Introduction
Little Janie Horner By Leonard A. Lowag, Ph.D.
Man, that heterogeneous and esoteric creature differs from the other members of the animal kingdom in one primary way: he denies his natural being-his habits, his instincts and desires, his bodily functions, his thoughts and images. The more fortunate animals revel in the nature which was given them; to them it is all pleasure and all contentment, their prime achievement in life, their purpose for being. Not so with man. He takes his basic structure and proceeds to cover it with all manner of taboo, to inject it with superstition and fear, to hamper it with trappings of man-made glory and hypocrisy, to deny it the innate right to self pleasure and enjoyment through a thousand different rules. Born king of the animal realm, man has reduced himself to the least of his species. Why?
We turn to some of the sanctuaries with which he has found it necessary to surround himself. Among these we find the following: religion, dope, liquor, sex, money, war-in fact, anything which may act as a deterrent to reality, from realization of his true identity, from acceptance of truth. He is constantly in flight from what he knows to be his true status. Throughout life he flees from one bad state to another until he ends his miserable existence by giving up his life in this sphere. Why?
Basically man is ashamed of himself. He is ashamed that his body is so structured that he must eliminate his food in a manner which he feels is unclean. He is ashamed that his passions rise at an early age and he feels desire for the opposite sex. He is ashamed that he comes into this world from the cunnus of a woman, suckles at her breast and then returns to this curious being as a slave throughout his life. He is ashamed that his body reeks of unclean odors and is dirty. He is ashamed that his offspring are begot through passion and sex. He is ashamed that he will soon be dead and bearotting, lifeless nothing. He is ashamed that no matter how great his aspirations, he is limited by his span of life. So what does man do? He seeks to hide this fear and shame through mystical ritual, through words that no human being, including himself comprehends; through potions which place between himself and truth a layer of pretense, a covering beneath which he may revel without fear, for he is protected from reality. For these reasons man attends ceremonies and rites, drinks alcohol, takes dope of varying kinds, strives toward great wealth, kills his neighbor through war, and seeks annihilation because he cannot face truth.
Little Janie Horner is a story of a cross section of our society. It is not good; neither is it bad. It is truth. One reads with horror, with nausea, with fear. One is conditioned to escape. One is ashamed of himself. This story concerns the two extremes of our escapism: religion and debauchery-the two opposite ends of the spectrum, they are nontheless related in many ways. In primitive times, they were coalescent and interchangeable, but gradually, civilization has forced them apart.
In days of old, the gods demanded sacrifices; sacrifices of passion, of greed, of lust, of destruction, of murder. One paid these tokens because he was afraid to do otherwise. Then he felt vindicated. He had sacrificed. There were (and still are, remotely) times when man cooked and ate one of his kind so that the gods would be pleased. The representative of the gods took man's virgin daughters to sate his lust and man bowed his head in reverence. Young blood was spilled onto the ground to show humility and love and adoration for the unknown diety. Wars were fought in the name of Heaven; men were bumed in the holy fires to vindicate the sins of the earth; the bodies of the innocent and the unknowing were trampled into the ground-their blood has stained this earth since the world began. Man, the insane animal, the fearful animal, the animal who might have so much and yet who has so little. Man who spends his days with his head in a box, with his soul caged, with his eyes blinded, his ears closed, who has encased his being in a cocoon of fear and distrust and shame.
Who will dare to read this book? It is shocking. It is raw and crude. It will fill you with revulsion and terror. But it is filled with part of the truth from which you seek to escape. It is your chance to face a portion of reality. To admit the awful reality of your shame, without which man could know simple joy and live out his few brief years in peace. He could cast off fear of the known, albeit man's unconscious being will always fear the unknown-that which he knows not, which lies just beyond the threshold of knowledge; that of which he is aware and yet unaware, a feeling to haunt his being throughout his fife.
