Robert Rosen

To be perfectly clear, as Richard Nixon might have said, I'm asking if Yoko Ono, in the early 1980s, had electronic eavesdropping devices installed in her Dakota apartments and offices so she could record the conversations of whomever she was talking to or whoever might be talking among themselves.

If Ono did in fact do this, she was in violation of what's known as a federal expectation of privacy law (18 U.S.C. § 2511) that states it is illegal to record conversations where participants have a justified expectation of confidentiality, such as in a private home. Violation of the law is a felony, carrying penalties of up to five years in federal prison and fines up to $250,000.

I'm well aware that Ono is 93 year old, in poor health, retired from public life, and is no longer living in the Dakota. And if she did begin illegally recording conversations in the 1980s, the five-year statute of limitations for prosecution has long since passed. So the question at this point is academic, at least as far as Ono is concerned. But I'm asking it now because last week I found out that it's very likely, if not almost certain, that 44 years ago Ono illicitly recorded her conversations with me, and transcripts of those conversations appear to be in circulation.

I learned about this in a private Facebook group, The Lennon Years. The group, run by London dentist Farshad Arbabi, has more than 10,000 members. I drop in to the group every so often but never post—because just about anything I'd have to say about my book Nowhere Man: The Final Days of John Lennon or my dealings with Ono and her staff would be deleted.

Arbabi has access to an archive of Beatles material, possibly provided by Lennon and Ono's son, Sean Lennon. An advocate of the "official story" as Ono and Sean see it, Arbabi will not permit anybody to post anything about the Lennons or their associates that steps outside the bounds of that official story. Or if he does permit an unauthorized fact to remain on the page, he will attack it but not allow any kind of follow-up that would discredit his attack.

Nowhere Man is an unauthorized book that's been garnering mostly positive media attention for 26 years. Guided by what I learned from reading Lennon's diaries, I portray John as both a deeply flawed human being and a musical genius. And though Arbabi might theoretically permit Lennon associates like the sycophantic Elliot Mintz to post stories from his book portraying John as a violent and vicious drunk (as long as he doesn't portray Ono as anything other than an infallible woman of the highest character), I would not be permitted to comment on what I know about John's relationship with May Pang—which is what brought me to The Lennon Years last week.

In response to a question about Pang's knowledge of John's meetings with Paul McCartney between 1976 and 1980, Arbabi posted that Pang wasn't in Lennon's life at that time, though admitted they might have met "to hold hands on a rainy day."

In response to Arbabi's absurd statement, somebody I know from my own Facebook group, The Rosen Book Salon, said, "John continued to see her on occasion after 1975, as mentioned in his diaries and as a result in Robert Rosen's book." To which Arbabi said, "Robert Rosen is not one I consider any authority on anything."

I'd written in Nowhere Man that when John returned to Yoko after supposedly ending his affair with Pang, in 1975, he continued to see her anytime he could slip away, which wasn't often—it left him profoundly frustrated. John, I wrote, wanted both Yoko and May, but Yoko wouldn't permit it. John carried a torch for May until his dying day.

"What I wrote about May Pang in Nowhere Man is 100% true," I posted in response to Arbabi.

He didn't delete the comment, and another group member asked me, "So you're saying not everything else in your book is 100% true?"

I then posted what I wrote in the Nowhere Man introduction: "There were crucial facts [in the diaries] that I was unable to confirm from the public record or from speaking with people who knew John. That's where an aspect of this book that has sent certain readers into a state of spluttering apoplexy comes into play: I wrote in the author's note, 'Nowhere Man is a work of investigative journalism and imagination.' I want to emphasize that I used my imagination not to simply make things up, but as a fictional technique that allowed me to get closer to the truth than if I'd written a conventional biography. I applied this technique most frequently in the 'Dream Power' chapter, about Lennon's efforts to 'program' his dreams. Details of many of those dreams have never appeared anywhere outside his diaries. In those cases I used my imagination to create parallel dreams that approximated the feeling of his real dreams."

