London: The Odyssey Begins
21
They were the men and women I wanted to meet face to face
before going on to the Middle East. I wanted to learn their
methods; discover their associations with those in our lunatic
fringe at home and with those promoting evil in the corner of
the world to which I was going; and above all, to learn how
both were plotting together to revive the flames they hoped
would consume democracy.
Before me was a letter I had received from Victor C. Burgess, a long-time member of the BUF—British Union of
Fascists. As Charles L. Morey, I had written Burgess following the tip of an American soldier who had seen him selling
the Protocols of the Elders oi Zion and similar literature on
London's streets. Burgess's letter read:
... I am rather hoping that I can find a number of National Socialist friends in various countries, who will give me
an opportunity of ousting the Jews from some of the Export
trade. . . . Think it over, and let me know. In the meantime
write again soon, and tell me the latest news of the American
National Front. I hope that you are slaughtering as many
Jews as we seem to be doing in Palestine. All the best,
Yours in Service,
V. C. Burgess
I made my first visit in London to him, unannounced, bearing my gifts of food and cigarettes. I found a man of twentyeight, with watery blue eyes and long brown hair slicked back.
His face was long and coarse; he was dressed in gray trousers,
gray shirt, and a khaki jacket. His "export" office proved to be
a ramshackle hallway room, with a battered desk and a wooden
box for a chair. Next door was a room for his wife and two
children. As one of the children began to cry, Burgess shouted
from the box on which he was sitting:
"Shut up, Ralph. Damn that boy. Keep him quiet, Olive.
Close the door, Olive. Damn it, CLOSE THAT DOOR!"
Before the door slammed I glanced inside. The room was