Re: Victor Baranco, Lafayette Morehouse,Nicole Daedone, One Taste - cults?
Date: April 29, 2011 12:53AM
Here is the full text of the 1994 article:
UNIVERSITY OF SEX
I know it is going to be a distinctive academic experience when the woman who answers the door at the suburban San Diego house tells me to leave my shoes at the door. I paid $7 to join this "Mark Group" and am not sure what to expect. Some guy is practically dry-humping a woman on the couch, although the pair attract little attention. Other couples are engaging in spontaneous massage, but it remains uncertain who had come with whom.
I keep hearing the phrases: "doing" someone and "getting done by." I sit across from a robust woman who looks like Tip O'Neill. Men outnumber women by a small margin. A woman who describes herself as "a healer, an actress and a travel agent" says that this is not usually the case in the Mark Groups. We go around the room for introductions, which sometimes digress into short autobiographies, the ages run from about 25 to over 60.
There are five masseuses, many real estate people, some brokers and copier salesmen, and one guy with a charter bus business. When asked why she came, a woman in a tight pink sweater responds: "To get turned on." Others say they wanted to meet people and have fun. "I had nothing else to do," one man volunteers, "and this is better than watching LA Law." On the coffee table lays a book on how to lose weight during sex. Another elegant volume looks like it might contain Ansel Adams's prints of Yosemite, but inside are Mapplethorpe-like photos of genitalia, Asian women doing their best
Deep Throat imitations, and naked people probing each other's orifices in creative ways.
Finally, an ostensible leader of the gathering—a man named Aubry with limp hair and an overbite—introduces himself and announces the first game: mimicry. People pair off, and one member of each pair has to immediately repeat everything the other says. This, explains Aubry, "will help you focus attention on the other person and help you grow." The starting phrase is: "The last time I felt really free was..." For a minute or so
the room sounds like a Pentecostal church meeting at full velocity.
Afterwards Aubry asks how people liked it. A few hands go up. Who didn't like it? A rather faded middle-aged woman named Angela raises a hand, "I
thought it sucked," she says in a raspy voice. Aubry announces the rules for the next game, "hot seat." The person so designated must answer all questions, as long as people raise their hands and say thank you. "Are you rich?" someone asks a man who claims he took pictures of one
girl beside his Rolls Royce. "Not really," he says. "Depends what you consider rich."
Someone asks an athletic looking man in a cutoff football jersey why he broke up with his girlfriend. "She said I was conceited, self-centered, and narcissistic," he explains, "but I'm really a naturally loving and giving person." "How big are your chest and biceps?" someone else asks. He has no
idea. Then someone asks about the size of another appendage.
"Twenty-seven inches," he replies. "Ouch!" says Angela, the faded middle-aged woman who thought mimicry sucked and who, during the introductions,
described herself as a "swinger." Then Mr. Jock explains: "Twenty-seven inches from the floor."
This wins him a laugh. Now Angela is on the hot seat, and someone asks why she thinks the mimicry game sucks. "I don't like oneon-one," she says. Angela claimed she has had sex with five men at one time, but she doesn't practice S&M. "I like to stay in control," she says, without explaining how she kept control of the eager fivesome.
"Why is this called a 'Mark Group?'" someone then wants to know. It is a legitimate question. Our host, a freckled blond named Donna, responds. "Victor Baranco compares it to carnival barkers. The people they bring in are 'marks.' Everybody is a mark for something and with
us it happens to be love." Victor Baranco, it emerges, is the founder of More University in Lafayette, California, the institution where the hosts of this "Mark Group" and several of the participants in the session received their professional training. This group in San Diego has not been trying to revive arcane '60s lifestyles, as it sometimes seemed during the meeting, but doing school work, part of More University's recruiting program.
More's courses, the literature explains, include "Basic Hexing," "Aphrodisia," "Mutual Pleasurable Stimulation of the Human Nervous System" and "A Weekend with Vic." The most unique thing about More is that it grants degrees. As California's official Council for Private Postsecondary and Vocational Education verifies, since 1979 the Golden State has approved More to grant Bachelor's and Master's degrees in the humanities and communications, and Ph.D. degrees in "Lifestyles" and "Sensuality." According to recent descriptions, More University’s founder, Victor Baranco, 59, stands six-foot-two and weighs some 300 pounds. He is currently living in Hawaii where he has faced drug charges. He is not approachable.