Though Arbabi didn't delete that post either, he responded with the following, which I've edited for clarity and context: Truth is far away from you and your understanding. Someone stole Lennon's diaries and gave them to you, then stole the diaries from you. You did the right thing going to Yoko Ono and telling her the truth. What you wrote in "Dream Power" is fiction and is no interest to me or any author that verifies sources for 20 years before putting it in a book. May Pang and Fred Seaman, Ono's assistant who gave you Lennon's diaries, and many other first-hand sources post in this group and they have spoken about it. You on the other hand haven't got any valid source beside your imagination. As you mentioned yourself what you wrote is fiction.

A back-and-forth followed, in which I raised a number of points I'd written about in Nowhere Man, some of which Arbabi appears to have deleted—it was hard to keep track of who was saying what to whom. But his comment to the group member who originally brought up Nowhere Man bears repeating: "Have u asked yourself why no one else has written about [Lennon's diaries], not even Seaman himself?"

It occurred to me that Ono may have secretly recorded our conversations.

I answered Arbabi's question: "No one else has written about Lennon's diaries because the publishers were intimidated by Ono's lawyers. See Peter Doggett's Prisoner of Love or Michael 'Mike Tree' Medeiros's Barefoot in Nutopia, which is about Michael's friendship with John." And I provided a link to my article in The Village Voice about those two books.

At some point, Arbabi called me immoral, harped on the fact that I was working with stolen diaries, insisted that I must be embarrassed by what I'd done, and praised himself for finally taking me to task in a public forum.

I told him he was saying nothing I hadn't heard dozens of times since Nowhere Man was published and that he reminded me of people who'd posted one-star reviews that said: "I don't have to read Nowhere Man. I know what's in it."

And it was somewhere in this flurry of comments that Arbabi stated: "You went to the Dakota begging for forgiveness from Yoko and she forgave you. I'm not going to go through the details of your conversation with her, but it would be a good reading one day."

That's when it occurred to me that Ono may have secretly recorded our conversations.

Arbabi deleted all my questions about the legality of Ono illicitly recording me—if that's what she did—and how he could have transcripts of those conversations.

Though I don't recall the exact wording of the deleted comments, his or mine, I did say, "That's an interesting confession," and urged Arbabi to stick to the facts.

I told him that I did not beg for forgiveness.

I told him I went to the Dakota to tell Ono what happened after Seaman burglarized my apartment and that I gave Ono my own diaries so she could have an hour-by-hour account of what went down.

I told him that if I hadn't come forward, Ono wouldn't have known John's diaries were missing.

I told him that Ono did not forgive me—on the contrary, she tried to have me arrested as a way to prevent me from ever writing the book that would one day become Nowhere Man—and that I never heard from the district attorney again after he found out I had legal representation. There was no crime to charge me with.

And I told him that as punishment for my involvement with Seaman, Ono held my diaries for 18 years.

After I had some time to think about what had just transpired—you can read what remains of the dialogue here if Arbabi will allow you to join his private group—I began to wonder if Arbabi was bluffing about having transcripts of my conversations with Ono. So I asked Lennon's friend Michael Medeiros, who took care of John and Yoko's plants and was also tasked with archiving tapes of their recording sessions, tarot card readings, etc., if the Dakota was bugged. It had never occurred to me that this might be the case, even though I was aware that people on Ono's staff routinely recorded their phone conversations.

Medeiros knew that after John's murder, Ono had the Dakota "swept" for eavesdropping devices that other people might have planted and that she had a recording system installed in the Dakota telephone system. And though he couldn't be certain, he was almost positive that she had had at least one of her apartments, Apartment 4, bugged, and probably also her office, Studio One, and her living quarters, Apartment 72.

It was in Studio Ono and Apartment 72 that my conversations with Ono took place.

From the beginning it was apparent that everything that happened—the buggings, the break-ins, the burglaries, the paranoia—was Nixonian in scale. Back in 1982, Elliot Mintz called me the "John Dean of the affair." And I've compared Mintz, who'd walk over his own grandmother for Yoko Ono, to both Charles Colson, who said he'd "walk over his own grandmother for Richard Nixon," and G. Gordon Liddy, the man who'd do whatever Nixon needed done. The Huffington Post even titled a piece about Nowhere Man "Rock 'n' Roll Watergate."

If you were to carry the analogy to its logical conclusion, Ono's former partner Sam Havadtoy would be White House chief of staff H.R. Haldeman, and my former partner Fred Seaman would be Nixon's domestic affairs advisor John Ehrlichman.

