struggled, kicking his legs and pinwheeling his arms, while his jaws worked, as if trying to scream. “There is no escape for you, Tommy. You should have done what we told you. You should have become president, freed Eastern Europe, and destroyed Communism. You should have—” 24 shrieked. Holtzmann winced. “Okay, okay. You don’t have to die, but you must make a promise.” The boy continued shrieking. “Stop and listen.” The command didn’t register. “Take the knife away,” Holtzmann demanded. Bauer moved the knife behind his back. 24 fell silent, his eyes glassy. “That’s better,” Holtzmann said. He gazed into the boy’s eyes and felt a sudden warmth for this youth who’d one day free East Germany and Eastern Europe from Communism. A sort of fatherly love crept into him . . . until he noticed something was wrong. 24 stared back with mute indifference. He’d fallen into a catatonic state. “Verdammt.” If Kunz hadn’t committed murder in front of 24, this would’ve never happened.
When you bomb the houses of bad people, you’ve done something good—in fact, you’ve done something so good you’ll make God happy.
You want to make God happy, don’t you?”
January 1960—Magdalene County, Maryland Life was good—almost magical. At least, it felt like it to Tommy as he stood beside Dad in their backyard on a cold and clear winter day. “You put the trash in this way,” Dad said while he stuffed smelly garbage into a large, mesh-wire can. “Don’t let any of it drop to the ground.” Yesterday had been Tommy’s sixth birthday, and Dad said, “You’re old enough to help burn the trash.” Tommy was thrilled. He’d done a lot of things with Dad since they returned from Germany five months ago. “I’m delighted you’re all back,” Dad kept saying. “I felt so lonely and miserable without you.” Mom acted better too and teased with Dad in ways Tommy had never noticed before. Thankfully, Beth had recovered from the strange sickness that overcame her during their hike to the castle. The German doctor who treated Beth never came up with a diagnosis, other than to repeatedly mumble, “Sonderbar.” “We need to make room for more trash,” Dad said while shoving more garbage into the trashcan. He emptied another load of rubbish from a paper sack. Next, he would light a fire, let the trash burn for a while, then throw the ashes down a gully a few yards away. Tommy had watched Dad burn trash countless times—one of the many neat things they did in the country. The Matthews had moved into their new home in Magdalene County last year. A small, white clapboard house, it stood amid a cluster of trees on Rural Route 49, which stretched over one of the many hills lining the Magdalene River. The house didn’t overlook the river though. It was too far down the road to have a view. The big houses where the rich people lived on Jackson Road held the magnificent views. But a brief walk down from their house led to the sandy beaches by the saltwater river, which emptied into the Chesapeake Bay. Jackson Road ran alongside the river, and, if you turned left, you’d soon arrive at Magdalene Junior College, where Dad worked as the librarian. A forest ran up to the Matthews’ backyard, and their dogs loved to roam through it. They’d arrived there with only one dog, Constantine, but it didn’t take long to pick up two other strays, which they named after much talk Pentonia and Fluffy.
