A Cowardly AttackTop of Page | Contents | Next Chapter
AT THIS POINT IN MY STORY, I WILL BRIEFLY TELL YOU about what is recognized to be the most contemptible, vicious attack ever made on a man by a competitor. The originator of this attack now lies silent in the tomb -- shot through the head by his small nephew not too long ago. Strange -- passing strange, how the hand of God protects the one who depends upon that Hand for guidance. it is interesting to note that as a result of this attack, every man connected with it has reaped the reward of his perfidy. I shall not go into too much detail as many of the participants are still alive, and still live in Moscow. I don't want to embarrass them by giving you their names and the part each played in this most contemptible of all attacks.
Senator Borah, speaking of this attack, said, "Without question, this has been the most merciless, the most contemptible, and the most vicious attack ever to come to my notice. Just as long as Doctor Robinson needs my help, he shall have it." Had it not been for Senator Borah, the way might have been much harder than it was, although God knows it was hard enough. However, the true spiritual pioneer gets used to hardships and blows, for those things are a foregone conclusion when one attempts to bring to this world a conception of God which does not fit in with the conception held by the existing religious organizations.
The remarkable thing about my case is the unerring and swift retribution which followed in the wake of those misguided individuals who tried to stop this Movement and drive me and mine into some strange land, there to die unknown, or to suffer remorse as long as we lived. Little they knew that the Power of God is behind this Movement and its Founder. Had they known that, they would have thought twice before engaging in such scurrilous attacks.
Let me here recount what happened to those men and the order in which it happened, and you may then ask yourself whether it pays to try to stop a Movement which has God in it. The originator of the attack was shot through the head. He never knew what hit him. His two little nephews from Klamath Falls were visiting in Moscow, and George Lamphere, the originator of these vicious attacks, had taken them out squirrel shooting. On the way home, the boys who were in the back seat of the car, saw a squirrel.
Their twenty-two rifles were loaded, and in their anxiety to shoot the squirrel, one of them had his finger on the trigger. "Uncle George, stop quick. There's a squirrel," said one of the two boys. George stopped quickly, and the sudden braking motion of the car caused the boy's finger to tighten on the trigger, and the bullet entered the base of the brain of George Lamphere. A premature death? Perhaps. Some say a just reward, but who am I to judge?
The second man involved was a former United States Senator. His defeat created a national sensation, for being a New Dealer, and having the active backing of the President and the Cabinet, his re-election seemed assured and his defeat impossible. Yet he was defeated for re-election, and the United States Senator who was helped and backed financially by me was overwhelmingly elected. This Senator is NOT a New Dealer. He will go far in government political circles, however.
The next man who interfered, and who did everything in his power to upset this Movement, was a Lieutenant-Governor. He was badly defeated in the same election which swept the United States Senator to defeat. This man also was a New Dealer and had the blessings of the Democrats on his head. Two State Senators also went down to defeat, and one attorney was up on disbarment proceedings which, as I write this, are still pending. A district attorney was swept out of office, and the newspaper which inspired these attacks, owned then by Lamphere, was merged with my paper last November (1939). There is only one newspaper in Moscow now, and I control that.
As I relate these experiences to you, you will notice that my plan of defeating the enemy was to let him defeat himself. I did not fight back. A special weekly paper was gotten out in an attempt to swing public opinion against me, and while the articles in the paper were criminally libelous and I knew it, and while I was begged to take action, I just sat back and smiled and let these forces which were trying to defeat a Movement of God destroy themselves. That is exactly what they did. I did not make one move of retaliation. I knew they were beaten from the very start. Had these cases been handled any other way, I might have lost. But, recognizing the omnipotent Power of the invisible Spirit, God, in my life and in the Movement, I knew the outcome from the beginning.
There were times when it taxed the ingenuity of Senator Borah to defeat the "enemy," as he called them, but the defeat came, and if ever a man was doubly vindicated, I am that man. There has been lots of foolishness in my life, and I have hurt myself plenty, perhaps, by this foolishness, but there has never been one wrong move made which could possibly hurt anyone else. I have never done one thing which is dishonest. Those "foolish" things I have explained to you in detail, and I let you be the judge, in view of what has happened since, as to whether or not these things were for better or for worse. Anyway, they were my doings, and if there was any suffering to be done as a result of them, I alone suffered.