Quite a cast of characters.

One final note: Arbabi should be aware that in both the U.S. and U.K. it's a crime to intentionally disclose or use communications known to have been illegally recorded. Sharing, circulating, or in some cases simply possessing those recordings or their transcripts can trigger criminal and civil penalties.

Disponible en español

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The events of November 5 reminded me of another election 52 years ago. The Republican candidate, Richard Nixon, running for a second term, was arguably more distasteful than the current president-elect. And the Democratic candidate, George McGovern, running to end the war in Vietnam, was doomed to lose, according to every poll. A scene in the book I'm working on, about a radical, antiwar student newspaper, OP, at the the City College of New York, takes place Election Day, 1972.

The reference to Geraldo Rivera needs some explanation. In 1972, Rivera was a superstar, quasi-hippie TV reporter who came to City College to give a speech in support of McGovern. He assured the crowd that McGovern was going to win.

Watergate by this time had already begun to consume Nixon. Yet the wise people of America voted for him anyway, in overwhelming numbers. But 18 months later the scandal would drive Nixon from the White House.

The scene below is a reminder of how quickly things can change. It's from Chapter 14, tentatively titled either "Rebuild Your Heads Like a Bombed-Out City" or "Hope Is the Only Illusion," both titles based on quotes from a speech Reverend Daniel Berrigan gave at City College just before the election.

***

I'm thrilled to pull the lever for George McGovern, voting for the first time in an election that matters—even though I understand like everyone (with the possible exception of Geraldo Rivera) that his chances are nil or close to it. Yet part of me continues to cling to the illusion of hope.

Naomi and I watch the election returns dribble in, and as the inevitable creeps closer I go home around midnight to witness the bitter end with my stoic mother, a nominal Democrat who voted for McGovern, and my law-and-order-Republican father.

"Who'd you vote for?" I ask him.

"That's my business," he says.

The outcome's worse than anyone predicted. Only Massachusetts and the District of Colombia go for McGovern. In the other 49 states it's a Nixon massacre. He finishes with 520 electoral votes and 60.7 percent of the popular vote, more than any Republican presidential candidate in history. The final score: Nixon, 47 million; McGovern, 29 million.

I sit in front of the TV imagining the despair of Steve and my other OP colleagues who'd fought so hard for so long for anything but this. Peace is not at hand or around the corner or anyplace else nearby. The "light at the end of the tunnel" is an oncoming train. The war might indeed go on for the rest of my life, and I know that even with my golden draft-lottery number I better find a way to stay in college, forever if possible, because if the war's still ongoing in, say, 1984 (to pick a year at random), the government could just end the lottery and draft everybody who's upright and breathing.

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On May Day, as the majority of Americans wallow in the misery of Donald Trump, I've returned to the 1970s to explore some of that old-time misery. In the book I'm working on, Nixon is president; Agnew is vice president; teenagers are being drafted out of high school and sent to Vietnam to die for the greater glory of Nixon-Agnew; and people in Berkeley, like the Red Star Singers, are writing and recording songs like "Pig Nixon."

I came upon a reference to "Pig Nixon" in the January 24, 1974, issue of Observation Post (OP), the radical/pornographic student newspaper at the City College of New York that's the main setting for my work in progress. The title intrigued me and sure enough, more than 50 years later, there it was on YouTube. So I gave it a listen, and can only wonder why a song this catchy got no radio play that I'm aware of. Fortunately, OP's music critic knew about it.

Now we need a song about that other ex-president who continues to set new standards for piggishness. Everybody should sing it.

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In 1998, at the height of Clinton impeachment mania, I, as editor of Sex Acts magazine, commissioned a cartoonist to illustrate “choice” parts of the Starr Report, independent prosecutor Kenneth Starr’s record of his run-amok investigation of a White House enmeshed in scandal—financial, political, and sexual. The report, now best remembered for its explicit descriptions of the multiple erotic encounters between a 49-year-old sitting president and his 22-year-old intern Monica Lewinsky, was published unexpurgated in The New York Times, marking the first time the Gray Lady had allowed “fuck” and “blowjob” to stain her pages.