Tommy discovered the fun of country living after returning from Germany, which for reasons that now puzzled him he didn’t remember doing when they first moved here. He and Curtis now played make-believe games in the forest, swam in the Magdalene River, and raced their bikes up and down Route 49. They enjoyed other delights too. Beth told endless ghost stories, showing off her drawings of the scariest scenes, often bragging she could see ghosts. But neither Tommy nor Curtis believed her. “Stay clear,” Dad said, “so I can light the fire.” “Can I do it?” Tommy asked. “No, it’s too windy.” “Please, I’ll be careful.” “Oh, all right. Here’s the matchbox.” Tommy took the matches. In his mind’s eye, he transformed the garbage-stuffed trashcan into a grand city. He lit the first match, imagining it was a firebomb, and dropped it on top of a squashed cereal box, pretending it was a magnificent church. He stared, spellbound, while the flames spread. Lighting another match, he tossed it on a crumpled newspaper, fancying it was an elementary school. He smiled, feeling a warm glow in his chest. He hated kindergarten and feared first grade would be worse. Yes, this beat destroying toy cities. He and Curtis continued the bombing games they’d begun in Germany and built cities to destroy almost daily. Their pastime bothered Beth. “The excitement you have bombing cities is sick,” she said. But her comments didn’t stop them. “Frank,” Mom shouted from the back porch, “Greg Weaver’s on the phone.” “Tell him I’m coming,” Dad said then faced Tommy. “Watch the fire. Make sure the sparks don’t fly into the trees, and come and get me if they do.” “Okay, Dad, I’ll be real careful.” “Good, I’ll be back soon.” He marched off. Tommy didn’t think he’d be back soon, since Dad and his best buddy, Mr. Weaver, could talk for hours. Tommy liked his wife, Mrs. Weaver, who babysat Beth, Curtis, and him whenever Mom and Dad did grown-up stuff. He returned his gaze toward the trashcan as it burst into flames, the flickering fire matching his blazing excitement within. While the smoke blew against his face, he stood in a trance until the last flames flickered out. He didn’t plan to tell anyone about his new game. It was a secret thing.
Crenshaw held up his classified paper. “American psychiatrists report outstanding success in using electroshock on schizophrenic patients to erase pathological thinking patterns, so they can replace them with rational thoughts. We’re using electroshock similarly. Erase the memories and beliefs we don’t want and replace them with those we do.” Crenshaw tossed the classified paper down. “But there’s no need to stop there. Assaulting the brain with psychoactive drugs, psychological trauma, isolation, and the like can also put the mind into a suggestible state. The mind may even fracture into pieces, giving us the chance to create sub-personalities.” Crenshaw grinned. “We can then plant secret missions in the sub-personalities unknown to the primary personality. Such tactics will ensure our spies, saboteurs, and assassins are unaware of the clandestine assignments we give them, so they’ll have nothing to divulge during interrogations.” Holtzmann took in a slow breath. “So how do I fit in?” Crenshaw lowered his voice. “We’ve experimented predominately with adults, but we want to expand our experiments with children beyond those in mental hospitals, juvenile halls, and with disadvantaged backgrounds. It’s vital we create super soldiers and spies for the future. Given your experience with the Hitler Youth, we think you’d be ideal to lead this effort.” “You have my interest,” Holtzmann said. “How will you structure this effort?” “We’ve created a private entity called the Gateway School. We’ll funnel funds to it through a bogus foundation and various front groups that we’ll camouflage in our records.” Crenshaw leaned forward. “We have four conditions if you accept our offer. First, since you’re currently juggling a professorship at the University of Leipzig with a private psychiatric practice in Germany, we want you to juggle your work for the CIA with a psychiatric practice here. If people ask you what you do, you can honestly say you’re a practicing psychiatrist, and any investigations would bear that out.” “And your other conditions?” “You’ll report to me. We’ll provide your test subjects and staffing, and you’ll implement the experiments we want. We will borrow many from promising MK-ULTRA subprojects involving adults. Any other questions?” “One. With America’s undisputed military might, wouldn’t the Gateway School become dispensable at the first hiccup?” Crenshaw sucked in his cheeks then exhaled. “Not a chance. In the early days of World War II, a lot of us in the military and intelligence community feared Germany and Japan would clobber us. Our military was weak. Nothing we did in the early going worked. And you could see defeat growing in our soldiers’ eyes.” Crenshaw shook his head. “It scared us shitless. If we’d lost, fascism would’ve engulfed the planet and destroyed our country. We vowed never to fall behind again. Given the nuclear arsenals of the United States and Soviet Russia, no one can win a nuclear exchange. But one side can win a psychological contest. We’re convinced that’s how the Cold War will be decided, and the Russians and Chinese are ahead. If it means using unsavory methods to catch up, so be it. Our nation’s survival depends on it.” Holtzmann accepted Crenshaw’s offer to lead the Gateway School as the Brüderschaft instructed him. But Holtzmann believed Americans had a tendency to go overboard with the latest rage, be it teenagers listening to appalling music or the CIA trying to outwit the communists. Now, eighteen months after their initial meeting, Holtzmann considered Crenshaw’s technique of unrelenting shocks to the brain via electroshock, drugs, isolation, and other methods to be cruel and useless, no more than a zombie-producing machine. Holtzmann proposed his own approach, based on an ageless knowledge he perfected during his years with the Hitler Youth, and luckily Crenshaw agreed. Holtzmann planned to use one on subject 24 as soon as Reba Baldwin arrived. But today he was obliged to stick with a milder version of Crenshaw’s technique. Helmut Bauer, Holtzmann’s heavyset aide, was fetching subject 25, the Matthews toddler, and Holtzmann would try to transform him into a fighting machine. After two days of electroshock and sleep deprivation—as opposed to weeks as Crenshaw prescribed—the boy’s brain should be susceptible to mold. Holtzmann planned to hypnotize 25 with the suggestion he was a born soldier then reinforce it with tape-recorded messages. He wanted to maintain the illusion he was dedicated to developing super soldiers and spies. After a sudden knock, his study door swung open, and Bauer stepped in with 25. Holtzmann rose from his desk and stepped toward the boy. What a waste.
