Have you read his book Sex Rebel? Two years after Sex Rebel was published, Stanley Armour Dunham—a decade-long friend of Davis—introduced him to Barry. The late 60s had been the end for Davis’s family life. The year after Sex Rebel came out, Davis’ son left home and joined the Air Force. After years of marital difficulties described in Davis’ FBI files, his wealthy wife Helen Canfield Davis, whose own sexual escapades are described extensively in the book, finally divorced Davis in 1970. Oddly enough, that was the same year that Stanley Anne shipped Barry’s sorry a$$ home from Indonesia and dumped him on Madelyn and Stanely.
Take note of this part......and think about it. If you read ‘Dreams” you will see the connection:
“Married or not, Davis’s fun and games continued unabated after moving to Hawaii in 1948. After his escapade with “Dot” and “Lloyd”, Davis describes group sex and voyeurism at “the Green Goose, a bar in Honolulu’s ‘Little Harlem’ on Smith Street, then operated by one of my friends.” Smith Street was Honolulu’s one and only slice of the ghetto scenes so prevalent in Mainland inner cities.
Obama’s relationship with Davis would last from age nine to eighteen and is described in chapters four and five of Obama’s autobiography, “Dreams from my Father.” Obama describes gramp’s other black male friends but is not particularly impressed with them.
He then writes:
“There was one exception; a poet named Frank who lived in a dilapidated house in a run-down section of Waikiki….He would read us his poetry whenever we stopped by his house, sharing whiskey with gramps out of an emptied jelly jar. As the night wore on, the two of them would solicit my help in composing dirty limericks. Eventually, the conversation would turn to laments about women.
“‘They’ll drive you to drink, boy,’ Frank would tell me soberly. ‘And if you let ‘em they’ll drive you into your grave.’
“I was intrigued by old Frank, with his books and whiskey breath and the hint of hard-earned knowledge behind the hooded eyes. The visits to his house always left me feeling vaguely uncomfortable, though, as if I were witnessing some complicated, unspoken transaction between the two men, a transaction I couldn’t fully understand. The same thing I felt whenever gramps took me downtown to one of his favorite bars, in Honolulu’s red light district….usually I would sit at the bar, my legs dangling from the high stool, blowing bubbles into my drink and looking at the pornographic art on the walls—the phosphorescent women on animal skins, the Disney characters in compromising positions….”
Unless you have read Sex Rebel, you cannot ever know what a truly sick, perverted man Frank Marshall Davis was.
Compare this sick perverted commie freak to any other president, no matter how loathesome the other president might have been. This one hits the bullseye of evil.