One Sex Acts cartoon illustrates a tryst that, according to the Starr Report, took place in the White House study on December 31, 1995. It shows Bill Clinton, pants around his knees, displaying a curving erection of porn-star proportions that appears to be Viagra-enhanced—though Viagra wouldn’t be available to the general public for three more years. It’s an image that encapsulates much of what The Naughty Nineties: The Triumph of the American Libido (Twelve), by Vanity Fair editor David Friend, is about.

That’s presumably why the words “Naughty Nineties,” as they appear on the cover of this 632-page epic, are shaped like a curving, fully engorged, seven-and-three-eighths-inch phallus—though the effect is subliminal. I’d been reading the book for a month before I noticed it. I now assume that phallus is meant to represent Clinton’s penis, which is really a stand-in for every Boomer phallus that ever grew erect in the nineties.

If Bill Clinton and his penis are the star of this leave-no-stone-unturned analysis of the decade in which libidinous Baby Boomers took over America, Viagra is the co-star, and the complex, dramatic, and at times touching tale of how it was discovered, tested, named, and marketed, and then became one of the best-selling prescription pharmaceuticals ever—thus bringing erections and their dysfunction into our living rooms—may be the most fascinating part of The Naughty Nineties. (See “The Hardener’s Tale” and “Homo Erectus.”)

Hillary Clinton, weaponized gossip, and the Internet are among the major supporting players, with the latter two bearing responsibility for the “tabloidification” of an era in which “we learn not only that Prince Charles is having an affair with Camilla Parker Bowles, but are treated to a recording of Charles stating that he wants to be her tampon.”

It’s also a decade in which expansive silicone breasts and the $10-to-14-billion-a-year pornography industry emerged from the shadows to penetrate every segment of mainstream media and society.

My book Beaver Street: A History of Modern Pornography is among the multitude of texts that Friend, whom I work with at Vanity Fair, consulted in the course of his research, and The Naughty Nineties elaborates on some of the material I touched on. In discussing Lyndon Johnson’s porn-investigation commission, for example, I describe the president as “a corrupt Texas Democrat with a big dong,” before moving on to Richard Nixon’s war on porn. But how is it known that Johnson had a big dick? Friend explains: “He was known to flabbergast acquaintances by whipping out his Texas longhorn of a pecker.”

This kind of breezy, vernacular-laced prose makes The Naughty Nineties an entertaining alternative to the slew of turgidly written textbooks dominating undergraduate reading lists for any number of history, sociology, political science, gender studies, and communications courses, such as U.C.L.A.’s “Pornography and Evolution.”

The scene in “Chez Fleiss” of Friend’s journey through the Mojave Desert to visit “Hollywood Madam” Heidi Fleiss contains another good example: “To get here, I have driven an hour along the parched perimeter of Death Valley without spying a human soul. And then, like some portent out of Castaneda, I see a vision. A titty bar.”

Yet Friend’s intent is never less than serious, and his research sets a scholarly standard for comprehensiveness, no matter how raw the subject matter. In “Botox, Booties, and Bods,” he explores rap culture’s fetishization of the female buttocks, cataloguing, in three jam-packed paragraphs, Lil’ Kim and Missy Elliot’s “crooning about the merits of a fuller moon”; Experience Unlimited’s “Da Butt,” a.k.a. “(Doin’) the Butt”; 2 Live Crew’s “Face Down, Ass Up”; Q-Tip and A Tribe Called Quest’s “Bonita Appelbum”; Snoop Dog and Dr. Dre’s coining the word “bootylicious”; Wreckx-N-Effect’s “Rump Shaker”; DJ Jubilee’s inventing the term “twerk”; Juvenile’s “Back That Azz/Thang Up”; Mos Def’s “Ms. Fat Booty”; and Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back.”

Ubiquitous and fulsome footnotes, which could comprise a volume unto themselves, enrich this meticulous detail. (The mother of all footnotes, on pages 467–68—perhaps the longest annotation I’ve personally encountered—analyzes why the institution of marriage is “on the rocks.”)

Friend is at home, as well, with the erotic. In “The Glory of O” he brings to life a masturbation workshop: “Ken, ever stroking, tells the audience, ‘Her clit just grabbed on to my finger.’ Her legs shake and flutter. ‘The clitoris is a spinning top,’ he says, ‘now spinning by itself.’”

