By Rasa Von Werder, March 19th, 2021
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1950 distant relations

Extreme left, Dad with glasses holding me age 5 – just got to the states -

unknown man, then Mom – the rest Lithuanian distant relatives & friends -

the old couple on left, front, brought us here to the U.S. & were going to get a

house for us but my Mom bitched her out



I Strip for God Part 3

3-18-21 Continue Chapter 8 Various Anecdotes

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“The Saturday school, I form ‘the Adventure Club”

“Working in a Hollywood Club, a Dancer takes Revenge”

“My Costume Maker Sexually Abuses Friend’s Dog”

“I Stop a Boy Swinging a Cat by the Tail”

“Hillbilly Hoods”


I am 6-8 years old. Dad has formed a ‘Saturday School’ where the Lithuanian Community kids can study subjects in our language, keep our culture going. Eventually this school diminishes down to one teacher, maybe 6 students, myself & bro included. {I don’t know why it was reduced to this. It started out with multiple teachers & lots of kids, we met in the large auditorium all sitting on cafeteria-style tables. Many subjects were presented & also pageants where we proved our abilities, be they sing, dance, recite poetry, play a musical instrument or read from an advanced Lithuanian book. I always recited poems. I can only guess there was attrition, dropping out, but why, I don’t know. It bugs me, though. Were they lazy or most importantly, didn’t want to pay? As the teachers were paid.}

We meet in the Church auditorium, but now only a smallish room to the side, a couple floors up. As usual, I had my disciples, {kids younger than me} & since I adored the Holy Virgin, I created a Club in her honor, where we had to wear rings with her image. My chelas were 3 & there was one requirement: they had to follow me in having an adventure a day; it was before class.

Mostly we explored the auditorium. There were many rooms. One day we went here & there, & after the jaunt it was time for class. We go to the big auditorium door – it won’t open. Panic. Now I tell the kids,

“God will save us. We must kneel in a circle on the floor, pray the rosary,”


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And so we did. Within a few minutes, BANG, the door opens & in walks a man. We don’t know him, but we scream & run through the door to the class – he’s startled. Ambling into class the male teacher gives us a stern look, we say nothing, but I proved that GOD WOULD SAVE US.




To depart from my childhood I give an anecdote from my Hollywood days.

I go to this club unlike most places I work. I liked theaters & go-go bars, those I was comfortable in. Usually did not have to rub shoulders with other dancers, I did my show & that was it. But here it was a small you might say ‘fancy’ or rather ‘pretentious’ club, with a Hoodlum manager, tall & handsome, well dressed, but his English gave him away.

This place was expensive. Had a band, mixed drinks, elaborate décor but tiny. Behind the scenes there were about 8 dancers, all squeezed into one room & that meant trouble. You have to be friends when inside a sardine can, but sometimes it doesn’t work – people turn against you for various reasons like misunderstanding & jealousy, & before I knew it, trouble came.

I was the newest member of those jailed & conversations went on. One of the females bragged to me about herself, can’t recall what, it went on & on. But to prove that she was specially favored by the band, she said they played ‘Night Train’ for her & her alone – whenever she went out. I was impressed, because Night Train was favored by all dancers, a famous tune with great rhythm. {Conversations backstage centered partly on us trying to impress one another ‘How great I am – I’m special – the basic nonsense.’ I usually just listened & asked questions, part of the fault I’ve been accused of – ‘being too nice’. One dancer from way back in the day told me via internet, how ‘sweet’ I was. I was NOT aware of being sweet or ‘too nice’ – I only heard it from people.}

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Now I came to the club that day dressed to the nines. I wore a cashmere beige custom-made suit with a mink collar, it buttoned in front with cloth-covered buttons – this ensemble cost me a pretty penny.

OK, now it’s my turn to go out & do my stuff & I emerge on the kind of dance floor I hated – not above but same level as the audience, straight floor. To this day I cannot stand performing on the same level as the people, I must be HIGHER UP, the higher the better, or I don’t feel right. Theaters & go-go bars all had stages like that.

So I go out there & the band charges up. Here comes NIGHT TRAIN! OMG, what will prima donna think?

I go back to the room, there is my suit. It’s the end of the night, she’s gone. But my suit is missing all it’s buttons. She took a scissors & cut them off. I ask if anyone has needle & thread & sew them back on. This is par for the course for me. Did I play the music or ask them to play it? No, it was their decision. But I paid for it.

It reminds me of all the times I had to pay for what other people said or did. For instance, Arnold Schwarzenegger hated me because of Playboy making fun of him when they featured the first female body building article on me {May 1977}. They said a woman’s muscles would not become ‘magic mountains’ like ‘Arnie Schwarzenegger’.

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Then I did an AM New York Show with Arnold & all the gang. They went bananas for me, praising me to the skies. Arnold was the last male to come out – he was looked at by other male body builders as their hero. But when he does so, Sandy York, a local comedian, takes off his shirt & flexes his skinny arms in front of Arnold, making him look foolish. Arnold is fuming.