* * *
In 1933, "Psychiana" was assuming major proportions, and our printing bill was very heavy. It averaged two thousand dollars a month and was all done by George Lamphere's newspaper, The Daily Star-Mirror. For thirty years, this newspaper had dominated, or tried to dominate, the local political field. Naturally, another newspaper was not welcomed, and every attempt was made to keep it out. Honest, legitimate, competitive methods, however, were forgotten. Had they been used, Lamphere probably could have stopped me very easily. He did not know how to handle competition though, and tried by underhand, dirty, contemptible means to get myself and my paper out of the way. Instead, he made me more friends than I ever had before, and the chief reason I made so many friends was because I was smart enough not to fight back. The Latah County and Moscow people liked that. Their sympathies were, and still are, with me.
Two thousand dollars a month was a lot of money to pay out for printing. Yet I did not know how to get around it, as this sum was in addition to our own two multigraph machines which were running those days, three eight-hour shifts. As a matter of fact, in that year, we had three complete crews which worked eight hours each, and then we could not keep abreast of the demand for the Teaching. The place was never closed. Those who did not have the money with which to pay for the Teaching were given it free of charge. I did that until one day the cashier called my attention to the fact that there was so much mail going out to the "free" students that if it kept up another month, we could not operate, for the number of Lessons being sent to those who did not pay was greater than the number sent to those who did pay. Naturally such a situation could not last, so against my wishes I was compelled to discontinue the "free" distribution of Lessons. When someone endows the Movement, I shall go back to that system.
My private study in those days was over Creighton's store in Moscow. I had two little offices in which the personal mail was answered by myself and a secretary. One day a knock came at the door. Opening it, I saw there a short-statured man with a decidedly Indian slant to his features. A big "seegar" was tightly clenched between his teeth. I invited the gentleman in and asked him what I could do for him. "My name's Marineau. I run a little two-by-four weekly newspaper in Elk River," he replied. We shook hands, and I asked him to sit down and talk about what was on his mind. "Waal, I've wanted to meet you for a long time -- heard a lot about you and want to get some of your printing. I've got a good plant, but the Weyerhaeuser Lumber plant is closed down and the town of Elk River is all shot to hell," came back this man by the name of Marineau.
I explained to him that my printing was all being done by the Star-Mirror in Moscow and told him that I did not believe I wanted to send any of it out of town. "Well, hell, I've got to eat as well as Lamphere," came back Marineau. "I'm in Idaho, too, just about fifty miles from Moscow." There was a peculiar Indian glint in this man's eye which I rather liked. Here was a real chap, so giving him a few sheets of the literature on which we were running low, I asked him to go to Elk River and give me quotations. In a few days, Marineau was back with the quotations. Comparing them with the prices I had been paying the Star-Mirror, I saw that they were about half as high. I at once saw, too, that it certainly would save me a lot of money if I could get my printing done at half of what I had been paying.
Looking at Marineau, I said, "What are you trying to do -- bid below cost just to get this printing and then soak me later on?" Picking up his hat, Marineau said, "You're not talking to me. If I can't make twenty-five per cent on your printing, I don't want it." I asked him if he meant that he could make twenty-five per cent on the quoted prices, and he informed me that he did. Then it dawned on me that I had been paying about twice as much for my printing as I should have paid. That meant that I had been losing in the neighborhood of one thousand dollars a month through Lamphere's overcharges. I gave this Indian-looking gentleman, who is, by the way, a one-sixteenth Indian, the orders, and in due time the work came back well done. More orders were sent later.