In retrospect, it’s easy to see how the nineties set the stage for the ascent of Donald Trump and a presidency in which politics, pornography, gossip, and reality TV are so intertwined as to be indistinguishable. And Friend, rising to the occasion, ends with “The Trumpen Show.” But is Trump the terrible tyrant of a passing moment—the Tawdry, Tempestuous Teens, when the Times turns to titan of adult cinema Ron Jeremy for insight on POTUS paramour Stormy Daniels, the biggest XXX superstar since Deep Throat’s Linda Lovelace? (It takes a president.) Or has he brought us to the edge of an Enervating Endtimes, leaving us longing for the days when the most horrific thing you’d read in your daily newspaper was Ken Starr’s depiction of Oval Office anilingus?

We’ll just have to wait for the return of the Roaring Twenties for an answer. They’ll be upon us soon enough.

—Robert Rosen

 Read More 

Before Ozy called to talk about the history of pornography in America, I'd never heard of them. But that's not surprising. So fragmented and expansive is the media today, even a high-profile news site can slip beneath my radar.

In any case, adhering to my philosophy of treating like Oprah everybody who wants to talk about my books, I spoke at length to Ozy, and when they ran the story, "How Nixon Shaped Porn in America," about the connection between Watergate and Nixon's efforts to ban the film Deep Throat, I was amazed by the results.

Not only was Beaver Street prominently featured, but the story was shared a respectable 1,760 times (and counting) on Facebook; was published in the popular German tabloid Bild as “Mister President wollte eigentlich das Gegenteil ... Wie Nixon dem Porno zum Durchbruch verhalf” (roughly translated as “Mr. President wanted the opposite of it... how Nixon helped porn to its breakthrough”); and was cited in the Washington Post and Baltimore City Paper.

That Beaver Street has remained in the news for more than four years in an environment where just about everything is forgotten within 24 hours is nothing short of miraculous. But apparently, that’s how long it’s taken the media to catch on to one of the book’s central themes: The biggest crooks—notably Richard Nixon, Spiro Agnew, Edwin Meese, and Charles Keating—cry “Ban pornography!” the loudest.

And speaking of books that people keep talking about long after publication, on Tuesday, July 21, at 10 P.M eastern time, and Saturday July 25, at 2:30 P.M. eastern time, the Reelz channel will broadcast the John Lennon episode of Hollywood Scandals, in which I discuss my Lennon bio, Nowhere Man. Click here to find the show on your cable or satellite system.

I was among the people who Kristin Battista-Frazee asked to participate in a panel discussion at the Strand bookstore, in New York City, to launch her memoir, The Pornographer's Daughter. This honest and unadorned depiction of what it was like to grow up with a father who was a major distributor of Deep Throat provides an intimate, behind-the-scenes look at the fellatio flick that changed the way America saw pornography. Joining us on the panel were Dr. Belisa Vranich, who moderated, and Eric Danville, author of The Complete Linda Lovelace.

In the Youtube video, linked to the photo, I read a key passage from Beaver Street that explains how Richard Nixon helped make Deep Throat the 11th-highest-grossing movie of 1973. I also talk about the possibility that Linda Lovelace was forced at gunpoint to perform in the film that made her America’s first porno superstar.

How did an hour-long loop shot in six days for under $25,000, about a woman whose clitoris was in her throat, earn over $600 million, and become the eleventh-highest-grossing film of 1973? How did the ability to swallow an enormous penis without gagging become, that same year, America's #1 topic of dinner-table conversation? How did buying a ticket to a dirty movie become an act of revolution and political protest? And how did Linda Lovelace become the world's first porno superstar?

Blame it on Richard Nixon. It was June 19, 1972, exactly one week after Deep Throat premiered in porn houses across America (and three days after Bloomsday), that the Watergate story broke on the front page of The Washington Post, and Nixon, in an attempt to distract the country from the emerging scandal and unraveling cover-up, ordered the FBI to shut down every theater showing Deep Throat, to confiscate every print, and to arrest the actors and the filmmakers responsible for it. And "Deep Throat" became not only the title of a film and a renowned sex act, but the code name for Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein's FBI source, who was feeding them the information they needed to bring down a president.