Two weeks later, Mom peered through the front picture window on a snowy January morning. “It looks like a winter wonderland out there,” she said. Tommy, Beth, and Curtis stood beside her in the living room of their country house, decked out with the same green sofa, two blue chairs, and the great cuckoo clock from their old house in Arlington Park. “I wanna play in the snow,” Curtis hollered as he bounced about on the wooden floor, rattling a china bowl on the coffee table. Mom turned from the window. “Settle down, Curtis. Don’t you want to listen to another record from our new collection? We’ll go out when it’s warmer.” Mom and Dad had ordered an album set called The Wonders of Music. When it arrived yesterday, Mom played the children’s songs, patriotic tunes, and American folksongs. Tommy liked them all. “I wanna play another record.” “Yeah, me too,” Beth said. Curtis shrugged, apparently not too bothered the music won out over the snow. Mom thumbed through the album jackets, each covered with happy, singing faces. “So, which one?” She paused. “How about Beer Barrel Polka?” “What kinda music is that?” Tommy asked. “You’ll see.” She slid the glossy record out of its jacket and placed it on their blue and white portable record player. Suddenly, a bouncy melody blared out. Nobody danced at first, then suddenly they started at the exact same time. With complete abandonment, the three kids lunged into a wild dance, shaking the hardwood floor. They swirled about, leapt in the air, and wobbled heads and arms, like rag dolls shaken silly by a child. They burst into giggles while their faces turned goofy. Mom’s mouth dropped. If it’d just been Curtis, she probably wouldn’t have reacted—he had a habit of losing himself in physical exhilaration—but Tommy and Beth didn’t go nuts at the flip of a switch. Without thinking, Tommy twirled and twisted his body while shaking his head, arms, and legs—as if under a spell. He didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, until the song ended. Then he collapsed, panting, on the floor. So did Beth and Curtis. “What brought that on?” Mom asked. “I wanna hear the next one,” Tommy said. “Yeah, yeah. Another one,” Curtis shouted. The following song started, and they jumped to their feet again and frolicked while the knickknacks on the metal bookcase clanged about, as if in the midst of an earthquake. Mom leaned back and watched them lose themselves in the lively music. They carried on for three more songs before they tumbled, exhausted, to the floor. Though struggling to catch his breath, Tommy never felt so alive. It reminded him of those times when he ran through the forest without worrying about today or tomorrow, feeling a part of everything. After a while, they went out in the snow and had a fine time building a snowman family, decorating them with clothes from the front hall closet, a gray coat for the dad, a plaid scarf for the mom, and red mittens for the kids. Mom took a picture as they stood before their grand creation. Although their high spirits had faded, a pleasant feeling lingered in Tommy’s chest, and when they came inside, he didn’t want to play bombing games or burn the trash. Mom asked him once more why they’d broken into the wild dancing, but he couldn’t think of an answer. She smiled. "Maybe it’s in your German blood."