Putting two and two together, I decided that my best bet was to own a printing plant of my own. A few days later, taking someone with me who knew the value of printing plants, I slipped into Elk River. Had I not known where the town was, I should most certainly have missed it. There is a wonderful electric lumber mill there, closed down, more's the pity. It did not take long to locate the Elk River News, and inside of two minutes it Was all over Elk River that "Doc Robinson is in town looking through the News plant." Bill Marineau was not at home, and we went through the plant, my associate giving me the "low-down" on its value. After awhile Bill floated in, and without wasting words, I asked him what he wanted for this huge metro politan weekly, and he replied, "Oh, I don't know. What'll you gimme fer it?" I replied that I would give him seven thousand dollars. This was acceptable, and I wrote a check and obtained a bill of sale. Bill often says that it took him six months to realize that he had sold his plant to me. That is the way I usually operate -- instantly. I first make up my mind what it is I want and then I go and do it. I have always been like that; I make a big decision spontaneously, where others might haggle and jaggle for a month. I can close a deal in fifteen minutes or less, and I usually come out on the right side of the ledger.
Bill promised to get the plant moved to Moscow at once, so I went back and leased an old garage for the newly acquired "Psychiana" printing plant. In some way or other, as newspapers have a habit of doing, a newspaper in Spokane heard of that sale. The next morning there came out on the front page (for I was news in any Western paper) a picture of myself and a statement that I had bought the Elk River News and was moving it to Moscow to start another newspaper. Nothing was further from my mind. I was not a newspaper man, knew nothing about newspapers, and my whole interest was in bringing to men and women the truths of God, and not in the newspaper business.
Going to work that morning, George Lamphere stopped me outside of the building. He had a copy of the newspaper in his hand. I had not seen the paper that morning. "See here you son-of-a ------," started Lamphere, "I want to talk to you. There's a lot of things you don't know, and by God, I'm going to tell them to you now. I own the newspaper business in this town and am going to keep on owning it. I tell the business men of this county where they'll advertise, and if you go through with this newspaper deal, I'll put you in the federal Penitentiary, and by God, I've got enough political pull to do it." I looked at Lamphere rather interestedly and said, "Are you drinking?" He was a chronic drinker. "Don't make a damned bit of difference if I am. I'm sober enough to tell you where to head in." Looking at him amusedly this time, I said, "Lamphere, I don't know what you are talking about, and I'm a rather busy man, so if you have no objections, l'll leave you now and go to work."
Blocking my way, Lamphere said, "You know goddam well what I'm talking about," and pulling the Spokane paper from his pocket, he showed me the article which stated that I had bought the Elk River News and was moving it to Moscow to engage in the newspaper business. It was news to me. What Lamphere said about "telling the business men of Moscow where they could advertise" was also news. Personally, while I knew there was but one paper here, and had been for about thirty years, I seriously questioned whether Mr. Lamphere controlled all the business houses in Moscow. In fact, I had a decidedly different idea, so standing there, I thought much in a short space of time. Especially did I think about the threat to put me in the Federal penitentiary through political "pull."
Looking Lamphere right in the eyes, I said to him, "Lamphere, I do not know where that paper secured that article -- certainly not from me, for I never have had the faintest notion of putting another newspaper in Moscow. However," I added, "if you think you control the policies of the business men in Moscow, and if you think that you can dictate where they all are to advertise, and if you think you can put me in the Federal penitentiary, I'll give you a chance to do just that, for I do not agree with anything you've said." This interested the man, for it was a fact that with one newspaper he had been able to dominate the local field completely. "Lamphere," said I, "you've given me an idea. Now let me give you a little advice. Go up to your office, take off your coat, and go to work, for I'm putting in a newspaper."
This made him boil. He hit me across the face with the Spokane paper, and then very wisely walked away shouting at me as he did so, "You think I can't put you in the pen, do you? I'll spend my whole fortune doing just that if I have to, and you had better watch out, for I'll get you in the pen if it's the last thing I do." That night, rumors floated back to me from the Elks' Temple, which was Lamphere's hang-out, that he was making open threats that he would put me in the penitentiary, and I was solemnly advised by scores of people not to put in that paper. Evidently they knew Lamphere better than I knew him. However, I do not bluff. I never give nor take a bluff. I did not believe that Lamphere so controlled the Moscow community that he could stop me from putting in another daily paper.
