Lessons learned from my journey with Dennis

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

When those checks began pouring in from all over the USA and we began building a prototype of Mr. Mentor’s geophysical heat pump, the rocket began taking off. In the years since then, other efforts had their brief days in the sunshine, such as Joe Firmage’s, Greer’s, NEM, Brian’s early efforts, some of Adam Trombly’s efforts, and some others. Our fates were all similar. Officialdom usually got involved at some level, provocateurs infiltrated into the efforts, attacks came from the outside, as provocateurs attacked from the inside (I call it the inside-outside job – I heard about it in Seattle, and would soon live through it in Ventura), and the effort would be betrayed by its members (which is what always hurt us the most).

Surviving murder attempts often came with the territory, and when spooks try to kill you, it is a different experience from mobster hit attempts (Dennis survived several of those (1, 2)). As Mark eventually learned, the violent suppression relaxed a bit after the Cold War ended. I think that it was partly because Godzilla’s tactics have become more refined over the years to now resemble a science, so violence is the last resort anymore.

In the early days of the rocket taking off, I saw a few more attempts to steal our company, by kit buyers. By that time, going back to Seattle, I had witnessed about a dozen attempts to steal Dennis’s company, and I told Dennis how shocking it was to witness people acting criminally like that. Dennis replied that the first 50 times he experienced it, he was shocked, too. I was still a babe in the woods, even with all that I had already seen, but my education was really just beginning.

Even though the rocket ship was taking off, I warned people that I hired of what could happen to us, which did, soon enough, but those last months of 1987 were an amazing experience. I was too busy working crazy hours to interact much with the public, but sometimes I would get interesting phone calls, such as from a man who called Princeton’s physics department early in his career and Einstein answered the phone with: “This is Albert.” It was in Einstein’s last years, and he began waxing “mystically” almost immediately on that call, talking about the strange way that the universe was structured, with the obvious intelligence behind its design.

I was the controller, working back in the bowels of the operation, behind the scenes, but others interacted directly with the public and our operation became a Mecca for those months, until the sledgehammer came down on us. A representative from the Japanese government called on Dennis (this was during the Japanese boom), I talked with people from all over the world who arrived at our office. Many were very hip to how the world really works, telling me of their adventures. One thing that I heard in those days, and I have been hearing it ever since, was that if the USA was too corrupt and fascist for an effort like ours to succeed, where on Earth was? Those worldly adventurers informed me that there was no place on Earth free of what we were experiencing (most such advice came after the raid, but some came before it).

A couple of attorneys came from Washington, D.C., and they were connected. They personally knew the USA’s Attorney General at the time, Edwin Meese. They asked Meese if he knew anything about Dennis, and Meese knew Dennis by name. He told the attorneys that the USA’s Justice Department had thoroughly investigated Dennis, and that Dennis was “squeaky clean.” The attorney emphasized “squeaky clean” as he handed Dennis a check for $10K, for two full sets of kits. That was the first time that I heard of executive branch awareness of Dennis, but it was far from the last.

One strange aspect of a milieu like this is that one year, the Justice Department can investigate you and find you to be “squeaky clean,” but under a different administration, that same department will try to take you out, or other executive branch departments will. The “funny” thing about Dennis’s adventures is that Republican administrations were generally friendly, and Democratic ones were hostile, which is the opposite of what most “progressives” would think was the case. Clinton hated Dennis, Gore begged off of further involvement, Bush the Second’s energy advisor was one of Dennis’s fans, and Dennis was run out of the USA by the Obama administration (although the wheels likely began turning under Bush the Second). Can you imagine how idiotic I consider criticisms like this? But cyberspace is full of tabloid gossip and disinformation, which easily gulls the naïve, gullible, and unintelligent.

But in the mayhem of trying to stay on the rocket, I heard plenty from Dennis and others in the inner circle of what was happening and who was approaching us, and it could be enlightening and sobering. When Mr. Mentor got his engine patented and the federal government got involved, it funded the second, more defensible patent, and claimed government interest in it, which meant that Mr. Mentor retained the commercial rights, but the government would not owe any royalties when it built engines using that patent. A huge federal study, commissioned in the wake of the energy crisis, not only concluded that Mr. Mentor’s engine was by far the best engine for powering an automobile, the results were read into the Congressional Record. So, my first encounters with patents were enthusiastic government support (although private interests were far less enthusiastic), but we soon began to hear from people who had the opposite experience.

The USA’s federal government has seized thousands of patents by using national security laws, and it specifically targeted novel energy technologies. Our offices were visited by people who engaged in those battles with the federal government. And as with the attacks that Dennis’s efforts attracted over the years by various governments, nobody should labor under any illusions that “national security” had anything to do with the seizures. National security is only a convenient lie, as people such as Ralph McGehee discovered the hard way. Private interests are almost always behind such “national security” technology seizures. Government, the military in particular, is only the “muscle” that they use, as the military acts on behalf of its patrons. As Bucky Fuller said, political actors are merely “stooges” of the economic interests. We discovered that in spades during our journeys. There are armies of politicians and officials who happily sold their souls to the vested interests, and many are psychopaths, such as Mr. Deputy.

We also began hearing grim tales from people, coming to our offices, telling their stories to people who could understand, or to warn us. One man told us of living in the back of a chiropractor’s office for two years, to stay alive, because he and a professor partner had developed a way to make platinum mining easy. Another man arrived at our office in a limousine, to warn us what happened to him when he invested $35 million in a windmill facility. Rich people are not easy to bribe, so the Big Boys can go straight to the stick. We also heard tales of violent ends, and one tactic is to set a house on fire and bulldoze it. We heard about a free energy inventor who suffered that fate, after his family was murdered, in the house that was set on fire and then bulldozed. Hearing about people being kangarooed into jail also came to us.

A pair of elderly brothers of Eastern European extraction told me about attending one of the Max Gerson’s conferences, at which he was poisoned and nearly died. I heard from activists who had fought the federal government and won, over the executive branch’s authority to levy and collect income taxes, which the U.S. Constitution authorizes the legislative branch to perform, not the executive branch. When I sacrificed my life in early 1989, to give Dennis a slim chance of living to see this side of the bars again, my gesture eventually secured the leading attorney in the USA for defending Constitutionalists, who had mopped up the floor of the USA’s Supreme Court with IRS personnel the year before he took Dennis’s case. He was nearly disbarred for taking Dennis’s case, which was the education of his career.

In late 1987, I was being steeped in tales such as those, which came to our front door on a regular basis. I worked two shifts in those days. My room in the home of my future wife was only a ten-minute drive from my office, and I generally worked from 9 to 5, went home for a quick meal, and returned to the office for a few more hours, sometimes until midnight. She quickly knew that I was a hard worker.

I drank in those days, but I generally only drank on the weekends, as I could not afford any “down time” when trying to ride the rocket. Dennis worked until midnight regularly, and sometimes he would drink with that Yakima pal of his, Fred, at the office in the evening. One night in particular was memorable. It was in mid-December of 1987, and Dennis was drinking that night with Fred. At about midnight, I came back to the office to drive Dennis home. Dennis is a paraplegic anyway, whom I would eventually push through airports in a wheelchair, and I had to half-carry a drunken Dennis to the car in our parking lot. But as we made our way to my car, Dennis stood in our parking lot, looking at our two buildings, and made a prophetic statement. He said to take in what we were doing, and that the Big Boys’ eyes had to be bugging out, seeing what we had going. I think it was that night that Dennis said that I was every bit as talented as Mr. Mentor was, but in the area of finance. He may have been right, but I see my talent as not figuring out the finance game and maneuvering through it, but seeing through it, as just an exchange game with little intrinsic value. In a world economy based on FE and related technologies, all exchange games will soon become meaningless.

I realized that night that if we were not stopped soon, that we might become unstoppable, and the Big Boys realized that, too, as I would soon discover. In late December, at one of Dennis’s Saturday morning shows, Victor Fischer attended and left his business plan with Mr. Researcher, who immediately realized that while we were building Mr. Mentor’s geophysical heat pump from scratch, Fischer had already developed his hydraulic heat engine through a few rounds of prototypes.