It is hard for me and, I am sure, many others, to learn for the first time that, during my lifetime, the government was involved in research activity in which children were the participants. Sure, by now, I had learned that research had been done on adult soldiers--and that was bad enough! Reading this book may give many of you information that, in many ways, you would prefer never to have known. Even as I finished the book, I didn't want to write about it until after the celebration of Christmas, in all of its many different forms, in addition to spotlighting the birth of Jesus Christ...
Simply because the use of religion has been used in many ways to induce fear, often leading to violence...
Still, now in, what will soon be 2025, it is hard to accept exactly what is being done here in America and across the world... Why do these things happen over and over and over? In my opinion, these types of things occur under the guise that it is for the good of the country (or, as one quote above stated, "for God." As information is being distributed and available more than ever before, we learn just how much we have strayed from God's guidance to Love Our Neighbor...To Speak Truth.
Indeed, as we examine all history, we soon conclude that religion has been a major, if not the only reason, to which we can attribute what is done when man turns against...man... As I read this book, I was often reminded of what has happened in America, outwardly, from about 2015. I'll be sharing my correlations as I write...
And so it was that, a Nazi-trained psychiatrist was put in charge of the research project initiated through the CIA. As we read, we learn that he, himself, has specific goals that are beyond those within the project he was heading... But we also learn that others have concurrent activities with these same research subjects, are led by others... which could affect, if not damage the results of the project initially planned... But what does that mean?
Yarborough uses one family as the central point of this novel. That family has three children of different ages and the parents have allowed their children to attend a special school--Gateway School. One of the leaders involved explained it this way: “We’ve guaranteed the Gateway School will create fantastic futures for their kids and offered them a nice sum of money. They gulped it all down.”
The children were assigned numbers and for many were known only by that number. A chapter begins entitled Tommy's (24) Introduction - Are You Sure What's Real? Indeed that is the singular reflection of what you will be reading... How will Tommy know what is real? In relation to today? Half of America knows for a fact that not all Americans are getting the same information. This is being done through various means, including news agencies. Is it not a fact, then, that the brain manipulation that was done through the Gateway School, was that they used drugs and music, for instance, to affect the minds of each child... and was not openly known to the recipients--some not even old enough to comprehend what was happening! A much more heinous activity... One interaction is shared of a child (24) after he had gone back to his home:
The next day, during lunch, Sheri walked up to Tommy in the cafeteria and handed him his engraved ring. He started. “Why are you giving me this?” “Nita wants to break up with you.” “How come?” Sheri avoided his gaze. “Nita says you never kissed her and figures you don’t care for her much.” He flinched, as if she called him a nasty name. “Okay,” he said then stalked off, experiencing a mixture of rejection, embarrassment, and shame that Sheri—and probably everyone else at school—knew of his failure. That night, wallowing in humiliation, he thrashed around in his bed, pretending to be in the mouth of a monstrous creature. He still engaged in the destructive imaginary games he started in Maryland. Now, while he stroked himself, he imagined the creature’s massive jaws chomping down. He kept it up longer than normal until a substance shot out of his penis. At first, it felt good. Then creepy. Did he do something wrong? Confused, he suspected it dealt with sex. He scrambled out of bed to fetch the book Mom once bought him, entitled What Every Boy and Girl Should Know. He turned on the light, found it on a shelf, and settled on the floor, skimming uncomfortably through its illustrated pages—he never dared read it before. After a few pages, he learned he masturbated, except boys usually did so when fantasizing about girls. He held the book to his chest and pondered his sexuality. He wasn’t normal. Randy and Paul constantly talked about girls and couldn’t wait to get the latest Playboy, so they could gawk at the naked women with their big breasts and shapely behinds then hand the magazine to Tommy, oozing, “Look at her boobs, man.” Although he faked delight, the pictures repulsed him, and he barely glanced at them. Did he like boys rather than girls? He didn’t believe so. The dread created by those pictures matched the dread he experienced in the boy’s locker room, where he hated undressing around other boys. He’d wrap a towel around his waist whenever he left the shower, hurrying to a corner to dress, averting his eyes to avoid glimpsing another boy’s nakedness. No, his sexual yearnings were linked only to his bizarre and persistent fantasies. Where did they come from? He recalled his strange craving began when he watched the Dobie Gillis episode about cannibals in Maryland. He tossed the book aside, wishing he’d never watched that silly TV show.