"Dr. Baranco talks to people who have the proper requisites and three grand," Jackie Van Sinderen, More's Dean of Instruction, told the Contra Costa Times. She was referring to a More University course, "Audience with Victor Baranco," which costs a cool $3,000. When Times reporter Michael Hytha travelled all the way to "Dr." Baranco's hideaway in Pupukea, Hawaii, he found himself confronted by a bare-chested bodyguard named Sam,
who was polishing a white Cadillac in front of Baranco's purple house and who warned, "Vic doesn't like to speak with reporters." Yet as with the presidents of more conventional universities, Baranco has a curriculum vitae, however much he tries to hide it.
More's founder was bora Wilbert V. Baranco in Oakland in 1934, the son of a black jazz pianist and a Jewish woman named Florida Mae. Baranco has claimed he was a gifted child but drummed out of Hebrew school because of "the black thing." He has also claimed he played in the 1954 Rose Bowl, but unfortunately Cal's squad didn't go to the Bowl that year. Author David Felton profiled Baranco in his 1972 book, Mindfitckers, and the portrait was far from flattering.
As Felton explained: "Charles Manson, Victor Baranco and Mel Lyman, he superheroes of the following stories, are mindfuckers simply because they have made it their business to fuck men's minds and to control them. They’ve succeeded by assuming godlike authority and using such mindfucking techniques as physical and verbal bullying and group humiliation." Baranco is the least well known of this threesome, but for all their other achievements, Manson and Lyman never established a school approved by the State of California to grant Ph.D.s in sex. Baranco earned his administrative credentials by joining the Sexual Freedom League in Berkeley in the' 60s.
Followers call Baranco Thought "responsible hedonism," but let Baranco explain: "It's like a boat. The woman is the steerer and the man is the motor. And once you can relax, men, and settle down into slavery in the motor room— what a gas! They take care of you sexually, feed you and clothe you. They take care of all your creature comforts and all you gotta do is shovel coal." Felton portrays Baranco as a wheeler-dealer type, who along with Haight-Ashbury colleagues Robert Kerr and Paul Robbins set up the Institute for Human Abilities (IHA), a real estate corporation, in late 1969. Baranco
and his pals bought derelict houses at low prices, got hippies to fix them up, then resold or rented the places at a handsome profit. But there was more to it than commerce.
The partners also published Aquarius Magazine,which advertised courses such as "Basic Sensuality" and "A Weekend with Vic Baranco," both $45. Another subject of instruction was masturbation. According to Felton, Baranco and his followers had some doubts about intercourse. In the words of a man named Wayne, it is a "haphazard affair." Instead the institute recommended mutual masturbation as "a 'surefire way to a perfect orgasm every time.' He called it 'doing' the other person, and told us how to do a perfect 'do.' "
The managing editor of Aquarius was a guy named Dewey, who ran the operation from a basement closet. Every month, Baranco would send in a taped "parable" for Dewey to transcribe and edit. Dewey said this was his "toughest task." One parable concerned a woman who for a 1ong time
drove by a hitchhiker she saw every day, then finally decided to pick him up. He promptly killed her. (‘There was no moral to the story," said Dewey, "but the heaviness was obvious.")
Another parable was about "a bunch of wretched characters who lived in a concentration camp surrounded by squalor and barbed wire. There was no
toilets, and their food was thrown on the ground with their shit. Every day an executioner would drag one of them to the chopping block and bloodily decapitate his in full view of the others." After several paragraphs of lurid description, it turned out the victims were actual chickens. By one account, Baranco was influenced by the Millionaire, a television program from the '50s in which a man of means gives away $ 1 million to a strange in each
Another influence came from the Lloyd Douglas novel, Magnificent Obsession, in which a character gives away the family fortune to the needy. Baranco established Turn On To America (TOTA), as Felton describes it. ‘to collect government and foundation funds for alcoholics, nonplaceable foster children and paroles.” Baranco acquired the 16-acre Lafayette spread currently houses More University in 1968. The grounds feature a main residence and houses, a studio, a house trailer, some shanties, tennis courts and assorted junk cars. The buildings are all painted a bright purple because that was the favorite color of Baranco’s first wife Suzanne, whom he married in 1959. They bore two children then divorced in 1976. Suzanne, however
continued to live on the Lafayette property, which neighbors call the "Purple Palace" and journalist have dubbed "Fuck U," a tag that fits in ways other than curriculum.