We met with Fischer on New Year’s Day, 1988, and I handed him his first check. I think that I noticed his gesture the first time that I handed him his check. I am a semi-nerd and don’t do well in social situations, but I am not entirely oblivious, and especially one-on-one, I can tell a lot about people, including their body language sometimes. When handing Fischer his check, he had a palm-up, grasping gesture, almost greedy. I noticed it when I handed him his first check nearly a decade later, when he signed back on with Dennis again, after Yull Brown left Dennis high and dry. Dennis was surprised when Fischer left him high and dry in New Jersey, but I wasn’t, and that tale will come later.

Little did I know it at the time, but New Year’s Day 1988 marked the beginning of the worst year of my life, by far.

Best,

Wade

Edited September 11, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Before I get to 1988, a few more events from late 1987 are in order. When the rocket began to take off in Ventura, we invited the few people from the Boston experience who were still interested. Mr. Stooge and his wife came out, along with one of Mr. Stooge’s Amway pals, André. We hired an HVAC man from Boston to install systems, who was with us for most of our Ventura days, and a couple of other people got involved who had the right stuff. That man who became our machinist had a young wife and a child, and he was a volunteer before the rocket took off, so he gets some points for that. That was about it. That family in Boston slowly sank into bankruptcy, with the Seattle salesman actually working for people who tried to steal our Ventura company.

Dennis also reached back to Seattle, to get people involved again, primarily the “loyalists.” One was a salesman named Dave. Dennis always led his efforts with sales, which reflected his background going back to Sears. One of Dennis’s strategies was making one of his salesmen a “winner.” Dennis designed programs so that a chimpanzee could sell them, and he dangled huge commissions to the salesmen, would teach one of them how to close deals, and the winner’s huge commission checks would inspire the others. Dave was Dennis’s designated “winner” from the Seattle effort. The day after my boss made his play to steal the Seattle company, Dave made some remarks at Dennis’s house that made me wonder about him, but he helped us put Mr. Inventor’s equipment in Mr. Engineer’s barn, so he got some points.

In about October of 1987, Dennis contacted Dave, letting him know that the blood was in the water again, invited him down to Ventura to see our operation and, Dennis hoped, join it. I spent a Saturday morning driving from Ventura, picking Dave up at the LA airport, and bringing him to Ventura. He went back to Seattle that weekend, and the next week, we received the extortion demand from Dave, Mr. Inventor, Mr. Young Engineer, and Mr. Installer. Dave was really casing the joint when he came to Ventura, seeing how much they might be able to extort from us. Quite frankly, when Dennis began making free energy noise, heat storage technology made of sand was not too important, and Dennis rarely mentioned Mr. Inventor’s heat storage technology anymore, and never prominently.

With the threat that Dennis had me deliver to Mr. Installer, and with my interaction with Mr. Inventor in Boston, their extortion demand was no great surprise, but Dave’s and Mr. Young Engineer’s participation was. For trying to help Dave reach the Big Time again, Dennis received an extortion demand. In the end, only two people from the Seattle “loyalists” acquitted themselves honorably. In the end, perhaps a half dozen did from Boston. It was also a bit better than that. When I write that people acquitted themselves honorably or didn’t, I am only writing about people who had some considerable skin the game, not those who were involved for a few weeks or so. For instance, I consider that man who got us that radio station interview as somebody who acquitted himself honorably. He spent a couple of months of his life, and a few thousand dollars, on his effort. That level of skin in the game reaches the point where somebody could acquit themselves honorably or not. Plenty of people walked away without hurting or helping us much, but they never invested enough of their time, energy, and money to really make important decisions about their actions and involvement. Of the people who got in deep over the years, Dennis said that only Mr. Professor and I came out of it with our integrity intact; that is not a high batting average, and is a big reason for my current approach. If I ask people to put much “skin the game,” the vast majority will fail. I am not asking anybody to put their lives on the line like we did, even though to casual observers putting one’s life on the line rarely looks like it, at least before the going gets rough. I will do my best to keep those that I recruit to the choir out of trouble, keeping them off the path to trouble entirely, if I can help it. As long as they don’t rush out to go “do something,” such as proselytize to their social circles or try those other doomed approaches, they should be fine. My strategy will work, if I can find enough people with the right stuff and help them up the learning curve to achieve a comprehensive perspective.

Best,

Wade

Edited September 14, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

As I get to 1988, this is a good point to discuss the physics of Fischer’s engine a little. As with Mr. Mentor’s engine, Fischer did not invent his to beat the Carnot ideal. Fischer is a polymath who, after studying the human brain and schizophrenia at a big think tank, decided to study heat engine cycles, seeking an untried one. The exercise began with loading data from all the known cycles, and during the analysis phase, hydraulic heat engines became an obvious route not tried before.

I saw Fischer’s business plan after he submitted it to Dennis and after Mr. Researcher studied it, and as I recall, his claims were that his hydraulic heat engines would get something like 50% more efficiency than the day’s heat engines, such as if a heat engine got a 20% efficiency under certain conditions, Fischer’s would get 30%. He did not write his business plan with the idea of defeating the Carnot ideal, but he soon thought that he could. I heard him talk about it one day for a couple of minutes. He said that when Carnot did his work, steam engines were all that he knew, and his theorizing assumed an ideal gas. With ideal gases being the assumption, liquid heat engines were ignored ever since. As I recall, Fischer’s first prototype got nearly 30% efficiency, at a 700 degree F high end, or about half the Carnot ideal.

What made his heat engine remarkable was an aspect of Mr. Mentor’s, in that it did not exhaust to a low-temperature heat sink, to cool down the working fluid. Crystals are in lattice formation, and a liquid such as water is mostly lattices, but they are partially broken, so the lattice collapses into a liquid. When ice melts, that is what happens. The ice is in a lattice (think of a snowflake), while water is in partial lattices, with most of the hydrogen bonds intact. Boiling water breaks the last of the hydrogen bonds, liberating the water as vapor, which is very energy intensive, much more so than simply warming the water to the boiling point.

In the power stroke of Fischer’s engine, liquid, not gas, was introduced to the piston chamber. It was a high-temperature liquid that would expand and push the piston. Fischer theorized that when the liquid water expanded like that, that it would largely remain in its lattice state, and the hydrogen bonds would get stretched in what he called Fischer steam (after his grandfather, who coincidentally had the same last name ). It was the usual inventor’s conceit. The Fischer steam would keep its order (not have the energy get lost to entropy), and when the power stroke was finished, instead of high-pressure steam (lower pressure than when it entered the chamber), it had reverted back to a liquid. When we built the prototype of Fischer’s engine in Ventura, before Dennis was arrested, it ran long enough to prove that idea, as it exhausted water, not steam.

So, like Mr. Mentor’s engine, it did not exhaust to a heat sink, and the liquid had to be cooled down to be reintroduced to the boiler. It could go straight back to the boiler. That was the mind-boggling part of both engines, and what are the odds that perhaps the only two hydraulic heat engines on Earth came to Dennis only a few months apart? I see that as more of our “friends” orchestrating events.

Fischer coming aboard on New Year’s Day was one of the last auspicious moments of 1988, and within two weeks, 1998 began turning into the worst year of my life, by far.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

For the first two weeks of January 1988, Dennis was on fire. Checks were pouring in from all over the USA, Dennis spoke at a free energy conference in Southern California and brought down the house, and he called for the first kit owner conference during my days with him, schedules for January 12^th. About 400 people attended, coming from all over the USA. When Dennis would get things going, people would come out of the woodwork, both the good and the bad.