To prove that I was correct in my diagnosis of the local situation, let it be said that the first issue of the paper Marineau and I put out was twenty-six pages against the Star-Mirror's eight pages, and the complete edition was absolutely jammed with advertising. There was little room for news in the paper. More than that, every business house in Moscow, with only three exceptions, advertised in that paper which I called The Daily News-Review. This is not a "Psychiana" newspaper, but a regular daily evening paper which now has the largest circulation in North Idaho. There is nothing I would like better than to tell you all the things that happened while that paper was coming out.
We had an old Campbell press, and each sheet of the twenty-six had to be run through by hand and re-run to print on the other side. Yet that first issue consisted of twenty-six pages, and we delivered over five thousand copies of it. All night long we worked. First Bill fed the press and then I would feed it. Then someone else would feed. Moscow at last knew that it had another newspaper. I personally solicited the advertising, and Lamphere would follow me up one side of Main street and down the other. He threatened every business man in town that "I'll break you if you advertise with that son-of-a----."
The business men, however, seemed to have more confidence in my ability than they had in his, for, as previously stated, last November we "merged" both papers, at my suggestion, and according to my terms. Thus, the famous Moscow "newspaper fight" was ended. The man who instituted the fight was in his grave. A United States Senator was "lame-ducked," a Lieutenant Governor and two State Senators were defeated, one attorney was up for disbarment proceedings, one District Attorney was voted out of office. Moscow is satisfied with its present newspaper set-up, for we give it the very best paper we can. Lamphere gave them the cheapest looking sheet I have ever seen anywhere, but he made a fortune by so doing.
There are a few laughable incidents connected with this "newspaper fight" which I think you would like to hear. They will show you how vicious this fight was, and how terrific was the pressure exerted to "get Doc Robinson." I never did take seriously the Lamphere threat, oft repeated, to "railroad me into the Federal penitentiary." I underestimated the man by so doing. He came very close to doing just that, or worse. I shall leave out of this narrative many things, many names, for I do not desire to embarrass anyone. There is much I could tell, and if I were to tell it, even at this late date, it would be sensational, but I shall refrain. I shall let the dead bury their dead. I hold no animosity toward anyone. I have not the time for that, for this "Psychiana" Movement keeps me as busy as I care to be.
* * *
We engaged the Inland Motor Freight to move the plant of the Elk River News from Elk River to Moscow. It was a big job, and not having enough trucks and trailers in Moscow to do the job, the freight company sent to its Pullman, Washington office ten miles away and borrowed a trailer to assist. When the caravan of printing materials, presses, and like hove into view, I knew something was wrong. Standing outside the garage I had rented was the sheriff, two deputies, the District Attorney, and the Mayor --quite an aggregation to welcome another newspaper into Moscow.
What it was all about, I did not know, but I stood there watching carefully for developments. When the trailer with the Washington license drew up, the sheriff, his deputies, and the rest of the legal lights pounced on that poor driver and took him to the county jail, charging him with driving a Washington truck-trailer in Idaho without an Idaho license, as they had a right to do. Under other circumstances, this poor chap would have been given a "ticket." As it was, he was thrown into jail. He did not stay there long, however, for inside of fifteen minutes I had paid the bail money and secured his release. There was a lot of excitement on the corners of Eighth and Main that day.
Rather an amusing incident occurred which I will relate here. Not only did the officials put the driver of the truck in jail, they confiscated the machinery also. This they put in another garage across the street. Walking up very quietly to the District Attorney, I said, "I suppose you know what you are doing in confiscating my machinery, do you not? "Oh, yes, I know what I'm doing -- that machinery was illegally brought into Idaho, and by God I've confiscated it," he replied. Smiling faintly, I said to him, "Better go look that up, brother. As it is, it might cost this county and yourself rather heavy damages." He evidently thought that over, for a pow-wow was held between the sheriff and him, with the result that he informed me that I could have my machinery. I did not want the machinery in another man's garage, however. I wanted it in mine. The county officers backed out the truck, drove it to our new home, and there unloaded the machinery.