The campus features a lookout tower and guardhouses at each entrance. Armed guards prowl the property and signs warn: "No trespassing, unless you want your feelings hurt" and "Only cowards commit suicide slowly.” Members of More's paying student body arrive in purple Cadillac limousines and get around on campus in golf carts, which travel on paths paved with carpet remains. A 1978 More course catalog explains that the school
was established in 1967 to "expand the physical, spiritual and intellectual capacities, with tolerance for all apparent alien encounters." But the prophet of responsible hedonism found that, even in swinging California, tolerance has limits. In 1978, according to the Contra Cost Times, the county sued and got a court order prohibits more than five unrelated people from living on the property. Baranco simply moved classes elsewhere, then moved
them back when a court of appeals overturned the ban.
Also in 1978, Contra Costa County health officials reported that a three-year-old girl contracted gonorrhea while on the Lafayette property. No charges were brought, but the parents, who lived on campus, agreed to a $3,500 settlement with the county. That same year, Contra Costa sheriff's investigators said they had evidence that four men sexually molested two girls and a boy and that there had been illegal drug use at More. For reasons that remain unclear, the sheriffs called off the investigation, and there were no arrests or charges.
That same year, during the apotheosis of alternative lifestyles under Governor Jerry Brown, Baranco applied to the California Department of Education for approval,which the state granted in 1979 despite the troubling sexual incidents. More University could now award academic degrees.
According to Darlene Laval, who headed the state council that reviewed More in 1986, all one needed to dofor approval at that time was show that they had a certain amount of money and a library, or access to one, "and that was about it." There was no review of the school's faculty,facilities, or curricula. State approval doubtless raised Baranco's self-esteem, even as it enhanced More's recruiting prospects. (Werner Erhard of EST fame even
attended a Baranco class.) But approval did not eliminate the school's public-relations problems.
Dr. Marc Hirsch had been serving as the head of More's Department of Medical Science. In 1980, California's Board of Medical Quality Assurance revoked Hirsch's license on the grounds that he had been prescribing excessive amounts of narcotics and mood-alteringdrugs. The same year Hirsch married Victor Baranco's exwife, Suzanne. During 1981-82, More filed three lawsuits against the Contra Costa Times, which found the university a
lively topic. Although all three suits were dismissed, the school's fondness for legal action was not diminished.
Court records show that Baranco has been involved in nine lawsuits over property rights, including a long struggle with his own parents. The university recently filed a libel suit against the San Francisco Chronicle, which dubbed the school an "Academy of Carnal Knowledge." Still another suit involved Contra Costa County. During this tiff, More lawyer and longtime resident Richard Hyland said, "We'll consider suing everyone."After the suits against the Times were dismissed, More continued its affairs with little publicity. Indeed, few people in the Bay Area know such a place exists, even though it operates a sort of extension campus in the purple More house in San Francisco (although the city at one time shut down Baranco's houses and "sanctuary" programs fqr code violations).
Throughout the mid- 1980s, Baranco was building up a faculty for his stateapproved operation.More's chief executive officer is Alexander Van
Sinderen, 48, who majored in history at Stanford University, served in the Peace Corps from 1967-69 and did graduate work at Syracuse. Van Sinderen also holds a doctorate in lifestyles from More U. His dissertation was titled, "A Married Couple and a Single Woman as a Social and Sexual Unit." He and his wife live with a woman named Marilyn.
Jackie Van Sinderen, 48, Alex's wife and More's dean of instruction, is also a veteran of Stanford, the Peace Corps and Syracuse. A press account identifies Jackie as a former member of More University's boxing team, which was discontinued several years ago. Suzanne Baranco Hirsch,55, received her doctorate in sensuality from More University in 1980. Thus qualified, she has since chosen to pursue a career as dean of More's Sensuality department.
Former sociology major Cynthia Baranco, 40, married Victor Baranco in 1979 and now teaches at More and participates in Bay Area Mark Groups. More boasts a total of 34 faculty members, 15 of whom have doctorates—one from UCLA and 14 from More. The state lists More's
chief administrator as Lilyan Binder, 43, a graduate of Hunter College and a former mental health counselor.