Little Janie Horner is not a pretty story, but it is set in a portion of the world whose beauty defies description; high in the mountains of Mexico in a little township called Cuemavaca, the capital of Morelos. Cortes captured this city from the Indians many years ago and built a palace which was at one time the home of Emperor Maximilian. Mexico itself is a mecca of beauty, a great rolling tableland bordered on each side by mountain ranges parallel to the coasts. From these heights the land descends in terraces which terminate in the coastal plains. The mountains which border the plateaus are perpetually snow-covered and the many torrential streams find their way to the sea through deep and precipitous troughs with beautiful cascades and waterfalls. Because of its geographical location on both sides of the Tropic of Cancer and its wide range of elevation, Mexico enjoys a variety of climate seldom equaled in other parts of the world. The land abounds in small lakes and is beset with lush tropical flora and fauna; the Spanish cedar, the cassia, palms of many species, the chicle tree; one may find wild figs, coffee, vanilla, oranges, bananas, mango, the papaw. Birds famed for their brillant plumage and wonderful variety cover the land. The population is composed of what is known as mestizos, those persons who are partly white and partly Indian, living in a culture composed of two social classes, the upper class enjoying wealth, power and comparative leisure, and the lower class, the Indian peons, who live in bondage and, generally great poverty. Mexico has developed a strongly individualistic culture as a result of the blending of Indian and Spanish traditions, and their architecture, literature, painting, music and handicrafts follow a strongly nationalistic trend.
Into this world of beauty and simplicity came lust and greed. Came those seeking a covering for their shame. Came those who had been the victims of their own conscience. Came Senor Guzman, one of the upper class who lived in luxury and splendor. Who lived in perverted degradation. This is the story of Jane Horner, that deluded virgin of the gods who traveled to the opposite end of the spectrum and strangely enough, after her experiences of odious horror, emerged a person of understanding and tranquility. Jane was filled with the vibrance of life; compassionate and gentle, yet daring. She dared to defy the gods that be and speak for an outraged world. Jane was an innocent child who had never tasted of life. She had only read of things and feelings and places. But she had courage to fly in the face of destiny. Beautiful, youthful Jane Horner headed the temperence league against marijuana. She fought with all of her being to right what she believed to be a wrong. And then she came face to face with reality. Those controlling forces in the underworld transplanted her to a new and different life, one of raw and base emotions, one in which cruelty exceeded kindness, one in which the individual is reduced to his most primitive being. Janie learned of life and its emotions through association with those who never bothered with the rules of living. Overnight she was transformed from one who walks the holy path to an inhabitant of the lowest den of iniquity. Her delicate sense of propriety is shattered as she is conditioned through the most sadistic of orgies to join the ranks of vice. This is a strange and beguiling story, one which will race your blood and tease you out of thought, but it is not one you will soon forget, nor the import of its message.
Little Janie Horner is a book about marijuana, that strange and enigmatic weed about which much and nothing is known. This is a story of those who oppose marijuana and those who control it. Much has been written of marijuana, obtained from the innocent cannabis sativa plant, but the effects of which may range from extreme elation to profound melancholy. Marijuana is not technically narcotic, being referred to as an hallucinogen, but it is treated as a narcotic by the law. This drug has been eaten and smoked in the far east under the name of hashish for centuries. The effects produced are much the same as those obtained from alcohol. Part of the reason for the spread of marijuana can be found in its relative cheapness as well as in the fact that it seems to have no permanent effect on the body and abstinence produces no withdrawal symptoms. The primary argument against marijuana is its creation of a faulty time sense and loss of judgment. Health officials in Washington estimate that twenty million Americans may have smoked it at least once and that anywhere from 300,000 to 4.5 million persons smoke it regularly (Newsweek, 7/24/67). It is generally conceded that marijuana attacks the central nervous system; coordination is very much altered, distance is distorted. The individual appears to lose his inhibitions in varying degrees. Dr. Donald B. Louria, associate porfessor of the Medical College at Cornell University and President of the New York State Council on Drug Addiction, recently wrote:
"The arguments for legalization of marijuana are based on pure hedonism. Its proponents want the right to use the drug because it gives them pleasure. Faced with the data on the potential dangers of its unrestricted use, they rely on the argument that marijuana is no more dangerous than alcohol. But the major criterion for legalization of any drug should not be a comparison with the dangers of alcohol but rather the inherent dangers in the drug's indiscriminate use. Otherwise, there would be a proliferation of drugs dispensed merely for pleasure, and if each of these carried no more risks than presented by alcohol-and by cigarettes-the number of persons damaged would inevitably increase strikingly."
And so the argument goes. It must be remembered that during prohibition the temperence groups received both encouragement and heavy financial support from gangsters who were making substantial fortunes from the sale of illegal liquor. As a matter-of-fact, it is estimated that the various criminal organization spent in excess of twenty-five million dollars to fight repeal of the Volstead Act. In certain dry areas of the United States today, criminal groups financially back political candidates only after they have received promises that the area will remain dry once the candidate is elected. Thus it is that the "devil" always helps the "saints" to insure his own profits. Little Janie Horner focuses our attention on this very same activity in the highly controversial world of marijuana trade. The author gives a candid view of the battle to keep marijuana illegal and profitable for the "organization." By bringing such activities out into the open, we as a society may be better able to control these disrupting forces. This book will unoubtedly serve its purpose, to shock the public out of its apathetic state and force them to recognize the cunning plots which appear so noble, yet tear into the very fibers of our society.
