judson

An event can leave its impress in more than memory. In the early 1970s, the Master’s Representative for the Radha Soami Satsang in Cape Town was a man called Mickey Judson. He was in his early thirties, I would guess, but his full head of hair was as white as an egret. It was Lesley who told me that his hair had gone white as a result of witnessing, in or near the flats where he lived, a brutal murder in which the victim was bludgeoned and hacked up. Had his hair gone white from the roots, I asked. No, I was told, all the hair had just gone white and stayed white.

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