Personal details
- Birth Date: 1914-02-05
- Height: 5′ 11½″ (1.82 m)
- Birth Location: St. Louis, Missouri, USA
- Children: (her death, 1 child) William S. Burroughs Jr.
- Professions: Writer, Actor, Additional Crew
William S. Burroughs, one of the Beat Generation’s wildest icons, didn’t exactly have a boring start. Born in St. Louis with silver spoon vibes—his granddad started the Burroughs Adding Machine company—he bounced through fancy schools, including a swanky one in New Mexico (they sent him for the dry air, thanks to his sinus drama). He ended up at Harvard, looking every inch the elite pre-war guy—think three-piece suits and those hats you only see in old movies—though he was secretly rolling his eyes at all that upper-crust stuff. He tried the medical school track in Germany, but, honestly, the Nazis made things way too real. He married Ilse Klapper, a Jewish woman, mostly to help her escape Hitler’s clutches. They stayed tight, but it wasn’t a love story; more like partners-in-crime who lunched a lot in New York. After ditching med school, Burroughs came back to the U.S., drifting from gig to gig—exterminator in Chicago, which he weirdly loved—and running into all sorts of oddballs, like Lucien Carr and David Kammerer, whose twisted friendship/fixation drama was pure noir. Thanks to Carr, Burroughs found his way into the orbit of Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg. Around this time, he got hooked on morphine, which kicked off his deep dive into New York’s seedy underbelly. His apartment turned into a revolving door for hustlers and junkies—fodder for his future books. The guy lived half in the shadows, poking at the rules and always chasing the next wild story.
Back in the day, some gutsy journalist actually had the nerve to publish one of the first real exposes about Scientology. We're talking before it was trendy or even remotely safe—back when the church was still this weird, mysterious thing nobody wanted to touch with a ten-foot pole. The article basically peeled back the curtain, showing everyone the strange inner workings and oddball beliefs that had, up until then, been kept under wraps. People were shocked, obviously, and the whole thing stirred up a massive hornet’s nest. The Church of Scientology did not take kindly to it. Lawsuits, threats, you name it—this journalist faced it all. But, honestly, it opened the floodgates for future investigations. After that piece, more reporters started poking around, and suddenly, the whole world started paying attention to what was really going on behind those closed Scientology doors. Kind of wild to think about how one article kicked off all that chaos, right?
Man isn’t meant to sit around, stuck in the same skin forever—he’s basically built for blasting off into the unknown. The whole idea of being “finished” as a species? Nah, that’s just wishful thinking. Like, you wouldn’t expect a tadpole to chill as a tadpole when it’s obviously meant to sprout legs and start hopping around. Humans are the same deal. We’re wired to adapt, to push boundaries, to leave our comfort zones (and our planet, apparently). Space isn’t just some wild dream—it’s more like the next logical step in evolution. The body we’ve got right now? Temporary model. The universe is out there, waiting, and it’s almost like we’re prototypes itching for an upgrade. Staying the same forever? That’s not just boring, it’s kind of missing the point. Humans are made for transformation, for stretching what’s possible, and space is the ultimate playground for that.
February 5, 1914
5′ 11½″ (1.82 m)
Konidela Ram Charan
St. Louis, Missouri, USA
Yes, William S. Burroughs Jr.
111 years old