Despite its exaggerated erotic content, the book is well written and the young author shows much literary promise. One is granted a graphic description of the characters. With infinite horror, he sees the crippled, crab-like Paco, that sadistic devotee of the flesh, whose lust for the ravishing of the gentry knows no bounds. His twisted mind matches that of his twisted body as he lies in wait behind the mirrored door for his opportunity to strike. Senor Guzman, one sees resuscitated from the printed page, as he dominates his fanatical set-up, a misguided genius, a modern Satan who will stop at nothing to achieve his objective. Dr. Gorman, the psychiatrist, who has taken Krafft-Ebing's teachings too literally. Mark Wilson, a disillusioned anti-hero who is caught in the web of human escapism. Consuela, the beautiful Spanish girl, who has become a willing slave in this perverted world. If the reader has often masochistically longed to look behind the veil which separates the supposedly good from the presumed bad; if he unconsciously desires to see the extent of the perversion, the depth of the sordid world which changes men into monsters and destroys the soul, then his eyes will be opened as he devours each and every page, filled with the indescribable world of the lust-driven, of the hungry homosexual, of those who thirst after all that is bizarre and squalid. Come to Cuemavaca to the lair of Senor Guzman. Come to the game room where virgins are deflowered and morality is a word out of the dictionary; where men's destinies are planned and destruction is a part of the architecture. The story I shall leave for your discovery. It is one of strange and unusual happenings, of truth and lies, of forces which often carry us to destruction and of those which seldom rescue us from our fate. Suffice it to say that this is the tale of a young girl who had devoted her life to reformation who is captured and brought into a world of lust and greed, and how this being survived and triumphed over this shocking experience.
As I read Little Janie Horner, I was reminded of a little story I once heard in the Otomi village of Huixquilucan, Mexico. It concerns a long-existing feud between two of its barrios because of the saints of their respective churches. The story goes that in the church of the barrio of San Juan stands a little Virgin de la Candelaria. She wears a long simple pink dress, a white veil, and a crown. Her adornments are several strings of colored beads around the neck and silver earrings like those worn by the native women. In one hand is a doll infant and in the other a bouquet of paper flowers tied with a ribbon. Within the church of the barrio of San Martin is a small man-sized image of St. Martin on horseback. He is elegantly dressed in a chamois riding suit with a bullet belt and pistol, silver spurs, a cloth cape, and a handsomely embroidered charro sombrero. The people of the barrio adore him. Every year they give him a splendid new hat and a new suit. But they feel that even with his fine clothes he must be lonely, so they have invented a little love affair for him. It is common gossip that every night, St. Martin rides over to the church of San Juan, and while his horse remains outside, he visits with the little Virgin. The people of the barrio of San Juan also love their little Virgin and resent any aspersions against her reputation. They indignantly deny that their Virgin would receive a man in the night, even though he were a saint. Consequently, on Tuesday, el octavo del carnaval, the last event, late in the afternoon, is the battle between the two barrios, with friends of each side helping and the rest of the inhabitants looking on. By that time spirits are high on both sides from the pulque made in the village, and results are often so serious that the village police are generally on hand. The combatants are requested to put up barriers of boards about thrity feet high, leaving a short space between the barriers. Both sides use as missiles various kinds of firecrackers, bad eggs, egg shells filled with paint, and in the end, sticks and stones. During the battle, someone will come to the barrier and dance a doll on a stick to ridicule the Virgin. Then those of San Juan become infuriated and retaliate by holding up a male doll on a little mule, yelling, "Here's your San Martin." Both dolls are blown to pieces with fireworks. The insults become offensive and spicy and the battle goes on for hours until the authorities force both sides to retire. It is never known which side wins because both claim victory. But there are always some wounded, and sometimes corpses to prove that the fight was a good one. See if you can determine which side in our story belongs to San Juan and the Virgin de la Candelaria and which group belongs to San Martin on his horse. It shouldn't be too hard for you to fit the pieces of this puzzle into place. Comprende?
-Leonard A. Lowag, Ph.D.