We go back to the dressing room. It’s 7AM, none of us has had breakfast. I ask Franco Columbo, are we all going to breakfast together? And Arnold spits out
He was mad at me for other things, which I really did, like cuckolding him with Franco, but the things I did not do he also made me pay. Will explain elsewhere. In a nutshell, he tried but ultimately failed to get Lisa Lyon the credit I deserved {there is a God, She is on my side} for being the catalyst to get modern competitive female body building going.



Speaking of that club with the Night Train prima donna, I had a gay male dressmaker at the time. He was one of the ugliest males I’d ever seen, as his face had acne on top of acne, mountains of it.

He sold me a pair of beaded bikini pants from the style 1948 – convincing me they were the greatest thing since Josephine Baker, but when I got to the club I saw it was all wrong. He ripped me off for $40 – $331 today! & would not take a return – he knew he had robbed me. {This costume was a flop & with the females ganging up & bad-mouthing me, the Hood manager took me aside, & said in poor English that I was doing everything wrong & fired me. To be honest, I hated that place & was glad to go – you know how some places, though they might be plain & simple, appeal to you? But others, though they be fancy & luxurious, turn you off? It’s where you feel welcome or its opposite.}

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However, I digressed. This is about the ugly costume maker. One day this guy calls me up & says to me,

“My friend left his poodle with me while he went on vacation. Now I must take him to the vet but I am scared. Can you come with me?”

Because I love animals, I went – had no idea why he was scared of the vet, & to be honest, I was so naïve it took me YEARS to figure it out.

We get there & the vet puts the little dog on the table. Acne man says he won’t poop. The vet then proceeds with his fingers to take feces after feces out of the little guy’s rectum & says to Acne he was going to REPORT HIM to animal protection people. Acne pretends he doesn’t know why & I am baffled.

It took me YEARS to figure out that Acne was SODOMIZING poor little thing & pushing his feces way up into his intestines. My mind was unable to GRASP such an atrocity at the time. His friend would be coming back soon from vacation & he didn’t want him to know what he had done, obviously. And that explains why he was SCARED to go to the vet alone.




There was an evil boy in my grammar school – one of those that never graduates, stays in the 8th grade year after year until he turns 16, then he’s kicked out.

He was a class-A delinquent & should have got locked up in some sort of juvenile detention center, but he was in my school. Every day he caused mayhem, the principle would call his Mom & she’d say wearily,

“What has he done now?”

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When anyone saw him they’d stay clear, he knew he’d do something bad & he was violent. But one day I had to intervene. I was in the 6th grade, 12 years old, this guy was much bigger than me, I guess he was 15 or 16.

He had picked up a poor cat by the tail & spun around & around, laughing, the cat screeching, & no one did anything. Precious seconds went by, but he had to be stopped, so I jumped at him & began pounding on him & he dropped the cat.

That reminds me of other incidents closer to now. My hairdresser told me that on her way to the shop there was a dog tied in front of path to a trailer, in the sun at 98 degrees, no water, no shade, no respite, all day. I asked her where. In fact, it was on my way but I hadn’t seen it.

I went there & indeed it was as she said. I was going to unhook the dog but it had a lock I’d never seen before & could not figure it out. And so, the fence post his chain was on, I rocked & rocked it until it came loose, I pulled it out, got the dog by the barn in the shade – from under the barn came cold, wonderful air. I got him water, he was all set & so happy.

Country folk are as good or evil as anyone – they are the same – don’t let their fake smiles fool you. I was told one guy only went to his trailer occasionally – it was seasonal. He had six dogs tied up out there. I went to check on them – no water. I gave them water, then the guy woke up & came out. I told him the dogs had no water so I filled their bowls.

Right after that he came to my house & threatened my life – said people like me they shoot & bury in the woods. Then he asked me for a landscaping job. I scratched my head.


Another guy – I was on my island. My Rottweiler was in the muddy bank of this shack across the water. A guy on dope came out with a gun & points the gun at him, then at me, for what, I’m not sure. I started backing out of the mud – which took time as it was up to my knees - not knowing if he’d shoot the dog or me – & walked away on the island as fast as possible.   He yelled,

“I know where you live.”

Believe me, country people are not nice, nor friendly, nor anything better than city people or Hollywood celebrities, watch your back. And rumors? They have more rumors than mosquitos in the summer Arctic. Their lives are inconsequential, they are so uneducated, untraveled & ignorant, all they do is talk, talk, talk, & what comes out of their mouths is septic. I could write a book that would beat Peyton Place & ‘Harper Valley PTA”. When I came out here, being in the adult trade, they had a field day. But I’d still rather be me & take all that than be one of them. Of course, again, like anywhere else, there are good people as well, always the minority. No one wants to be a saint.

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