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You may be familiar with Bohemian Grove, a yearly conclave of New-World-Order-types (government officials, corporate elite, hooked-up Republican operatives). What some people don’t realize is that the private three-week Grove fest is run by the Bohemian Club, a century-old secret order based in San Francisco. The Club owns the Grove property; it’s unclear what they do with it when it’s not being used for Bohemian Grove in July.

This is my report of an attempted stakeout of the Bohemian Club. I’ll admit up-front that I didn’t bust in with my camera blazing. But I did confirm the location, gather some interesting info, and make a possible ID of a Club member. Oh, and I’ve also located some stealth footage of the Club’s interior. Keep reading to get the full report.

The Stakeout Begins

It was foggy when I first entered downtown San Francisco, where the world headquarters of the highly secretive Bohemian Club is located. The fog burned off soon enough — that’s how the weather works here in The City — but the neighborhood still had a sinister air about it. This section of town, right near Nob Hill, is the home a top One World Government organization. You know — another one of those groups that Doesn’t Exist™, right up there with Skull & Bones and the Bilderberg group. These guys decide what you eat for breakfast, and you eat it without even knowing they chose it for you. They invented Cheerios and made you love them, and tricked you into thinking it was your idea.

Cruising in the Black Shadow (a 2005 Prius), I staked out the headquarters of the club along with Agent One (who was safely strapped into his carseat) and our trusty Nikon D80 with telephoto lens. The truth is, the real Bohemian action is at the yearly Bohemian Grove gathering some 80 miles north in the Santa Rosa area. (If you aren’t familiar with the Bay Area, the Bohemians do their weird rituals right near the Napa-Sonoma wine region. Whether any of the bigwigs attending the fest ever sneak out to do some wine tasting or take a mud bath — that information is unknown at this time.)

What actually goes on inside the Bohemian Club? No one knows for sure except the members, and few of them ever talk. (Richard Nixon once dissed the goings-on at Bohemian Grove, telling his confidante John Ehrlichman “The Bohemian Grove, which I attend from time to time . . . It is the most faggy goddamned thing you could ever imagine with that San Francisco crowd.”)

So maybe it’s a bunch of gay activity at the Boho Club, although given that the vast majority of known members are also members of the Republican Party, I doubt it. No, what I figure is going on is actually planning for the Grove. In past Bohemian Grove gatherings, the Manhattan Project (first atomic bomb) was planned, Ronald Reagan was ordered not to run for President until Nixon had his turn, and GWB was ordered to choose Dick Cheney as his Vice-Presidential running mate.

A Club You Would Not Join

What’s more interesting than what’s going on inside the Club building is who is coming and going. I was hoping to catch some comings and goings, and I did — although I missed getting his picture by a half-second. More on that in a minute.

The Bohemian Club probably isn’t a club you’d want to join, even if you get past the 15-year waiting list and the $25,000 initiation fee (not to mention the yearly dues). These people are from the old guard — the angry, power-mad elite. In a word, haters.

Adair Lara, long-time columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle, recounts this story of a prospective member’s sour experience in the Club building:

One year, San Francisco novelist Herb Gold said he was offered an associate membership if he would help write the Grove play. Gold took fellow writer Earnest Gaines (“A Lesson Before Dying”), an African American, to a Wednesday night entertainment at the six-story downtown club. Five members, he said, were in blackface. One member clapped Gaines on the back. “Looks like you’ve played a little football,” Gold heard him say. Shortly thereafter, the writers took their leave. “I guess I’m not clubbable,” Gold said wryly. . .

Just imagine jerks like those Gold and Gaines met, “camping” together in luxury for two weeks. Now imagine them as secretive leaders of the world. Because they’re one and the same.

Intelligence Gathering and a (Famous?) Member Sighted

So here I was, outside a headquarters building of the shadow One-World Government, looping around and around the block to get as many interesting shots of the building as I could. The block is beautiful and old, covered in ivy, well over 100 years old. The Bohemian Club, at 624 Taylor Street, is not marked in any obvious way (see the shot of the entrance below). In fact, if I had not been assured of the Club’s address, I wouldn’t have known what I was looking at — an office building, perhaps. What I really wanted to do is get out with my Nikon and walk straight in, shooting the camera the whole time, until someone grabbed me and forced me out. With Agent One in the back seat, that wasn’t going to happen. And I’m not sure what the point of that would have been anyway. The Club’s darkest secrets aren’t so easily uncovered.

By chance, I looked up and noticed that there were three flags on the roof right over 624 Taylor. One was the stars-and-stripes, another was the California state flag (it’s the one with the bear). And there was a third, enigmatic flag between them, in a place of prominence . With the help of a telephoto lens, all became a little more clear: this was the only overt sign of the location, the official flag of the Bohemian Club. The owl icon represents the Club, and, some say, also represents Moloch, the demon god that the Club elite worship. Here’s a closeup of the logo, taken from a stolen cocktail napkin from a Bohemian Grove gathering of past years.

So just after I shot this picture right below — and I mean about half a second after — an overweight, balding man wearing business casual comes sauntering out of the entrance. I will always regret missing that shot. It was too late to get another chance; impatient cars were behind me, and there was nowhere to pull over, so I couldn’t stop. I’ll never be 100% sure about the man’s identity, but I could swear it was Dick Cheney. You’ll have to trust me on that.

Even though I recommend that you trust no one.

P.S.: although I couldn’t dare to go inside on this particular venture, some other guys did. Wanna see inside? Check this out!