Powerful damn hongry. Plus: our man in Red Hook.

Above: Mimeos today, Ruskian origami tomorrow.

Meanwhile, back in the Johnson White House, April 1968.

Hours have passed. Rusk is sitting in a corner, creating origami cranes from mimeopgraphed copies of the Gulf of Tonkin resolution. President Johnson's status re: the tacos is upgraded from "damn hongry" to "powerful damn hongry." He makes a number of colorful references to a "summit meeting with mah foot and [Helms's] ass."


Above: "It don't look like no damn taco I ever seen."

Johnson is furious that he is being made a fool of. After six hours with nary a phone call from Helms, Johnson impulsively bars Mexican food from ever being served in the White House in perpetuity, and demands that master pierogie chefs be smuggled in by the CIA from behind the Iron Curtain, and appointed to Official White House Chef (Non-Barbeque Division) on an ad-hoc basis. The resulting termination of Chef Don Pancho, as history has well-recorded, will have calamitous results just a few years later.


Above: ¿Dónde está usted, Don Pablo?

Meanwhile, in an unheated steel mesh warehouse in Red Hook, Brooklyn, W.J. Dickgraber, long since removed from CIA's payrolls, works furiously on his latest set of unauthorized Eva Hesse forgeries, which he sells on the contemporart arts black market to fatuous California millionaires with lapsed subscriptions to Artforum magazine. Dickgraber, in an ill-timed burst of conscious, split from the CIA during the Kennedy Administration, furious that newly-appointed Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara downgraded his black-ops role in the Nash blackmail project from creating mock-ups of the naked sobbing man, to merely handling the interior decorating details used in the couches Nash would be photographed on (to add insult to injury, President Kennedy also used these couches as rendevous locations for several of the less-noteworthy trysts in his administration).


Above: Dickgraber's post-Eisenhower handiwork. CIA focus groups found Nash's Kennedy-era blackmailings to be "free-spirited," "modish" and "now."

The funds from the Hesse forgeries will be used to purchase back any extant blackmail photos from various collectors of the perverse, and begin to unsully the name of "Dickgraber."

Meanwhile, Nash has joined noted anarchist rock band the Fugs as a flautist. His further association with New Left is noted by higher-ups at Foggy Bottom.

Nash's kindly ex-Nazi doctor is hired as a technical advisor on "Hogan's Heroes," and will later be singled out as a "person of interest" in Bob Crane's death in 1978.


Above: Kill for peace?

Johnson and Johnson: A Tense Situation

April, 1968. Johnson kicks off one of his huge leather shoes and hurls it unmercifully at Rusk, who has just attempted to question the President's judgment on the matter of replacing Mexican food with pirogies. Johnson's tantrum was later memorialized in the feature film "Clear and Present Danger"

Johnson: How dare you come in here and lecture me?
Rusk: How dare you sir?

Johnson: How dare you come into this office and bark at me like some little junkyard dog?! I'm the president of the United States and I need a [expletive] pirogie!

Rusk's glasses are irrevocably broken in the assault.


Above:Johnson (next to Rusk's unattended sportcoat) in a fit of grief after the still-classified incident with the loafer.

(An unidentified white house staffer was later overheard commenting that Helms would never do something "so...so...gauche." To which another replied, "You mean those hideous loafers?" A third chimed in, "Exactly.")

---

Johnson signs Operation Plan 34-g, which authorizes the Department of Defense to use military force to return Helms and the food to the white house "come hell or high water." With Rusk cowering in the corner and several of the Joint Chiefs looking on with calculated indifference, Helms and an intern suddenly barge into the room over the objections of Secret Service agents, carrying not a small fortune in Mexican food, but rather, a single pirogi wrapped in a napkin. The undersecretary of the Navy quickly eats what he believes to be the only copy of Operation Plan 34-g.


Above: Helms' pirogi napkin as it now resides in the national archives. Initially unbeknownst to others, the napkin contained the highlights of a secret CIA communique that Helms received during his haircut and shave. The communique outlined Johnson's change of heart re: oval office ethnic cuisine and held a complete copy of Op. Plan 34-g. Upon receiving this briefing, Helms quickly contacted a CIA asset who helped him destroy the Mexican food and craft a truly fine example of the now popular Soviet delicacy.


Helms quickly unwraps one end of the package and takes a monstrous bite as he leans over the table toward Johnson. Several outraged Secret Service agents attempt to lunge at Helms, but Johnson, rising from his chair, waves them away. "Son, why in the livin' hell would you eat that damned thing right in front of me? Do I take your meanin' to be that {mockingly} you're a little upset? {To Rusk} Some [expletive] Great Society here, huh, Dean? I'm an old man with an entire government falling on me and I've got the Director of the CIA tryin' to piss up my leg about a goddamned burrito?!"

Helms continues to mash the pirogi into his mouth, barely stopping to chew.

Johnson fumbles with his waistband and looks Helms in the eye. "Dick, I want you to understand that I will not have any of this shit in my White House....So we're gonna settle this right now. You might think that you have a bigger tallywacker than the president...but I can assure you that you are wrong." Johnson drops his suit pants and pulls out his, well, Johnson. "Pony up, asshole." Helms stares in wonder at the president of the free world's member, drops the last bite of the pirogi on the floor, and promptly begins to vomit.


Above: Helms later tells Nixon: "He literally tried to make me suck on his bishop!"


Johnson, pleased, returns his pants to a respectable state. Rusk is heard whimpering from a corner. Johnson walks around his desk and pats Helms on the back. "Come, Dick.. {pausing for effect} We're all headed to Nathan's for a some extra creamy clam chowder. Won't you join us?" Helms continues to vomit, attempting to save his expensive Italian leather loafers. Johnson rallies the remaining staffers in the office and walks through the door, vindicated.

It is not known what characteristic of the president's member caused such a visceral reaction from Helms. Many historians believe that it was not the president's Johnson at all that caused the vomiting, but rather a dose of ipecac placed in the pirogi by Johnson's henchmen.



Above: Johnson was known to carry ipecac in his pants pockets along with a book of matches, a single, masticated band-aid, and on some occasions, a prophylactic.


Indeed, with the state of CIA affairs at the time, and given the superior capabilities of the Secret Service, it seems possible that Johnson could have intercepted Helms' misguided attempt to get back at him. Alas, the truth of the matter may never be known.

---

Meanwhile, Nash uses covert action money and a CIA helicopter to fly members of the Fugs and their entourage to a party at the New Jersey shore town of Asbury Park. At a rental home, Nash has set up a sort of LSD opium den, with red velvet walls and hundreds of pillows. Present at the party is someone Nash has never met before; a comely transsexual barista from the Upper East Side who, despite the present company, has some decidedly conservative political views...


Above, one of the bedrooms in Nash's opium den summer rental house. Note what appears to be a bassinet in the foreground. Was it used for a child, or simply for the more benign purposes of fulfilling Nash's opium fueled sexual fantasies?