The courses offered at More include:
•Basic Hexing: This course describes hexing as a conceptual game that every human being plays, and of which a very few people are aware. It provides the student with the history, technique, structure and applications of hexing. The extent to which one can control his hexing
is the extent to which one has power in his universe. (2
•Basic Oestrology: describes the frame of reference that explains human experience. ($300)
•Aphrodisid: Inhibited sexual desire is the most widely reported sexual difficulty in the nation today. "Aphrodisia" is a weekend of illuminating information and functional practices that provide the student with overt control over what is considered the most elusive aspect of sensual pleasuring. (Basic Sensuality and Basic Communication prerequisites; $360)
•Weekend with Vic: A totally unstructured weekend in which the instructor will answer any and all questions asked. The content of this course is totally dependent on the student's ability to have [sic]. (Prerequisite: 2 courses;$360)
•Mutual Pleasurable Stimulation of the Human Nervous System: A six-week course that meets for one three-hour session per week. Limited to married couples or consenting adults who agree to be laboratory partners for the duration of the course. Extensive examination of certain conditioned societal limitations on sensory awareness, including sex practices, partner exchange, emotional involvement related to sexing, oral-genital relationships. (Prerequisites: Basic and Advanced Sensuality; $375)
• Expansion of Sexual Potential: This program is designed to introduce the student to the nature of his/her own sexual potential. In a clinical setting, under the hands-on guidance of agreed-upon, selected members of the Department of Sensuality, individuals or couples are led in the exploration of the parameters of their sexual response. Social and sexual resistance to the expansion of this potential and its attendant terrors are identified, and
appropriate methods of overcoming these barriers are demonstrated. Subjects are instructed in techniques of training partners in both causative and effective roles, and detailed methods for survival sex practices are
presented. (5 prerequisites; $10,080)
11 of More's courses were designed by Victor Baranco, who has described the "mutual stimu-:ion" program as "making friends with another crotch." The Expansion of Sexual Potential includes a two-week stay at Lafayette and costs $16,800. According to state officials, More's entire doctoral program will set a student back $43,200. Just how much revenue the school brings in is not clear, however. The Contra Costa Times has reported that the various entities housed at More control $1.7 million in East Bay real estate and generate revenues of about $1 million. These "entities" are an interlocking directorate of non-profits including "Turn On To America" and "The Private Sector," which both deal with the homeless.
To the Institute of Human Abilities Baranco has added Humore Inc., the real estate company in charge of the East Bay properties. Both Humore and the institute are run from a property on Purson Lane in Lafayette, one of several residences owned by Baranco. The Times has also reported
that in 1990 More reported total income of $958,140, though it is not clear what came from where. Baranco's charitable impulses, some reporters discovered, did not extend to his parents. According to probate records, when Wilbert Baranco Sr. died in 1983, he disinherited his son. And when Victor's mother, Florida Mae, died in 1987, she left everything to Victor's two adult children. "As for our son," Florida Mae wrote, "he put us out of his life about 10 years ago. He didn't come to see his father before he died nor did he attend the funeral...he made it clear that he doesn't care about me."
Baranco may have put his parents out of his life, but he could not permanently avoid the scrutiny of the state, which had allowed him to function in loco parentis for years on his Lafayette campus. By themid-1980s, California had tightened its rules for private post-secondary education. A team of educational inspectors were preparing for their first trip to the purple palace, completely unaware of what they would find. "It was an eye-opener," says Darlene Laval, who chaired the state's regulatory council for five years and now works for the Department of Education as a consultant. In 1986 she and two colleagues spent two memorable days at More.
"Here were all these old limos and people sitting around in their underwear peeling potatoes," says Laval, who describes the place as "really filthy," to the point that "I would hesitate to drink their coffee." A guy named Jim, Laval says, "came out of a building buckling his pants, followed by a woman, who was followed by a child."
One of the teachers also turned out to be a student. "She said she had gotten her degree in sensuality and was now working on her other degree, for which she would have to spend a week with Vic," says Laval. "I said we need to talk to Vic, only to learn that he was 'too busy.' " To maintain approved status, schools must send in a lengthy self-study.
More's version said in one place:
"Equipment to take to class: a towel, a mirror, and all body parts." This caused review team member Roz Elms, who earned her Ph.D. at U.C. Berkeley, to crack, "Doesn't that discriminate against the handicapped?" When she learned of the "Weekend with Vic" course, Elms asked, "Is there a weekend with Vickie?"