One good one was a man from Minnesota named Norm, who had been installing systems since the LamCo days, and some of the best customer references that I saw were Norm’s installations, and he might have installed the Gannon’s unit. He was an HVAC man who was a dealer who installed the LamCo equipment while they were still in business. When they went out of business, with mobster help, Norm continued his HVAC business, and when his LamCo installations needed maintenance, he provided it. I watched a video that he made of his LamCo installations and the happy customers, including Glen from Hibbing, who was one of the happiest customers that LamCo ever had. Norm came to that show on January 12^th. In fact, I think that Dennis flew him out.

I asked Norm about his efforts in Minnesota and the electric companies, and he told a familiar story. When prospective customers called the electric companies to ask about the LamCo heat pump, they called it a scam, it would not work, etc. Norm received a more genteel treatment than Dennis did in Seattle.

After the show on January 12^th, Dennis hosted a dinner at a restaurant right across the street from the county center, which had the courthouse and jail, and Mr. Professor had his office a stone’s throw away. About 40 people attended the dinner, and I had never seen a scene like that before with Dennis. It was looking like we were going to make the Big Time soon. However, here came evil.

Dennis’s sales assistant was a man named Cab, who used to be a sheriff’s deputy. About three weeks before that show, Cab heard that calls about our company to the Better Business Bureau were being forwarded to the Ventura County Sheriff’s Department, to a man I call Mr. Deputy. Cab asked Mr. Deputy why the calls about us were being forwarded to him, and Mr. Deputy said that it was a routine investigation. Cab asked Mr. Deputy if the company was doing anything illegal, and after a few minutes, when Cab answered Mr. Deputy’s questions, Mr. Deputy said that everything appeared to be fine, and that he would end the “investigation.” That was Mr. Deputy’s first of many crimes that he committed, known as entrapment. You can read Cab’s affidavit, here. Mr. Deputy also attended one of Dennis’s Saturday morning shows, which he later admitted, he was in the audience for our January 12^th show, and the next day, he was readying a search warrant for our facilities.

We had grown so fast that we rented a second building across the parking lot, and I moved my office there. Dennis’s office was in the sales and R&D building, while the second building became the administrative offices (accounting, shipping, etc.). I was constantly walking back and forth between the buildings. On the morning of January 14^th, Dennis was having a salesman’s training session at some hotel, and I was walking between our buildings when I suddenly heard the squeal of tires and saw several cars and trucks rushing toward our facility from all directions. I stood there and mutely watched the spectacle. Something like ten vehicles drove into our parking lot with a squeal of wheels and nearly a cloud of dust, stopping right in front of me, as I stood there in my suit and tie. Mr. Deputy emerged from the lead vehicle and asked me if the building behind me was where Conserve Financial Services was located (our company name at the time, as Dick Southwick and friends did not steal that company). I replied that it was, and then Mr. Deputy handed me his search warrant and announced that they were going to search our facilities. One of the most infamous events in the entire history of free energy efforts thus began.

I later learned that I was watching a bad acting job by Mr. Deputy. He had in fact come to a Saturday morning show at the very facility that he asked about. They were armed, stormed our offices, and herded all of the people into our conference room, announcing that they were going to search our premises. Search for what, I had no idea. While I knew that something like this could happen, when it did, I was in shock. I was told that the raid would take all day, and I decided to go home, get my golf clubs, and go to the driving range and work on my dilapidated golf game. Whether that was naïveté or shock, I am not sure. Within a half hour, I was changed and came by the office, with my gold clubs, on the way to the driving range. I did not know what was really happening or what they wanted, but Alison had a good idea. She challenged the legality of the occupation of our building from the beginning.

In these pictures, you can see me supervising the removal of our demo model that the money that I raised in Boston built. The charade that played out that morning was that Mr. Deputy failed to realize that we occupied two buildings, so he had to return to the courthouse to amend the warrant. So, for around three hours, they occupied our main building, allegedly waiting to have the search warrant amended, and you can see them inside in one of those pictures, as the mustached deputy is talking to Alison, who is outside the frame, as she asked them about the legality of them occupying our building.

The greatest crime that day was what happened while Mr. Deputy was away at the courthouse. I am pretty sure that the entire series of events was carefully choreographed, to give Mr. Deputy the appearance of plausible deniability for the crimes committed that morning. Mr. Researcher’s office was next to the R&D room, and his office opened to it. All of the technical material in the company was in that office: the blueprints for the prototypes we were building, technical specs on inventions that we were evaluating, Mr. Researcher’s notes, and other technical material regarding our effort. The R&D facility had “mirrored” windows, so that in the daytime, somebody outside of the building could not see into it. After we were all kicked out of the building, Mr. Researcher and the machinist went into the field behind the research room, standing there, hearing commotion in the research room. Just then, as they stood there, the interior of the research room was lit up, allowing Mr. Researcher and the machinist to see into the research room. The intense light was coming from Mr. Researcher’s office, as his office door was open to the research room. The intense light was coming from the flash of a camera. With each flash, the interior of the building was visible, and the scene that Mr. Researcher and the machinist viewed was the deputies rolling out the blueprints on Mr. Researcher’s desk and photographing them. Mr. Researcher eventually testified to witnessing that activity. We later discovered that the reason for photographing the blueprints was that they were too big to put into the box that the deputies were using to clean out Mr. Researcher’s office. About an hour later, Mr. Professor saw the deputies remove that box from the building, place it into a car, and drive off. It was a blatant espionage exercise, performed under the color of law.

About an hour after that, the deputies announced that Mr. Deputy had amended the search warrant and that the search would soon begin. Alison gave a scoffing laugh and said aloud in their presence that they would become the nice deputies now, since they had gotten what they came for. She was right. We did not find out what they had done to Mr. Researcher’s office until the next morning, when Mr. Researcher was allowed back into his office. His office had been stripped to the walls, and on his desk as the search receipt, which stated that they had only removed two pieces of paper from his office: a parts list for Dennis’s heat pump.

Until that day, my only interaction with the police was a few traffic tickets (almost none of which I deserved, by the way), and when I found out the next morning what the deputies had done to Mr. Researcher’s office, for the first time in my adult life, I harbored violent thoughts. That the police could be so nakedly criminal was a shock to me, to put mildly.

About this time in the narrative, naïve Americans will spout something like, “They can’t do that!” But they do, and more. I was just getting a taste of the evil that I would witness in the coming year. Mr. Researcher was never the same after that day, not being able to handle how the police raped him, and I sadly understood.

There is much more to come about that infamous day.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

As I get to the many events of the day of the raid, I am going to skip to the end a little of what I learned in the year after the raid. What that year really was for me, above all else, was a lesson in anthropology. When that year was finished, the primary lesson of my journey, that personal integrity is the world’s scarcest commodity, was beaten into my head in no uncertain terms. I learned the same lessons that Alison did, for instance, or what the author of Moral Origins noted, that the human conscience is “flexible,” which means that people can justify anything, even eating their children. That universal justification of treating out-groups terribly is part of the same phenomenon.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

If you get Dennis’s The Alternative, exhibit 2B is Mr. Professor’s affidavit of watching the deputies remove that box from the building, hours before the official search began, and the discussions that Mr. Researcher and the machinist had about that box that day, which was confirmed the next morning, when Mr. Researcher discovered that his office had been stripped to the walls, and the search receipt on his desk said that the deputies only removed two sheets of paper.

Mr. Researcher later told me that what happened – the deputies blatantly stealing the documents and lying about it – was standard operating procedure in Ventura County, which I soon discovered had a well-deserved reputation as one of the most corrupt counties in the USA. A generation before the raid, one of Mr. Researcher’s friends was a “redneck” who knew many Ventura County sheriff’s deputies, and when visiting their homes, he noticed that those deputies often had furniture and appliances that far exceeded their station in life, being relatively low-paid cops, and his more forthcoming pals admitted that they stole the fancy furniture and high-end appliances in raids. They would just raid some rich person’s house on a pretext and steal everything of value in the home, like that Deep South “law enforcement” style. Those events paled next to what Gary Wean experienced in those days. The judges controlled the drug trade in Ventura County and had people murdered regularly, so taking us out was relatively low on their corruption scale.