We will be celebrating this anniversary on Bloomsday on Beaver Street II, as Eric Danville, author of The Complete Linda Lovelace, the book that was the original inspiration for the forthcoming film Lovelace, starring Amanda Seyfried, reads from a collection of over-the-top vintage 1970s flyers advertising the late deep-throat artist’s 8mm loops. And we will come to a deeper understanding of how, though Ms. Lovelace’s athletic skills, Deep Throat would become a cultural touchstone, its commercial success in the pornographic arena still unsurpassed.

Joining Eric will be authors Robert Rosen and Lainie Speiser, adult actress Lexi Love, and a host of musicians and actors. The event is free, and you can download your invite here. Hope to see you on Sunday, June 16, at the Killarney Rose on Beaver Street, for the best Bloomsday party in New York City.

The War on Pornography is an ongoing effort, dating back to the dawn of recorded history, to cleanse the world of smut. It's an unwinnable war waged by radical religious groups and radical political groups of both the right and left wings. It's a subject I explore in Beaver Street, writing at length about the Meese Commission and their use of underage porn star Traci Lords as a pawn in a sting operation designed to bring down the porno industry in America. And it's a subject I've written about extensively on this blog, detailing porn star Missy Manners' relationship with anti-porn Senator Orrin Hatch, of Utah, and more recently deconstructing anti-porn activist Gail Dines and her efforts to have actors who perform in S&M videos charged with war crimes.

The War on Pornography is a crusade marinated in hypocrisy, corruption, and absurdity that never stops providing me with material, and the other day it provided a little more: Morality in Media (MIM), an interfaith religious group dedicated to the elimination of pornography and obscenity in American life, is best known for their "Dirty Dozen" list, which contains the names of individuals, corporations, and government agencies who, in MIM's estimation, are the "12 top enablers of our country's pornography pandemic." Among those names are such entities as Comcast, Facebook, Google, Twitter, Hilton Hotels, and the Department of Defense--because the Pentagon allows porn mags to be sold at commissaries.

MIM has just selected a new #1, the dirtiest of the Dirty Dozen: Attorney General Eric Holder. Why? Because Holder, they say, “refuses to enforce existing federal obscenity laws against hardcore adult pornography” and “has initiated zero new obscenity cases” since he’s been in office.

One of the points I make in Beaver Street is that “the biggest crooks cry ban pornography the loudest.” The examples I cite—Richard Nixon, Spiro Agnew, Edwin Meese, Charles Keating, and Alberto Gonzales—either had to resign their offices in disgrace to avoid criminal prosecution or, in the case of Keating, went to prison after being convicted of multiple felonies.

Which makes me think that, unlike, say, Attorney General Edwin Meese, who, in the midst of fighting his War on Porn, was busy committing crimes ranging from influence peddling to suborning perjury, Eric Holder might actually be a paragon of moral rectitude. Which, I think, is what most Americans would want their attorney general to be.

I can only congratulate Eric Holder for being #1. Read More 

In Beaver Street I call Nixon, Meese, Keating, and Agnew (aka Dick, Ed, Chuck, and Spiro) the "Fab 4" disgraced anti-porn warriors of the 20th Century. But in writing about Texas governor, presidential candidate, and former porn monger Rick Perry the other day, it occurred to me that I should add to the group Alberto Gonzales, Bush's attorney general, a 21st century anti-porn warrior who resigned in disgrace before Congress could formally threaten to impeach him for lying under oath. So, with Al in tow, that would make the group the DC 5 (as in District of Columbia, not Dave Clark). But it's really hard to not include Perry himself in the group. Though not a declared anti-porn warrior, he is ignorant, misguided, and morally bankrupt—in short, everything a certain segment of the population is looking for in a president. And as a conservative, evangelical Republican who once invested in Movie Gallery, a video rental chain that specialized in hardcore pornography, that makes him hypocritical and sleazy, too. And it gives me license to call this supergroup The Sleazeball Six, which is both fitting and catchy.

