Dying Manson follower denied compassionate release

Maybe it was the 16 rips with the knife on 8 1/2 -month pregnant Sharon Tate.

Maybe it was tasting the victim's blood and then using it to write the word "pig" on the front door.

Maybe it was telling the woman who begged for mercy that there would be no compassion for her or her unborn baby on a night nearly 40 years gone that defined a quintessential California nightmare.

For whatever the reason, the Board of Parole Hearings said no Tuesday to Susan Atkins, the "Sadie" of Charles Manson lore whose friends and family begged the state to let her out of prison in her dying days on a compassionate release.

No explanation was given for the board's 11-0 decision.

"It is what it is," said California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation spokeswoman Terry Thornton. "The Board of Parole Hearings does not disclose its reasons."

Atkins, 60, is dying of brain cancer. She's down to one leg – she had one amputated. She's paralyzed on her right side. She can't sit up in bed and can barely talk.

Since March 18, it has cost the state more than $1.4 million – $1,461,724.17, to be exact – to care for and watch over Atkins at an undisclosed, outside hospital.

Even the prison doctors at the California Institution for Women in Corona say she'll probably be dead within six months.

Her trip to eternity will follow the horrific endings she, Manson and the rest of his "family" inflicted on the actress Tate, coffee heiress Abigail Folger, hairstylist Jay Sebring, filmmaker-playboy Wojciech Frykowski, the Tate groundskeeper's friend Steven Parent, musician Gary Hinman, ranch hand Donald "Shorty" Shea, and grocery executive Leno LaBianca and his wife, Rosemary.

Relatives of the murder victims made sure they were not forgotten at the 1 1/2-hour-long hearing at the board's headquarters in downtown Sacramento.

"You will hear various opinions and perspectives today," said Jay Sebring's nephew, Anthony DiMaria. "But you will hear nothing from the nine people who lie in their graves and suffered horrendous deaths at the hands of Susan Atkins."

DiMaria and four others, including two prosecutors, spoke against the compassionate release request.

Eighteen supporters of Atkins spoke Tuesday on behalf of the dying woman, a central figure in the Manson family cult that murdered the nine people over two summer months in 1969, from the canyons above Hollywood to the deserts and hillside movie lots of the surrounding L.A. region.

They cited her conversion to Christianity, her Bible study in prison. They cited her work with other prisoners and helping them straighten out their lives. They cited her difficult upbringing.

Mostly, they cited her disappearing health.

"Given Susan's present physical condition and diminished capacity, with her health expected to continue to decline in her last days, there's no way you can consider Susan to be a threat to society," said her younger brother, Steven, who, along with his two teen daughters, implored the board to release Atkins.

The problem, the friends and family said, was Manson, the wannabe rock star whose career faltered while he picked up lost runaways like stray dogs up and down the California coast. Unable to ignite the "Helter Skelter" race war he sought to incite with the killings, he's now locked down in the protective housing unit at Corcoran State Prison, with possibilities for parole.

Independent filmmaker and Atkins friend Micki Dickoff told the board that Manson turned a suburban kid into a mass killer by dosing her regularly with LSD. Dickoff said Manson manipulated her insecurities and isolated her, even changed her sense of self-identity.

Rory White, a self-described artist and educator who works with clients in the Skid Row section of Los Angeles, told the board he knew Atkins back when she was running with the Manson gang.

"She was very intelligent," White said. "She had this compassionate side. But it would flip into this very clear cult-like, kind of zombie-like, robot-like state."

Steven Atkins said their mother died when Susan was 14, that their father was a drunk who deserted the family.

"That left Susan to run the streets, and left her vulnerable to sharks like Charlie Manson," Atkins said.

Patrick Sequeira, assistant head deputy of the Los Angeles District Attorney's Office, detailed for the board the Manson family's carnage. In the end, authorities counted 102 knife thrusts in the nine murder victims, not to mention shootings and other mayhem.

Sequeira put Atkins right in the middle of it.

"Miss Atkins is one of the most notorious mass murderers in United States history," he said. "The horrific nature of her crimes alone justifies denial of the request for compassionate release."

A couple of Atkins' people correctly said it was her statements to cellmates at the old Sybil Brand jail in Los Angeles that broke the case.

Sequeira said authorities offered her immunity to testify against Manson and the rest, but that she rejected it – at risk of the death penalty, which she later received. It was rescinded for her and every other condemned inmate in the state at the time in 1972 by the California Supreme Court. The death penalty has since been reinstated.

In prison custody, Sequeira said, "there is no reason to believe she cannot receive appropriate, dignified, compassionate medical care."

"To grant her a release would be an affront to the people of this state, the California justice system, the family and the next of kin of the many murder victims," the prosecutor said.

Afterward, Sequeira said his office was pleased by the board's decision.

Next year, Patricia Krenwinkel, 60, another of the principal defendants, comes up for parole again.

So far, the core participants in the killing sprees, including Charles "Tex" Watson and Leslie Van Houten, along with Atkins, Manson and Krenwinkel, have been denied parole a combined 57 times.

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