Stealing those technical documents from Mr. Researcher’s office, and photographing the blueprints that were too big to smuggle out, was not an unusual practice, as I would eventually learn. So, whom did they steal it for? I doubt that it was for their own edification, to peruse while watching football games on their nice, stolen TV sets. Dennis said that it likely went to some kind of “private viewing” for Godzilla’s benefit, and he probably was right. Several months earlier, in Boston, Dennis rejected what we now know was Godzilla’s friendly buyout offer. As the rocket took off in Ventura, Godzilla took it to the next level, what I call Intervention Level 5, as Godzilla got out the big stick. Of course, those deputies did not know whom they stole it for, nor did they care, as long as they got their carrots, and plenty of carrots were handed out to everybody who got their hands dirty in taking us out, even the judge. How much money was paid to grease those eager palms? We will likely never know, but it was likely in the millions, which was a pittance for Godzilla.

But stealing all of the technical material in Mr. Researcher’s office, while definitely a great crime, was merely one aspect of the death blow that was aimed at us that day, and I’ll recite my involvement and what I saw.

When I returned to the office in my polo shirt and golf clubs, Alison asked me to lead the effort at the office. After they stole what they came for, Mr. Deputy returned to the premises after getting the warrant amended, which was likely a charade. He had already told Cab a big lie (which I did not know at the time, and they played the same game in Seattle), and he tried to play “good cop” with me. You can see a picture of him, here, and he looked just like an overgrown Boy Scout, and had the Boy Scout demeanor down pat, as the talented psychopath that he is. After they successfully stole what they came for, they became cooperative and allowed us to accompany them on their official search, and Alison assigned me to the first shift of supervising the raid, and you can see me supervising as they took the demo model that the money I raised had built. A big piece of my life was taken away that day, but it was just the initiation phase. In those images of me speaking with Cab during the raid, I can see the pain on my face, which would look like a raccoon’s in the coming months, with dark rings under my eyes, as the stress took its toll.

Those images taken during the raid were from the scoop of the career of a cameraman who was at that free energy conference that Dennis spoke at the previous week. He filmed that free energy conference and was at our office that morning, looking for work, when the raid happened, and he took out his camera and began filming. Dennis paid him $1,000 for the tape that he recorded that day, and Mr. Cameraman jumped on the gravy train and stole all of our camera equipment when he left after Dennis was arrested, like Mr. Machinist sold off the machine shop and pocketed the money when he left town.

In the research room, as they prepared to remove all of our demonstration models, Mr. Deputy took me aside, and in his most choir boy demeanor asked me if I was aware that Dennis had admitted to deceiving people in Seattle. He tried that on the wrong man. I really was an overgrown Boy Scout, and still had plenty of naïveté to lose, but I let him know that I was well aware of the “deception” that Dennis admitted to in Seattle: one person in the entire state of Washington innocently misunderstood one thing that Dennis said. When Mr. Deputy’s “Dennis deceived people” ploy fell flat with me, he stopped trying to convince me of Dennis’s “criminality.” I supervised the search for several hours. When the search got to my building, we sat in the lobby of the building, near my office, and I asked Mr. Deputy what warranted an armed raid of our facilities, and he answered the we seem to have violated a civil law, called the Seller’s Assisted Marketing Plan Act, which not one lawyer in a thousand had ever heard of, but I had.

As the rocket took off in late 1987, I received a notice from a Midwestern state, something like Iowa, Wisconsin, or nearby, and the notice warned us that we might be a selling a seller’s assisted marketing plan (SAMP), and if so, we might have to jump through some legal hoops in their state. The notice listed about a dozen traits of a SAMP, and if we met all of them, then we could fall under the law’s jurisdiction. We only met one or two of the dozen, so I promptly forgot about that law until a few months later, when Mr. Deputy mentioned it that fateful day. I replied that I knew what a SAMP was, and that we were not one of those. Mr. Deputy gave me a smile and said that it was a matter for lawyers and judges, not me or him. In the same conversation, I said that the Justice Department had investigated Dennis and called him “squeaky clean,” and Mr. Deputy gave me another grin and replied that he would not believe anything that the Justice Department had to say. Ed Meese was being embroiled in one of the many Reagan administration scandals at the time, but if Meese said that about Dennis, it sure was not because we had him in our hip pocket.

That evening, after several hours of supervising the raid, Mr. Stooge and André relieved me, as they searched my office, Victor Fischer’s, and Mr. Engineer’s (they broke his door down, as it was locked and he was not there). I went to Mr. Professor’s house, where Dennis tried to assuage Mr. Researcher’s concerns. The next morning, when I heard what they had done to Mr. Researcher’s office, was really the beginning of my loss of innocence, for all that I had already seen. Those police were gangsters, guns for hire, who performed their evil deeds for a price.

The next morning, I discovered that they had stripped my office to the walls. I doubt that there was even one piece of paper remaining in my office when I returned the next morning, other than their search receipt on my desk. I had all of our customer files in my office, as I captured all of the documentation that would allow me to construct the books one day, as I had done in Seattle. I was only planning to supervise my accountants, not perform the grunt work, and by that time, computers were making it into corporate America. We had some Apple Macintoshes and we were having a computer network built to track our leads and be the front-end to our accounting system, to handle the avalanche of sales. To anybody out there who is an accountant, businessperson, etc., imagine trying to run a business after the police seized all of your records.

While Mr. Deputy was being cordial on the day of the raid, he said that I could get copies of what they seized, which turned out to be one of his many Big Lies. You can see my affidavit on that situation in The Alternative, exhibit I. Mr. Deputy got his start at the FBI, for what it is worth. The FBI, like the CIA, does not give a damn about the public’s interest, but exists to serve the oligarchy, just like every regulatory agency. They were all captured long ago, or had an evil purpose from the outset. That is just how it works, in a world of scarcity and fear. That is why beseeching governments for help is suicidal. The best that can be hoped for is not being attacked by them.

One thing that might is helpful to understand is that not everybody is in on it. Of the dozens of sheriff’s deputies who were involved in the raid that day, only a handful were in on it, as far them being part of a hit team, to take us out. When they stole all of Mr. Researcher’s technical papers, only a handful of deputies were involved, and handpicked. The deputy who ran the occupation of the building (the one talking to Alison in that picture through our front door), was promoted to sergeant when Dennis was arrested, just as Mr. Deputy was promoted to lieutenant and given an award for the most difficult “investigation” in Ventura County’s history. That soon-to-be sergeant was in on it, as were the deputies who ransacked Mr. Researcher’s office and photographed the blueprints.

But later that day, as the search progressed, Mr. Professor was standing outside of our building and one of his former students was a sheriff’s deputy who was part of the search, brought in for the afternoon shift. He expressed his shock at Mr. Professor’s being involved with our criminal enterprise, and Mr. Professor replied that the sheriff’s deputies had illegally ransacked Mr. Researcher’s office that morning, and that former student looked at Mr. Professor like he was from another planet. That former student was not in on it. That kind of naïveté is exploited by the system, the same way that 18-year-old boys are sent off to war.

Mr. Stooge and André replaced me for supervising the raid, and they were kind of aggressive. When it came to Victor Fischer’s desk and computer, Mr. Stooge and André cautioned the sheriff’s deputy about what they would seize of Fischer’s, and the deputy said that he was not going to touch Fischer’s possessions without them being there, but that he was taking a meal break, so they could leave for a little while. When they returned, Fischer’s possessions had been ransacked. Big Lies were the order of the day for the deputies, and Mr. Stooge and André saw them doing it. The next day, nobody had any illusions that a death blow had been aimed at us.

I was not ready for the rocket when it took off in late 1987, anyway, and with all of my records seized, I began working 12-16 hour days just to try surviving the death blow. After about six weeks of that, I began going into a general physical collapse, which was “coincidentally” when I got together with my wife, which marked the beginning of the end of my days with Dennis.