It was only later that the project leader learned that some of the children were being used for sex. Various references were made that some of the subjects were later moved into trafficking activities. Some died...
Imagine if you will that one researcher is brainwashing a child about politics related to multiple issues. He or she plays games where a child "wins" the game if they succeed in blowing up a town or a school. Imagine, also, that some subjects will be taught to associate their favorite songs with sexual activities... Note that I am being purposely vague because the book goes into detail, while I don't want to give too much away. Certainly it is, or should be enough, to say that multiple directions from multiple people related to very personal issues will lead to a child's attitudes and beliefs later in life. One direction in particular was something that was to be done many years in the future by one specific boy, with all of his training being geared toward that final act. 24 was being groomed to become president of the United States...
I cannot help but point out that for many, what the former president and new president has been doing for years is using language cues that have been proven to become acts by his followers (MAGA). Indeed, many of those in prison for their acts during January 6th stated clearly that they believe they were acting on direction of the president. Is that any different than what was done to the children? To a great extent, yes. it is different. Only by the fact that the children were being controlled through various methods--hypnotism, drugs--while MAGA chose MAGA, even if some didn't realize that they were being lied to. Indeed, one of the factual legal actions that proved lies were occurring by Fox TV was that they were sued and granted payment of a multi-million dollar penalty for libel.
As I read, I wondered whether this as a non-fiction book might have been less explosive, but also informative. Yet, I know from my own reading of thousands of books that writing as fiction allows readers to get involved with the characters. Because of this, I believe that this novel, although extremely difficult to read, was the best choice. I recommend it highly for a variety of reasons. But, mainly, because we must prepare ourselves for now and the future when this type of activity could very well be done again. The incoming president has already stated that he will seek retribution for what he claims was done to him without reason... In the book, 24 did not become president. To me that means that there remained to many of those children, some semblance of reasoning of facts. But how many were significantly changed by such manipulation and brain control?
I cannot help but think about my own personal opinion of Pro Life versus Pro Choice... You see, when somebody forces sex on a child, teen, or a woman of any age, it is a violation that our minds cannot accept. I know, it happened to me, and I was affected for the rest of my life. It seems to me that those who want to force a child into a situation where it is not wanted will mostly fail. Mk-Ultra took child abuse to its greatest and worst type of control--mind control... Sex was used, drugs were used. God was used for purposes that were/are unbelievable. We know what happens thereafter from the government's standpoint... Examples recently include, that children were separated from their parents, sexual abuse occurred, children all over the world are being trafficking and being forced into sex of all kinds... A child is never prepared for sex, yet it goes on... During the last year, at least one child was identified in the news who was raped and had to be taken to another state to have a safe abortion done. MAGA stated that those children should have been carried to term, no matter whether it was from incest or not. This issue alone has caused a major division within the country. Imagine what could happen if those in power choose to deal with children even more than they already have been...
We CANNOT afford to go backwards! Sexual exploitations is, in my opinion, much worse than an abortion in early stages which is possible if the law is not part of the equation, but rather a medical decision.
This book is well written. It is presented as a story--a fictional story, yes, but one that could be written about any of the women during the past years that have been sexually assaulted in one way or another and be raped by those who choose drugs for the purpose of making the woman forget, often not totally... or payment for underage sex... Some victims never get over it. Some who commit this act are never held accountable! It is a losing battle, it seems...
What I know is that the government should never be involved! Unless for legal actions for accountability...
This book is the first in a trilogy. (BTW I didn't use the entire music playlist for the book...)_ I hope those in government and those who were outside government paying for the research will be held accountable... The use of children for any purpose is wrong. Love is the only action that should be tolerated by this world...and surely is what God expects!
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