I had secured a little drug store across the street from where this happened. The next "squeeze" movement hit me there. To run this pharmacy I had engaged a young man who was a licensed pharmacist in the State of Washington, but not in Idaho. The law in such cases is that a registered pharmacist in one state may practice his profession in another state by registering with the National Association of Boards of Pharmacy. It usually is about four months before the new certificate is received. The cost is twenty-five dollars. One day this new man, who had complied with the law by sending in his application blank for registry in Idaho, plus the sum of twenty-five dollars, called me up. "The District Attorney is down here and says he is going to have to padlock the place because I am not a registered pharmacist in the State of Idaho." The law gives one the right to practice until the certificate is received, provided the registration with the National Association has been made. Going down to the drug store, I saw the District Attorney who was, at that time, counsel for Lamphere, standing there. As I entered, he said to me, "Doc, I'm sorry, but I'll have to lock this place up. This man is registered in the State of Washington, but he is not registered in the State of Idaho." "Well, why don't you?" I asked. "You need not have sent for me. If you're going to lock it up, you're going to lock it up. You're the District Attorney -- not I." Pulling the key to the store out of my pocket, I handed it to him saying, "Here's the key." He looked at me rather queerly, for he did not know much about me as yet, although he knows lots now. "Doc, you've got something up your sleeve," he said, "What is it?" I muttered something about my discovering that I had better have lots of things up my sleeve in Moscow and said to him, "You lock up this drug store at your own risk and on your own responsibility. If you are acting illegally, you'll pay the bill."
He left, and I had him followed. He went to the office of the other newspaper, and after about thirty minutes returned to the drug store again. "Doc, I don't want to have to lock this store up, and I don't believe I will," he said. I informed him that if it was his duty to lock it up, he had better do it. Evidently he thought better, or was not quite sure I was as big a fool as I looked, for he said, "No, Doc, I'll give you a chance to get an Idaho Licentiate in here, but you do that as quickly as you can." This was pure bluff and an effort to save his face. However, not caring particularly whether he closed it up or not, I called him into the back room, and there hanging on the wall was my own Idaho State Pharmacy License. In addition to that, I showed him the receipt from the National Association which protected the man I had working for me.
Shortly after that, the beautiful flowers which border my home were all pulled up one night and several picayunish attempts were made to make life as miserable as possible. However, the newspaper grew by leaps and bounds.
In the meantime, Lamphere got drunker and drunker. All he could talk about was "putting that son-of-a- ----- in the Federal penitentiary." I could not understand this penitentiary threat, yet he continually made it. On one occasion he told a friend of mine, "That ----- has cost me more than fifteen thousand dollars already, but it won't be long now. I'll bet you five thousand dollars that he is in McNeil's Island before next February." This all came back to me, and I was mystified as to how he was going to get me into the Federal penitentiary. I put most of it down as "booze-talk," but I was mistaken. He meant business. More than one business man warned me, "Lamphere is very vicious. He has lots of money, and he never forgets. He'll keep after you till he gets you." All this was not too nice, for I wanted a free hand with "Psychiana." It was growing very fast and taking every effort I could make, and while all this did not disturb me much, it did keep me constantly alert. These continued threats were somewhat annoying.
One day by the grapevine, I heard of a "secret" conference between a United States Senator, Lamphere, the District Attorney, and two other gentlemen whose names I shall not mention. I really took that conference seriously, and knowing now the lengths to which Lamphere would go to "get" me, I left at once for Washington, D. C., to talk things over with Senator Borah. The Senator informed me that he had been keeping pretty close tab on things, and it seemed that he was in possession of more information than I was. He told me to "lie low" and do nothing, and the first move openly made against me to wire him.
The next day I had a conference with President Roosevelt. The newspaper fight was not mentioned. The President talked with me about "Psychiana." We discussed the teachings of Philip Brooks, and he asked me how progress was being made on Robinson Park. The government had offered to build a large dam, thereby creating a beautiful artificial lake if someone would buy the land and donate it to the city or the county. I bought the land. This was discussed, and when I left, the President shook hands cordially and asked me never to come to Washington without calling on him.