As Gary Wean told me a year later, what we were experiencing was standard operating procedure in the USA, as the USA’s legal system is evil, from top to bottom. Dennis grew up as a migrant farmworker, which has everything to do with his fanatical Christianity, and staging our first Greatest Energy Show at the Old South Meeting House, openly borrowing from P.T. Barnum and banging the “patriot” drums, and selling business opportunities, pretty much sums up Dennis’s public persona, and most of it is genuine. He appealed to the primary population management ideologies in the USA, which are scarcity-and-fear-based, but you aren’t going to outmaneuver Godzilla with his own tools, IMO.

With that kind of message and persona being broadcasted like that, Dennis attracted many people with right-wing ideologies, of the Bible-banging, gun-toting variety, and a great deal of right-wing, conspiracist literature began piling up in our office, and I began reading it. It was the first “alternative” political literature that I ever encountered. During my LA days, I subscribed to the Christian Science Monitor, thinking that I was getting an alternative perspective. I had a lot to learn. I had a folder of that literature in my desk, labeled “seditious literature,” and, of course, the deputies seized that, too.

Dennis would often come off as a rube during his public appearances, and it was not all an act, but some was, as he seemingly tried to appear as hillbilly, not somebody who had played the Wall Street game. Of all the right-wing groups that got involved with us, the Constitutionalists seemed the most impressive. Their stance was that the U.S. Constitution was a document that was intended to limit the powers of government, but it had been almost entirely subverted since the late 1700s, to be little more than a faded relic by the late 1900s, as the government ran amuck. They usually were also fundamentalist Christians, so it was all right down Dennis’s alley, and in the wake of the raid, one of the right-wing groups organized an effort to call the sheriff’s office and complain about the raid.

A paralegal group in Montana came to Ventura and helped us prepare lawsuits against the sheriff’s deputies, for violating our civil rights in the raid (including the theft from Mr. Researcher’s office). Dennis does not take attacks like that lying down, and the sheriff’s department was buried in calls of protest. Of course, they were the ones committing the crimes (there was not one complaining customer of ours at the time of the raid, just like in Seattle), but our fighting back surely contributed to what they did later. Like the Attorney General in Washington and others like him, they never expect their victims to fight back. Dennis was hard to kill.

The head of that Montana group came to our office when we filed our lawsuits, and he told us of their travails. Members of their movement had been outright murdered by the police for “crimes” such as home-schooling their children, and their legal structure was a church (of course, of the fundamentalist type), and one Sunday, when everybody was at church, their facility was set on fire and bulldozed, and they returned from church to the ashes of their facility. That is how the American system works. The FBI’s murder of Fred Hampton and others was just how they do it in the USA, or the firebombing of MOVE, or the murder of the people at Waco. Those are all just days at the office for people like that. In Ventura County, murdering people was standard operating procedure by the judges and related gangsters. But we were too high profile to just murder (with me standing there, in my suit and tie as they drove up, armed to the teeth), and they were acting on orders from somewhere high up the food chain, so they tried to do it “legally.”

Best,

Wade

Edited September 17, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Before I go much further, let me state that I have to greatly truncate the events of that year, to protect both the innocent and the guilty. So many people acted so dishonorably and even criminally that even the “no-names” version of events is not always enough “cover” for them, and a bunch more people have to die before I can really tell it all, if I will ever be able to.

There is so much to tell, to flesh out the events, that it would take me weeks in a room, telling about it all, and how they helped shape my views. I can only hit the “highlights.”

For instance, the SAMP Act was also known as the “worm farm” law, as many people invested in worm farms in the 1970s and lost their shirts, as there really was no market for worms. There was, however, for the world’s best heating system. Dennis ultimately spent two years behind bars for “violating” the “worm farm” law, and very ironically, my family had a worm-farm in our back yard. In about 1971-1972, my father desperately wanted out of his career working for the Department of Defense, and with his redneck roots, he got swept up in the worm farm craze, along with some of our redneck relatives in Bakersfield. The tax deduction for writing off my father’s little entrepreneurial disaster is what sent me to Europe. Using the worm farm law to wipe out my life’s work was ironic indeed. The year after the worm farm debacle, my father retired on a medical disability, and never had to work again.

The first job that I ever had was salvaging the lumber from a walnut farm that was being razed to make way for Ventura’s “progress.” Five years later, I got a job working on the very same land, but in one of the new buildings erected on that land. One of my best friends in my young adulthood was the son of an attorney who was the senior partner in the law firm that occupied much of that building erected on that walnut farm’s land, and my friend’s father also led the investment group that owned that building. I was that building’s janitor for a year, before I left home for the university. I actually tried to get my father that janitorial job when I left for the university, but it was given to a man from either Korea or Taiwan. That man became a home flipper during those boom years in Ventura real estate, became a millionaire a few years later, and he still cleaned the offices.

During the year that I worked there, I became friendly with the lawyers there, especially the ones who worked late, and one had just come from the District Attorney’s (DA) office in Ventura. Back in those days, the law library dominated law office premises, and I was constantly throwing out obsolete books from their law library. That lawyer from the DA’s office had a spartan office, with a mostly empty bookshelf in it. One night, he asked me to save the nice looking books that I was throwing away, and to fill his bookcase with them. I still laugh when I think about it. It was all for show, like Jay Gatsby’s library full of books with “uncut pages” (meaning that they had never been read).

That very law firm later cleaned out one of our family’s close friends. He outlived two of his wives, and the second wife’s children, when goaded by her ex-husband, got the will overturned and cleaned out our friend. This was before 1987, and I heard about that kangaroo court action, led by one of the lawyers in that firm, who later became a partner. It was another warning to me, and again, Ventura County was the last place on Earth where I wanted to be, anyway. But there I was, because of the secret deal that Dennis had with Mr. Mentor.

When we hit town in the summer of 1987, I called the partner at that law firm who supervised me when I was the janitor, and I had some legal question to ask him. His advice to me was to “be careful” in doing business in Ventura, and when I worked there, I heard him tell people that compared to LA, Ventura County was hillbilly country, and I later found out how right he was.

After they stole that material from Mr. Researcher’s office and suddenly became the nice cops, they pointedly ignored Mr. Researcher’s office, and it was officially the last office that they searched in the raid, from which they only removed those two pieces of paper, wink, nudge. A year later, when sacrificing my life not only busted Dennis from jail but secured the services of the leading Constitutionalist attorney in the USA (who still is), I told him about that “last room searched” charade by the sheriff’s deputies, and Mr. Big Time Attorney laughed and made an observation of the stupid chicanery of what they did, ignoring the scene of the crime all day long.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

When I saw that Big Lie TV news segment on Dennis, a couple of weeks after I met him, I began to wake up to how the media really works. While I was standing in the parking lot, talking to Cab, with Mr. Cameraman taping, up walked the reporter from the local paper, which my mother worked at in the classified ad department for real estate. When the reporter heard a few words of our conversation – being raped by the police – she nearly ran away from us. I had awoken enough by that time to realize what the theme of the next day’s newspaper article would be, and I called my mother, to advise her to keep her head down at work the next day and not defend me to her employers. I did not need to be concerned. She attacked me on that phone call. A month later, I encountered her at a relative’s home and she would not acknowledge my presence, and we did not speak for several years after the day of the raid. She refused to even meet my wife, after she contacted my mother after we got married.

When it got back to me, when we lived in Ohio, that my mother had made a scrapbook of her employer’s libelous newspaper articles and campaigned against me to my friends, family, and investors, telling them the story of her son the criminal, it did not even hurt any more. She never even asked me for my side of the story. I still supported her financially in her last years and never even received one word of thanks. When I write that personal integrity is the world’s scarcest commodity, my family is certainly not exempt from that finding. What my mother did was a trifling nuisance, compared to what else I faced in Ventura. When I state that those attacks from that former girlfriend were only a gentle preview of what was ahead of me, I meant it, and I cannot even publicly write about the greatest betrayals by my friends and family, as they were so sickening and some was even criminal, and I won’t write much about their ignoble deeds until after they are dead.