The inspection team wanted to see the classrooms and attend sessions. They were told they couldn't. In fact, says Laval, "They said none were being held. They said the classes were in Oakland." Aware of past com plaints against the school, the team wanted to see the nursery. They were told that it was closed that day because a child had fallen and was "on the verge of dying." But a staffer did let them see one building that contained a state-of-the-art video studio with a gynecological table as its centerpiece. '■>:
"My mouth dropped," says Laval. She and Elhis, imaginations running wild, asked about the purpose of the table. They were told that this was where Vic "did his sessions" in front of the student body. As Laval recalls, "They had a library of tapes of things like 'Vic's birthday party.' There were hundreds of tapes, in order and labeled. This was the only library we found at the place." Neither was there any required reading.
The team asked to see financial records. Such information was not available, they were told. "There was not one verification for any of the faculty," says Laval, "not one qualification for anything, let alone their speciality." The team then asked to read some theses and were handed a cardboard box containing eleven. "Most were handwritten and none was bound," says Laval. "One woman wrote that Vic had kept a stimulation of a student going for seven hours and why couldn't her boyfriend do this? This was her thesis."
Roz Elms read a dissertation about sexual encounters titled "Recollections of a Married Couple and a Single Woman" and pronounced it "not original research." The paper was for a Ph.D, in Sensuality. Another paper was about pregnancy and contained nude photos. By now the state review team was finding it "hard to be professional," as Laval puts it, and feeling dirty to boot. "They stuck us in this one-room shack, and there was no way for us to talk without them hearing us. They made phone calls with a hand cupped over the receiver, like some B-movie."
But the visitors had seen all they needed to see* More failed 108 out of 111 points of evaluation and the team recommended that approved status be denied. The council agreed, but More's lawyer showed up at the hearing and threatened Elms with a lawsuit for "lying" about the school and performing a "hatchet job." The school's advocate also charged that Laval "didn't know what she was talking about." More University appealed and won.
California was then in the process of changing its regulatory system, and the procedures used to review More were never officially adopted. While new regulations were being drafted, California grandfathered in More and a number of other schools with questionable qualifications. More duly expanded its operations to New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, Atlanta and other cities. The Lafayette campus maintained an uneasy truce with neighbors until the university started to house the homeless in the early 1990s.
One family whose property borders More reported constant noise and garbage, including hypodermic needles, being dumped over the fence. Yet when neighbors complained, More said that it was a witch-hunt caused by the long standing activism of Baranco and others at the university on behalf of the homeless. "They are hiding behind the politically correct stuff," says a woman who asked not to identified. "Nobody wants to be. against the homeless." Morehouse attorney Richard Hyland had learned another PC trick.
He pointed out that Baranco was of "black-and Jewish heritage," and therefore the complaints were "based in racism." But, as it turned out, the homeless issue provided journalists with an opportunity to penetrate the purple curtain that had veiled More's inner doings for so long.
On May 27, 1992, Donna Hemmila and Carolyn Leider, two reporters for the Contra Costa Times, showed up at More claiming they needed a place to stay. A man named "Joe without hair" let them in. They registered at Waipuna Lounge, a 24-hour diner for guests, and here their discoveries began.
At More, the reporters learned, only first names are used. "Do you want clean underwear?" someone asked. Leider, who has examined the records of More's nonprofits in Sacramento, explains that More receives generous donations from corporations, including Jockey.
The reporters also discovered that the campus had been upgraded since the 1986'site-review visit. It now boasted a closed circuit television system. On that evening's "news," the top story was a series of party scenes of a potbellied man dumping ice cubes down a woman's bikini, followed by safe sex tips and gossip. In another feature, a woman sang an off-key version of Peggy Lee's "Fever."
Those described as the campus' "elite" lived on the hill, and the reporters were warned not to get too close. But they did learn that the elite enjoy the service of female servants dressed in skimpy costumes, which they wear sans drawers in spite of Jockey's largesse. In addition to fashion, the faculty was also sensitive to nonhomeless visitors. "They let them in but videotape their every move," Leider says. The communards are also sensitive to communication.
"You don't have any rights here," a More staffer named Tom barked when a homeless guy asked to use the phone. "So don't even think that you do."