I must mention here a little scheme to secure that lake and keep it in the hands of a few. I nipped that scheme in the bud. A corporation had been formed of a few local men. They were going to put up the money for the lake and park, and they themselves had agreed to keep all the lots immediately adjoining the lake, selling the rest to John Q. Public. Marineau wired me in San Francisco when he got wind of that scheme, and the next day, Saturday, saw me in the office of the Federal Land Bank in Spokane.
A check had already been received for the land from a Moscow gentleman, but I informed the president what the play was. Showing me the check from Moscow, he said, "Is this man in on it?" I replied that he was the originator of the scheme. "Well, he won't get away with that," replied the land bank man. "I'll look into it." I had made up my mind to stop that steal then and there, so pulling a check book from my pocket, I said to the banker, "Is my check as good as his?" He replied that it was, and I closed the deal for the land, agreeing to donate it to Latah County forever, barring the commercializing of the Park. On Monday morning the Moscow gentleman called up the Federal Land Bank and asked why he had not received the deed to the property. He was informed that Doctor Robinson had bought the property two days before. So we have Robinson Park here in Moscow, and all may enjoy it -- not just a chosen few.
* * *
After leaving President Roosevelt, I had lunch with Senator Borah, said good-bye to him, and took the train for Minneapolis where I was scheduled to make an address. On arriving at the Nicollet Hotel, I found there a wire awaiting me from a man called Bannerman -- Chief Special Agent of the State Department. The wire said, "Would like to see you regarding statements made in passport application signed by you in 1934. When will you be in Washington?" Then I knew that the mill had begun to turn. I replied to Bannerman (he died recently) that I had just left Washington, but that if he had anything important to talk over, I would cancel my speaking engagement and return. Otherwise, I did not expect to be back in Washington for several months. I received his reply asking me to meet him in his office Monday morning. Leaving Minneapolis on the Hiawatha that night, I doubled back to Washington.
Let me take you back now to the "secret" conference I had been told about in Moscow. A certain telegram left Moscow that night. In about one week, two gentlemen knocked at the door of my study and handed me their cards. They were Inspectors Morse and Doran of the Post Office Department. These two gentlemen impressed upon me that there was nothing personal in their visit. They stated that they had "orders" to "reopen" the closed investigation into the affairs of "Psychiana." I told them they were very welcome to see anything we had. They asked for stock-books and for almost everything else. Calling in the accountant, I instructed him to put all records at their disposal, tell them anything they wanted to know. I vacated my own study in order that they might have a comfortable place in which to investigate me and the Movement. They stayed there two weeks, and it was not long until Lamphere was crowing up one side of the street and down the other, "The Postal Inspectors are here checking on that son-of-a- -----; it won't be long now." His bets were made anew.
That man was offering anything up to five thousand dollars that I would be in the penitentiary inside of ninety days. He was mistaken. One day I called on Mr. Lamphere in his home. "Lamphere," I said, "I'm given to understand that you have some money you want to bet that I'll be in the Federal Penitentiary at McNeil's Island inside of ninety days. I'll take about five thousand dollars worth of that money." He said that he did not want to take any of the little money I had -- he had a fortune, "Anyway, you'll need all the money you can get. Why, the Postal Inspectors are down at your place now."
I did not feel like arguing with the man, so not being able to get five thousand dollars of his money, I left for home. How he knew that the Postal Inspectors were in my office the day they arrived, I do not know -- rather I shall not tell. I did ask Inspector S. H. Morse if he had ever heard of George Lamphere. He denied that he had, although I have since secured information that this statement was not true. However, Lamphere did not personally appear in the activities against me. I shall not go into the details of what went on, although I am quite fully advised. Sleeping dogs are better asleep.
At no time was I afraid of any Postal investigation. There had been two already, and besides, I was teaching religion, and under the wonderful Constitution of these United States, I may do that without fear or favor. That was all I asked then; it is all I ask now. If what I teach is helping men and women to find the Power of God, it is good, regardless of whether it agrees with the teachings of the orthodox church or not. Orthodox churches can do nothing to stem the tide of horror which is baptizing this world at this very moment. Their impotence is written all over them. Their theory of God is not true.