When FE newcomers rush out to tell their social circles the “good news,” they labor under the delusion that their social circles are different, comprised of people with the right stuff. That is an egocentric conceit, but most people have to find out for themselves, and almost all of my best pupils did that, in the beginning, and they later came back to me with tales of ostracism. Careers have ended that way.

The morning after the raid, Mr. Researcher was white in the face, when he realized how thoroughly the police had not only raped him, but those who entrusted him with the technical specs for their inventions. I thought that he was literally going to keel over in the days after the raid, and he left the operation a few weeks later after he broke out in stress-related hives. In those days, getting Mr. Deputy alone in a room with a baseball bat sounded like a good idea. It was the first time in my adult life when I harbored violent thoughts, and it got worse, much worse, before the year ended, which was the lowest part of my life’s journey. In the end, I am kind of grateful for what happened, as I got a big wakeup call about how the world really works, not the fantasy version that our indoctrination and conditioning systems serve up, which nearly everybody unthinkingly swallows, because believing the lies fills their bellies and gives them egocentric strokes. People are not going to wake up with talk or impressive writings. I seek people who already woke up.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

After the raid, it began going downhill rapidly for me, working 14-to-16 hour days with no records, knowing that a deathblow had been aimed at us, seeing Mr. Researcher looking white in the face. We had a database of our customers on our computers, and once the deputies copied all of the data from our computers, they did not take them. When Mr. Deputy told me that I would not get any copies of the records that they seized, he told me that we were lucky that they didn’t take our computers, too, so that we would have no business records left at all, all because I failed to file a form.

We contacted our customers, asking them to send us any documentation that they had, and we soon began hearing from our customers. We did not have any complaining customers at the time of the raid, just like there were not any complaining customers in Seattle when the open attacks began. All of the attacks were to “protect the consumer.” Protecting the consumer is arguably the biggest protection racket on Earth, maybe after the USA’s fraudulent global policeman racket, which only deluded Americans actually believe is legitimate.

Soon after the raid, we began hearing from our customers. They were being called by the sheriff’s department, even by the sheriff himself. The sheriff’s department was fishing for “victims.” Their calls were a litany of leading questions, intended to elicit some kind of statement of dissatisfaction from our customers. As I recently wrote, our customers were significantly comprised of politically active people, often from the right-wing perspective, and they were not fooled for an instant by the sheriff’s department’s fishing expedition, and many told the deputies where they could stick their “investigation.” The sheriff’s deputies then threatened “uncooperative” customers, calling them Dennis’s accomplices, not victims. To call it Orwellian is an understatement.

After campaigning to our customers for several months, the sheriff’s department finally assembled nine “victims” for their legal farce. They were the unlikeliest “victims” that one could imagine. One actually stole his kit from us, while another received a refund, after he was contacted by the sheriff’s deputies and asked to sue us. Another actually set up a competing network and tried to steal our company (he was the man whom our Seattle salesman from Boston installed a system for), and announced on the witness stand that he was close to making free energy himself. Another “victim” received a visit to his home by Mr. Deputy (the “victim” lived in Los Angeles County, so was easily visited). When Mr. Deputy began asking his leading questions, the man became offended, told Mr. Deputy to get off of his property (LA County not being in Mr. Deputy’s jurisdiction), and when he was on the witness stand, when asked why he was accusing Dennis of victimizing him, the man replied in shock. He said that not only was he not a “victim,” but he thought that Dennis was the finest person that he ever met. He really did not understand why he was on the witness stand, but was there because he was subpoenaed. That was the nature of the “case” against us, which won Mr. Deputy a promotion and an award for the most difficult “investigation” in department history.

The only “victim” who acted like one was likely a plant, who received a refund months earlier, after he made an ass of himself in public as he literally parroted Mr. Deputy. When actual criminals operated in the vicinity, the authorities went out of their way to look the other way.

About six weeks after the raid, I began going into a general physical collapse, looking like a raccoon, with dark circles under my eyes, and that is when I got together with the woman who became my wife. That event really marked the beginning of the end of my days with Dennis, and I can tell that my “friends” once again orchestrated the event. Again, being “chosen” this way has been a very mixed blessing, but meeting my wife during that mayhem was part of my “compensation.”

Best,

Wade

Edited September 20, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

There were some compensations during that first half of 1988. Mr. Professor was not only the most beloved teacher at the college, he grew up on a North Dakota farm and hunted and fished from a young age, and was a patriarch in the hunting crowd. I am a vegetarian pacifist, but Mr. Professor took me out to a hunting preserve on Santa Cruz Island. We took a helicopter out and hovered above migrating whales, which were followed by dolphins. The weekend was spectacular, and I hiked across the island’s magnificence in the spring (it looked like Ireland at its best), with my only company being the wild sheep.

Around the same time, I flew with Mr. Researcher to a meeting in the Midwest of our network. It was a kind of “rally the troops” meeting, in the wake of the raid, and when I spoke, Mr. Stooge led a standing ovation. I have seen many standing ovations for Dennis over the years, beginning with the day that I met him. That Mr. Stooge helped steal the company a few months later puts an exclamation point on how worthless such displays are. They are meaningless ego strokes. A few months earlier, when remarking on the many plays to steal our companies and other criminal actions, I asked how they slept at night, and Mr. Stooge said that they slept just fine. I sometimes wonder if he sleeps fine.

By April, Mr. Researcher was long gone, I had gone three months, operating in that insane environment, and was reaching my breaking point. After the raid, I no longer walked between our buildings, but ran. It was not really “voluntary,” but I just did not have the time to walk. It was all like a bad dream to me today.

I looked like a raccoon, with dark circles under my eyes, and asked Dennis if I could have the summer off to try to recover. He granted it, telling me that had already saved his bacon enough times to have a lifetime pass for whatever he could do for me. Between April and June, I began to ease out of my job, and Dennis hired another accountant. I also said that I wanted to sell out my investing company, so my people could get their money back, and Dennis began putting out feelers. I think with our situation, with the sheriff’s department breathing down our necks, it was folly, but it turned out that there was an interested party.

As with Dennis’s Boston investor who was going to put up $1 million, and the deal that Mr. Mentor and Dennis had to move the company to Ventura, I did not hear about Dennis’s encounter with the “interested party” until later, much later. For the situations with the Boston investor and Mr. Mentor, I found out by reading about them in Dennis’s books, and I found out about the interested party when I heard Dennis speak publicly about it in 1996. During my days as his partner, Dennis frankly told me that he was keeping things from me, and while I can tell that some was to protect me, his secrecy really ended up costing me. Dennis still plays cloak-and-dagger games, and I have no interest in them. Seeing how those secrecy games played out has informed my efforts since then, such as having no anonymity in my forum. Secrecy is antithetical to an effort like mine. My effort has to happen in broad daylight on the world stage, not in some dark corner.

In May, Dennis was contacted by some bankers in Chicago, who wanted to talk. Dennis went out there to meet with them, and he was feted by a witty and urbane CIA man. He told Dennis that he represented “European interests,” and he made an offer on their behalf: they would write a check and would put a one on it, and Dennis could write the zeroes. I am virtually certain that Dennis was merely experiencing Intervention Level 6, which is Godzilla’s “final offer” before he really begins to play rough. What we experienced in Boston was the initial friendly buyout offer, which usually works, and like I saw with my Justice Department pal, those organized suppression pockets are so deep that they can just add a couple of zeroes to their initial offer, which meant that they were offering $1 billion, or maybe more, for Dennis to fold his tents and go away. A decade later, Steven Greer was offered $2 billion to go away (I have heard of other $1 billion offers), so Godzilla seems to be adjusting for inflation, so he may be offering $3 billion or more today, for efforts that get to that level, but almost none ever do.

Dennis made a counteroffer to the CIA man. They could write the check and put a one on it, Dennis would put on the zeroes, and it would go back into their pocket and be earmarked for bringing free energy to the world. The CIA man nearly choked on his soup. I doubt that Godzilla ever received a counteroffer like that before.

