By New Times
By Connor Radnovich
By Robrt L. Pela and Amy Silverman
By Ray Stern
By Keegan Hamilton
By Matthew Hendley
By Monica Alonzo
By Monica Alonzo
"From 2004 to 2011 will be a time of real testing and a challenge of people's hearts, minds, bodies and spirits," Reagan warns from his Scottsdale dojo. "It's called the razor's edge." Reagan adds that he intends for his warriors to be ready. "That's also why I include a lot of firearms training. I see us moving toward a civil war."
And where Reagan goes, his Deer Tribe follows.
Reagan sits in a corner of his dojo behind a low table. He wears a patchwork stars-and-stripes shirt and a baseball cap that shades his steely blue eyes. He looks a little like Roy Clark with a bee up his ass. Reagan's 62 years have been rough on him, and despite the grit of his gravelly voice and piercing stare, he looks much older than his age. His long arms are dotted with liver spots, and his face is splotchy and bloated. But he's the first to boast that he's lived more in his six decades than most people do in six lifetimes.
"The day I was born was a very exciting day. My mother was riding a little pinto pony; my dad was riding a little Morgan," he says as a twitch of a smile flutters like a moth through the silver hairs of his moustache. "The mare that my mother was riding was also with foal. All of a sudden, my mother started going into labor pains, so my dad jumped off the horse and went over to the shade. As soon as I was born, the little foal was born, and consequently, my dad reached in his saddle bag and pulled out a Dr. Pepper, poured it in a bottle and gave it to me. I jumped on the foal and we rode off into the sunset."
He chuckles, reaching for a lighter concealed inside a red plastic shotgun shell and lighting one of an endless parade of clove cigarettes, which move seamlessly from his lips to a turquoise ashtray in the form of a rattlesnake. Like any raconteur of tall tales worth his salt, Reagan delights in the telling of the story, not in the truth behind it. And he is a man with a lot of stories to tell.
Reagan is cantankerous and riveting. He is outspoken and outlandish at times, grandfatherly at others. Turquoise and gold cling to his wrists like scabs; his fingers bear chunky rings. There's an electric-blue Para-Ordnance .45 pistol on his belt, the handle engraved with a red, white and blue eagle and "Gunnie" in black gothic script. "Gunnie" is what he goes by on the range, and nowadays he admits, "People call me Gunnie more than they do Swift Deer."
He seems to have tired of the spiritual rhetoric with which he has filled books and the heads of his followers for the past 20 years. He'll discuss it, but he's much more animated when he starts describing some of his views for which he is less well-known like the mess that the liberals have made of the United States. Anger spits from his lips as he growls about the government, the U.N. and the Latinos who are ruining this country for the true patriots.
Reagan says he was born in Texas, of mixed Irish and Cherokee blood. He straddled the two cultures, appearing white but raised Indian. His greatest influence as a young man was his grandmother Spotted Fawn, a Cherokee medicine woman.
It was she who arranged for Reagan to be sexually initiated by an adult woman when he was 14 years old. It was this "Phoenix Fire Woman," or sexual teacher, who showed Reagan the art of making love, the nine different kinds of vaginas and penises men and women possess, the five levels of orgasm and other ancient secrets, which, half a century later, his disciples are hawking in seminars like the one Lucy attended across North America and Europe.
Reagan says he joined the Marines in 1959 after being kicked out of the Air Force Academy. His habit of staying up all night and sleeping during the day plus his love of masturbation made it difficult for him to fit in with the rest of the recruits. Reagan completed four tours in Vietnam as a gunnery sergeant before being blown out of a helicopter by enemy fire and tumbling 300 feet to the earth. He then was sent to recover at the Bethesda Naval Hospital and was discharged in 1969.
Killing, he says quickly, didn't bother him at all. What did upset him was the way he was treated upon his return. Reagan says he felt "betrayed, not by my country, but by my government."
"I had dog shit thrown on me. I had people piss on my utility bag that I was carrying my clothes and stuff in. I was called baby killer, child killer, rapist, a war monger."
After his stint in the service, Reagan goes on, he became a Mormon, a philandering husband, a father of five sons, a doctor of philosophy, a world-champion martial artist, a shape-shifting sorcerer and, at some point, a secret agent.
"I'd really rather not go there," he says solemnly. "Let's just say I did black operations for the U.S. federal government, and that's all I'm saying. I was recruited in the Marine Corps, and I had a great deal of blame and shame about that not about my service as a Marine, but the other things I was doing in covert operations. And I thought I was really doing something for the country when I found out it had nothing to do with the country, but the government and their own personal agenda."