One of the political oddities I discuss at length in Beaver Street is the fact that the biggest crooks cry "Ban pornography!" the loudest. And for some reason, which I'll leave open to interpretation, the most corrupt, ban-pornography-crying politicians are invariably conservative Republicans. The five grotesque examples I cite are: President Richard Nixon, Vice President Spiro Agnew, Attorney General Edwin Meese, Attorney General Alberto Gonzales, and banker Charles Keating. All of them declared war on porn. Then all of them were forced to resign from office in disgrace to avoid prosecution or impeachment, except for Keating, who was sent to jail for racketeering and fraud.

Which brings us to the curious case of Texas Governor Rick Perry, an ultra-conservative Republican and evangelical Christian who does not believe in evolution, global warming, or separation of church and state. Perry is running for president, but has never spoken out against pornography, like most of the other Republican presidential candidates, notably Michele Bachmann, who wants to ban it altogether.

The apparent reason Perry has never declared war on porn is because he once trafficked in pornography. According to Salon and numerous other sites, the Texas governor owned between $5,000 and $10,000 in stock in Movie Gallery, a Blockbuster-like video rental chain that was known for its wide selection of XXX titles, and was the target of the American Family Association, a socially conservative group that recently helped Perry organize a prayer rally to save America from Obama. The AFA had once described the Movie Gallery’s product line as “hundreds of these hard, nasty-looking videos that were extremely graphic.”

Among the titles that Movie Gallery carried were: Teens with Tits Vol. 1, Teen Power Vol. 4, Teens Never Say No, Big Tit Brotha Lovers 6, and Bisexual Barebacking Vol. 1.

If I’m not mistaken, I ran positive reviews of most of these videos when I was editor of D-Cup. Who knew that I was helping Rick Perry make money?

One of the major points I make in Beaver Street is that the biggest crooks cry “Ban Pornography!” the loudest. As examples, I cite the four greatest anti-porn warriors of the 20th century: Richard Nixon, Spiro Agnew, Edwin Meese, and Charles Keating. All of them tried to rid America of the “cancer” of pornography, and in each case their war on porn proved to be little more than an effort to distract the nation from their own illegal activities, which included income tax evasion, bribery, and suborning perjury. Three of these guardians of morality resigned their offices in disgrace rather than face impeachment or criminal prosecution. Keating was convicted of 73 counts of fraud and racketeering and sentenced to 12½ years in prison.

Lately, I’ve been writing a lot about Utah Senator Orrin Hatch, who seems determined to join this distinguished group. In an effort to save his political career, Hatch has demanded, along with 41 other senators, that the Justice Department investigate and prosecute pornographers more vigorously. To paraphrase Samuel Johnson, “The porno investigation is the last refuge of the doomed politician.”

Last week, Republican presidential candidate and Tea Party favorite Michele Bachmann stepped into the XXX fray, signing a pledge to fight against “all forms of pornography.” The pledge also suggests that African-Americans were in some ways better off under slavery, and that homosexuality can be cured.

It’s probably not necessary for me to say that Michele Bachmann’s ignorance and bigotry rivals that of Sarah Palin. All I can do is wonder what crimes she’s committed that will lead to her inevitable disgrace.

When Richard Nixon was running for reelection we asked, "Would you buy a used war from this man?" We were talking about Vietnam. But when Watergate blew up in his face he also declared war on porn. As Orrin Hatch attempts to save his doomed career by declaring war on porn, we're asking a variation on the classic Nixonian question.

Today we shall contrast an anti-porn statement of Spiro Agnew, Richard Nixon's bribe-taking vice president, with another pearl of wisdom from the Honorable Orrin Hatch, senior senator from Utah.

"As long as Richard Nixon is president, Main Street is not going to turn into Smut Alley." --Spiro Agnew

"Obscenity is toxic. Like other forms of toxic waste, obscenity harms everyone it touches." --Orrin Hatch

Read about it in Beaver Street, now back in stock on Amazon UK.

It would be instructive, I think, to contrast a recent quote about pornography from Senator Orrin Hatch with quotes about porn that President Richard Nixon and his Vice President Spiro Agnew made nearly 40 years ago.

"Pornography is like a cancer in our society. It is spreading and is more harmful than ever." --Orrin Hatch

"Pornography can corrupt society and a civilization. The people's elected representatives have the right and obligation to prevent that corruption." --Richard Nixon

"A child's constant exposure to a flood of hardcore pornography could warp his moral outlook for a lifetime." --Spiro Agnew

Read all about it in Beaver Street.