Of course, the CIA man said that he would have to consult with his superiors. Dennis went back to Ventura, and a couple of weeks later, the CIA man called Dennis and said that he would be in town and would like to have dinner again. They met, but the CIA man never brought up the offer again. I am pretty sure that his trip to Ventura was to help arrange for Dennis’s subsequent treatment. He likely disbursed a tiny fraction of that $1 billion earmarked for us to grease the eager palms in Ventura, to go to Intervention Level 7. A few weeks later, Dennis was arrested with a $1 million bail. Then my nightmare truly began.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

By June of 1988, I no longer worked at the company, as I was taking the summer off to try to recover. In early June, I was seeing friends who were scattered across Southern California, and my relationship with my future wife endured some agonies in those days. If our relationship could survive 1988, it could survive just about anything. The county courts dismissed our civil rights lawsuits against the deputies, and the next week, Mr. Deputy struck. It was a few weeks after Dennis received his visit from the CIA man.

When I lived with Dennis and his family in Ventura, we lived about a five-minute walk from the county center, where Dennis was jailed. If they wanted to arrest Dennis, they could have walked over and done it in a few minutes, on any night of the week. But that did not fit in with the plans of Mr. Deputy and friends. They arrested Dennis in Los Angeles, a few minutes before he was to lead a salesman’s training class at a hotel.

It was the first arrest in the history of the “worm farm” law, which was a civil law, not a criminal law. They were going to try to put Dennis away for life, and using a civil law to do it was going to be a stretch, which was why they were campaigning to our network for several months, so that they could find some “victims” to make the fraud charges stick. From the day of the raid, when they stole all of our technical materials, it was all carefully orchestrated. A day or two after the raid, a childhood friend who lived in LA called me. Mr. Deputy and friends made a video to accompany Dennis’s arrest, which was played across Southern California on the TV news shows, obviously concocted to make it look like Mr. Deputy had captured the criminal of the century.

The bail schedule for the crime that Dennis committed – failing to file a form – called for a $5,000 bail. Obviously, that was not enough to accomplish the goal of wiping us out, so Mr. Deputy swore out an affidavit to raise Dennis’s bail to $1 million, which was far higher than anybody’s in the county jail at the time, including inmates who were jailed on murder charges. Mr. Big Time Attorney later told me that what initially attracted him to Dennis’s case was the astronomical bail. Mr. Big Time Attorney said, “Was the SAMP filing a deadly weapon, which Dennis was hitting people over the head with?”

Mr. Deputy’s affidavit was consistent with the entire affair, full of non-sequiturs and bogus “logic.” One of Mr. Deputy’s rationales in his affidavit was that Dennis’s customers were a bunch of “revolutionaries,” and that Dennis could disappear into their network of backwoods farms and the like, and elude capture when he skipped bail. As with their campaign of intimidation when they fished for “victims,” Mr. Deputy called Dennis’s customers his accomplices. So, who was being protected?

Not only was Mr. Deputy using extremely strained “logic” in his affidavit, but he asked the judge who rubber-stamped his affidavit to rely on his sterling credentials as a fraud investigator. According to his affidavit, Mr. Deputy had been involved with hundreds of cases with fraud elements in them, and Dennis’s case was such a clear-cut case of fraud that the judge should heavily rely on Mr. Deputy’s expert opinion. When the tables turned more than a year later, and Mr. Deputy was on the hot seat on the witness stand, during the prosecutorial misconduct hearings, Mr. Big Time Attorney asked Mr. Deputy to regale the court with his deep understanding of fraud. Mr. Deputy replied that he did not memorize lawyerly things such as what constituted fraud. Mr. Attorney then asked Mr. Deputy to recite merely one of the elements of the crime known as fraud. Mr. Deputy was unable to recall any of them. On that “expertise,” the judge rubber-stamped the million dollar bail request, and that was just the beginning.

I was literally getting ready to go to Washington and hike the summer away, to try to recover, when Alison called me and told me that Dennis had been arrested. I attended the first hearing after he had been arrested, when Dennis made the first of eight bail appeals. It was the first time that I saw Ms. Prosecutor. I never met Betsy, to see her lie out of both sides of her mouth, but I was about to see Ms. Pinch Hitter do so, repeatedly over the years, and not only did Ms. Prosecutor exceed their lies, but she did so in open court. At that initial hearing, she stood up, when arguing that Dennis deserved the million dollar bail, and uttered a string of so many Big Lies in about a minute that I was dumbstruck. It was mindboggling to watch somebody lie like that. It was really my first time in witnessing how they could simply make it up as they go, and the bigger the lie, the better.

Ms. Prosecutor’s many big lies told in the courtroom that day was just my initiation to the legal “process” in Ventura County. When Dennis was jailed, Ms. Prosecutor also filed a motion to deny Dennis’s release, even if we raised their astronomical bail. It was a motion to examine sources of bail. Once again, they used legal stratagems that not one lawyer in a thousand had heard of. The motion was based on a precedent on the East Coast, when a heroin dealer sold heroin to raise his bail. Equating a SAMP with heroin, the motion made the case that any money placed for bail that originated from our business, or any of our business associates, would be declared invalid. Such a ruling would ensure that not even Bill Gates could raise bail to be released from jail.

A couple of weeks after Dennis’s arrest, it was promotion time at the Sheriff’s department. The big news that year was Mr. Deputy’s meteoric career. He was promoted to lieutenant, one of the youngest, if not the youngest, to ever be promoted to that position, and he was given a special award, for the most difficult “investigation” in department history, and furthermore, he had a very strange promotion, from a sergeant-investigator to becoming a lieutenant and being placed in charge of the jail. That promotion made no sense, unless one realized that Mr. Deputy got to see to the comfort of his career-making catch, who had the highest bail, by far, in the county jail.

I am sorry if this seems like some cartoonish parody of evil, but it is what happened.

I was in no shape to try to sailing the hurricane-strength winds that were blowing, and Alison said that I could still take the summer off. I immediately drove to Seattle and started backpacking with my cousin, who I had the hiking year of my life with, in 1986, which was my life’s happiest year, and 1988 would be the worst year of my life, by far.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

After the raid, as we scrambled to avoid the next deathblow, Dennis made a few moves. One was to revive United Community Services (UCS). He put the company under Alison’s name as the sole owner, while Dennis was only an employee. He offered the Conserve Financial Services kit owners to convert to UCS dealers. Dennis also had a “Cure Tour.” Dennis eventually went to prison for failing to file a form for a law that nobody had heard of. The law provided for a “cure” of inadvertent violations of the law, which was making some disclosures and even offering a refund to customers. The Cure Tour offered all of that to the customers. Where that likely plant made an ass of himself in public was at Dennis’s LA Cure Tour meeting, the only of which that I attended. All of those moves made no difference to Mr. Deputy and friends. It did not matter if there were no complaining customers when we were raided, that all of our customers were offered refunds, or that Dennis was no longer an owner of the effort. Dennis was the kingpin that Godzilla was greasing palms to take down, and Mr. Deputy and his psychopathic cronies earned their graft, I’ll grant them that.

Another stratagem was to make ten regions of the company’s efforts, with each region having its director. We had a meeting near the LA airport, for people to make their presentations to be regional directors, and that is perhaps the first time that I saw Ken Hodgell. Ken looked just like Mr. Rogers and acted like him, and he gave the most impressive presentation, talking about his childhood dreams and how this gave him a chance to realize them. Alison started a round of applause when Ken finished his presentation. I don’t know what all of the particulars are, but Dennis is certain that Ken was hired just like Bill the BPA Hit Man was, to help take us down from the inside, when the attacks from the outside escalated.