On this third Postal Inspection, as on the other two, the Postal Inspectors were utterly unable to find the slightest taintof fraud in the whole Movement. It is not there to find. What they did was this -- they found the passport I had used on a trip to Europe a few years before. The number of this passport was sent to the State Department to see if it could not find something amiss with the passport. I have already told you enough to convince you where I was born -- at least I had never had any idea that I was born anywhere else than in the United States on the trip father and mother made before going to Long Crendon.
The book I copied from plainly showed that I must have been born here if that record is true. When I decided to get across the ocean for a rest and to ramble around my childhood scenes again, the matter of a birth certificate came up. I have never seen my birth certificate, and there are millions in this country like me. However, knowing that I had no birth certificate, I made a special trip to the State Department in Washington, D. C., and there explained the birth and everything connected with it. Evidently the State Department believed me, for they issued the passport without question. Under those circumstances, I do not believe that any charge of making false statements in a passport application ever should have been made. However, it was made.
Arriving back in Washington, D. C., I met Bannerman in his office, and he at once began to question me about my birth. Not being too dense or too dumb, and having had a conference with Senator Borah in the meantime, I said nothing. All I did was ask when the indictment would be returned. I was informed that "if you leave this country and go, say to Canada, there will be no indictment, of course, for I would not have you brought back here. Why don't you run your "Psychiana" business from Canada?" This is what Bannerman said to me. This is what I told Bannerman, "Mr. Bannerman, you are talking to the wrong chap. If you have anything in the nature of a crime or the violation of a law by me, trot it out. I'll never run away from it, but if you have not, I happen to know who is working against me in this case. So get your indictment and we will go to trial as quickly as possible."
This almost floored Bannerman, for evidently he did not look for such a response. At any rate, he said nothing more, with one exception. Having seen the President of the United States a few days before, I said to the Chief Special Agent of the State Department, "I believe I'll go back and see the President. I saw him the other day, and he'll stop what evidently is to be a very determined effort to get me out of the way." Looking at me in his quiet way, Bannerman replied, "Doctor, I'm afraid it won't do any good, ------ has already been there ahead of you." Then I knew that the only thing to do was to return to Moscow and get the thing over with as fast as possible.
I arrived in Moscow in a few days and went back to work, although I knew what was to come. One morning I met Lamphere on the street. "Didn't do you much good to go back to Washington, did it?" he queried. "Never can tell, Lamphere," I replied, and then as an afterthought, I said, "George, I would hate to interfere with a work as powerful as the "Psychiana" Movement. I should be afraid that I might be suddenly removed from the picture myself." How true that prediction was, I have already explained, for he was shot through the back of the head by a relative.
There was a tense atmosphere in Moscow those days. "Underground" channels knew that an indictment was coming up. I knew how they knew. In any event, Mrs. Robinson and I made a trip to Boise to see Mr. Carver, the blind Federal Attorney. Carver is a wonderful fellow. He assured Mrs. Robinson and I that the indictment was not issuing from his office. "I have gone through you with a fine-tooth comb," he told us, "and moreover, I have notified the Department that this case will be a 'hot potato.' I don't want it in my office, you have too many friends, but what can I do?" he asked. "Even if you are acquitted on this charge, there is another one coming up," he told us. I knew about that charge also before I left Washington.
It began to look as if the difficulties were getting mountains high, and I knew that all the powers possible were to be used against me. One government official said to me, "Doc, whyinell don't you stop putting out that damned teaching. It isn't you they're after -- it's the teaching." I knew that as well as he did, and I knew something else, too. I knew that every obstacle thrown in my path would be surmounted. It made no difference how vigorously I was prosecuted, it made no difference how vigorously I was persecuted, I knew that the Power I was using would wipe out of the way any and all attempts to stop this teaching. I knew when I first released it that the churches would not sit idly by and let me tell the world their story is not true, so these attacks were not altogether unexpected. However, I did not know so many things could crop up all at the same time. There was
only one thing I could do, and that was to sit back and watch the Power of the Great Spirit, God, come to my rescue and confound my enemies. You will see soon the amazing manner in which it did just that.