The reporters were the only female visitors in a room full of guys they didn't know, many smoking and drinking beer. The pair spent most of the night playing cards and bailed out early the next morning. John Koopman of the Contra Costa Times followed up on his colleagues' discoveries by attending aBasic Sensuality course with three other students: a dentist, an engineer and a veterinarian.
The teacher was Joe Hills, who had the class talk about male and female genitalia and masturbation. He also asked them to strip and use mirrors to take a "visual inventory of [their]bodies." Homework questions asked whether they would have sex with men, midgets, paraplegics and animals.
The course included a "do date," which, Koopman wrote, "usually consists of one person masturbating the other." When Dan Reed of the San Francisco Chronicle went to the More campus, they ushered him into a room with a conference table across from the Van Sinderen menage a trois. More staffers videotaped the entire interview, during which one of the scantily clad maids brought in water.
Reed discovered that More uses its own currency, called "scrip," which was once old Pall Mall cigarette packs embossed with the university seal, but which now resembles Monopoly money and is called "Karma Molecules." Allan Steele, a hypnotherapist from Coral Gables, Florida, who treats sexual disorders, said he and his wife Rochelle paid $47,500 to the university for doctorate courses.
"While I was living on campus there was encouragement to use illegal drugs, including the availability to purchase illegal drugs," Steele wrote in an April 5, 1992, letter to the California Council for Private Postseeondary Education. "They also engage in prostitution," Steele added, "that is, sex for money, with quotas [of conquests], which if not met results in threats of physical violence and exclusion."
Dan Reed reported that in late May 1992 the State Council demanded a response to the accusation but received none from More, which filed a $120 million libel suit against Steele. The hypnotist won't talk but stands by his allegations. More has also sued the Chronicle for libel, but the paper stands by its stories and has published no retraction. More's well-known litigiousness may have scared off A Current Affair, which was interested in doing
a story on the university but wary of getting involved in a prolonged legal wrangle.
The agency currently charged with protecting Californians from educational fraud is the Council for Private Postseeondary and Vocational Education (CPPVE), established in 1991. As its "fact sheet" says, the council certifies "that an institution meets minimum statutory standards for integrity, financial stability and educational quality, including the offering of bona fide instruction by qualified faculty and the appropriate assessment of students' achievement prior to, during and at the end of its program." Further there are "tuition refund formulas" should "the institution breach its contract with
The state considers the task of protecting consumers from educational fraud so important that it pays the council's director, Kenneth A. Miller, a handsome $82,000 a year plus benefits. Other professional staffers earn in the $60,000 range. As those who try to contact them will verify, these people spend a lot of time away from their desks or flying around the country to conferences. But although it has taken stands on issues involving
race, and gender and multiculturalism in other institutions, the CPPVE has, to date, done nothing about More.
"California is much more tolerant than the rest of the United States," explains the council's Ken Miller. "If something is legitimately new and innovative, they let it go ahead." Miller is vaguely aware of the sexual nature of the courses but allows that there has been "lots of research with Masters and Johnson." He has not visited the campus. Nor has the council's official in charge of More, Dr. Betty Sundberg, who, like Miller, was unaware of the
1986 report of state investigators Elms and Laval.
Sundberg says that More University recently applied for renewal of its approved status, which must be recertified every five years. Another inspection team will soon be scheduled. Miller concedes that the process will be "interesting." Roz Elms is currently an administrator at the University of Northern Colorado. When she was told that, eight years after her site-review visit, this '60s timecapsule continues to grant degrees with the state of
California's approval, she reacts with stunned disbelief and anger.
"I'm appalled," Elms says. "I can't believe they didn't close that place," which she ranks with academic bottom-feeders such as acupuncture schools and "a guy who was granting doctorates out of a two-bedroom apartment." California educrats have made life difficult for a number of private schools, particularly religious schools, even those whose academic achievement is unquestioned and whose faculty -boast impeccable credentials. And yet
the state has allowed More to thrive since 1979—fifteen years—for the most part undisturbed. Bureaucratic indifference and ineptitude alone cannot explain More's incredible longevity.
California's approval of More stands as a symbol of how American society has been baptized in the ethos of the '60s, An institution like More University could only thrive in the kind of society the '60s helped to create, a society in which, as the late Malcolm Muggeridge put it, "sex is the only mysticism."
—BY K.L BILLINGSLEY