I left Ventura a few days after Dennis was arrested. That picture of me with Dennis was taken about a week before his arrest, as I began growing my summer beard. After a couple of months of recovery, I no longer looked like a raccoon. That was one of my first long-armed “selfies,” as my future wife bought me my first camera that I had as an adult, a couple of weeks earlier, for my 30^th birthday. That same day, I asked Alison to pay off my American Express credit card that I had loaned them for business expenses. It was supposed to be paid off every month, but Alison was stretching it out (as they regularly did with all of their creditors), and there were about $17,000 of overdue charges on my card. I began taking a $1,000 per month salary around the time of the raid, which was about a third of what the market would pay me.

Here is an appropriate place to discuss Dennis’s earliest and most persistent delusion, and probably the biggest reason why I am not with him anymore. From that fateful moment in that bank lobby, Dennis began to wake up, but he always believed in The People. He believed in innate human goodness and people’s desire to do the honorable thing. He was dead wrong, but he honestly believed it. Those right wing groups that he got involved with talked a good game, and Dennis truly believed that when he was arrested, there would be picket lines outside the jail, demanding his release. He only received an eerie silence, and worse, much worse.

When I stepped down at the company in the spring of 1988, Mr. Stooge asked Dennis if he could replace me as Dennis’s protégé. Dennis replied that Mr. Stooge did not have the right stuff for that role, and Mr. Stooge soon proved Dennis right.

The first month that Dennis was in jail, he fasted and gave his meals to the biggest, meanest guys in his cellblock. The jail starved the inmates (as the jailors made money on what was not spent to feed the inmates, for one of many examples of Ventura’s legendary corruption), who were always hungry, and Dennis saw it as a way to lose weight, as he weighed nearly 300 pounds when he was arrested. Dennis made friends fast, and single-handedly turned his cellblock from a place of fear into a dormitory atmosphere. But Mr. Deputy ran the jail and did not want Dennis feeling too comfortable in there, so after a month, Dennis was suddenly moved to a new cellblock. Dennis constantly received “special treatment” when he was in jail.

Meanwhile, I was hiking in the Cascades, trying to recover. I called my future wife regularly, and heard from Alison, as well as American Express, demanding their money. I was willing to work it out with them, enslaving myself at some corporate gig to pay it off (it would have taken years to do so). The charges eventually reached about $27K on my card, all of which was my being stuck with business charges, some of which at the end were kind of fraudulent, as far as anybody signing for them, but if I challenged and rejected them, they would only go on Dennis’s and Alison’s tab, so I did not challenge them. I was very willing to work it out with American Express, but they were not interested. I could either come up with the money, or they would force me into bankruptcy. Other than my student loans that were just about all paid off at the time, and the loan to buy my Pinto, which I paid off during my LA days, I never had any debt. After about the third time that the collectors for American Express threatened me with involuntary bankruptcy, I replied that it sounded like a fine idea, if they would not give me any other options, so I began preparing to file bankruptcy, which I did before the year ended. It was a trifling concern, compared to what else was happening. Everybody who financed Dennis in a big way had their lives ruined, usually including bankruptcy, including John Spickard, Mr. Professor, and me. None of us blamed Dennis, as we saw him in action and knew what we were up against. Having our lives ruined just came with the territory.

Alison was desperately trying to raise Dennis’s astronomical bail. My future wife put up her home as collateral for a bail bond, as did Mr. Professor, but while I was hiking, Ken Hodgell made his move. At a meeting of the ten regional directors, Ken took over, and with Mr. Stooge as his henchman, and a regional director who lived in Oregon, they got themselves deputized to go to Ventura and try to save the effort. They became known as the trio. Mr. Stooge and the Oregon director were there to help steal it, but Ken was there to destroy it. They went to Ventura and Ken made his play. They had a call with Dennis at the jail, from Mr. Professor’s home, and Ken unmasked himself to Dennis during the call, as he fabricated a conversation with Dennis.

Ken then moved into high gear, coaxing his dupes and threatening others. Within a couple of weeks, he had wreaked mayhem, and worked closely with Mr. Deputy as he did so. They both were working for the same interests, as comrades in arms. Unlike Bill the BPA Hit Man’s moves in Seattle, Dennis was locked up and could not make any moves to save the effort. I knew none of what was happening in Ventura, other than Dennis’s being in jail. After about a month of hiking, my future wife said that she missed me, and to please come back to Ventura. I rented a trailer and cleaned out the room in my grandmother’s basement, of my few meager possessions that I stored when I chased Dennis out to Boston, and towing that trailer behind my Pinto, I rolled into Ventura just about one month after Dennis was arrested. Once again, my “friends” were orchestrating my life’s events, and I decided to drop by the office on the way home, and had one of the big awakening moments of my journey.

As I pulled up to our parking lot, there were almost no cars there, and our offices were closed. I had not heard about that, but as I pulled up, Mr. Engineer was talking with Ken and Mr. Stooge, and they all walked over to my car and enthusiastically greeted me, although Ken looked a little sheepish as he shook my hand. I had no idea what was happening, but Mr. Engineer told me that he and Mr. Researcher were going to work for Ken and Mr. Stooge. I instantly smelled a rat. I had seen that movie before, and so had Mr. Engineer. I did my best to not visibly react to Mr. Engineer’s statement, and after chatting for a minute, I left to unload my trailer, etc. Mr. Researcher had not been involved with the operation for months, but was friends with Mr. Engineer, them being two elderly engineers. Mr. Engineer was going to work for anybody who paid him, but I could not initially believe that Mr. Researcher would go to work for them, in what I already knew to be a power play to steal the business.

I dropped off the trailer at home and went to see Mr. Professor. That day was one of my life’s saddest, and began the sixth-month period of my radicalization. Everything in my life before then was just the warmup.

I did not know it when I drove up to our offices, but it was literally within a half-hour of when Ken walked through our offices, announcing that he had just come from a meeting with Mr. Deputy, and that any employees that kept working at our company would be charged as Dennis’s accomplices. Virtually all of them were only there for a paycheck, so they ran out the doors, shrieking, and they stole everything that they could on the way out, and that will take some telling.

I met a visibly shaken Mr. Professor at his home, and he began our conversation with, “Do you think that Dennis is a good guy?” It broke my heart to hear that. For the next hour, I told Mr. Professor what I thought was happening, and I turned out to be right on all counts. After I told him what I thought the situation was, Mr. Professor thanked me for my perspective, and informed me that he had already decided to support Dennis, but wanted to hear what I thought.

That day, I also paid a visit to Mr. Researcher, asking if I heard correctly that he was going to work for Ken and friends. He said that he was, and I did my best to warn him. He scoffed at my words, in disbelief, oblivious to the cutthroats that he was getting into bed with. I really could not believe that he and Mr. Engineer could be that naïve, nay, stupid, as to support their attempt to steal the business, but I later heard him scoffing to Mr. Deputy (!) about my warnings to him. It was mind-boggling to listen to that tape.

Mr. Researcher saw what Mr. Deputy’s minions had done to his office, and he was on his knees in Mr. Deputy’s interrogation room, begging for his mercy. Again, I really can’t get to into too many details of those events in those days until more people die, but going bankrupt was a mere nuisance compared to the rest of what I lived through during the next several months.

I then went over to see Alison, who was desperately trying to hold it together in the face of the hurricane. She asked me to babysit her children while she ran some desperate errands. For the previous month, Dennis’s daughters were told by Alison that Dennis was on a business trip. As I babysat them, I answered the phone. I can’t remember who called, but I told them what had been happening, completely forgetting about the lie being told the daughters. When I got off the phone, Dennis’s daughters walked into the room, with their eyes as big as saucers, saying to me, “Dad is in jail?” I felt about one-inch tall at that moment. When Alison returned, I told her what happened, and she diplomatically replied that it was about time that her daughters were told the truth of their father’s “business trip.”

There is much more to tell about that seminal day, but it is off to work.

Best,

Wade

Edited September 26, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Now that I think about it, that phone call that I answered while babysitting Alison’s daughters may have been from a veteran activist. He asked what was happening, and I told him (which is how Dennis’s daughters learned that he was in jail), and the activist’s immediate reply was that Ventura County was the most corrupt county in the USA. He furthermore said that “hellraisers” like Dennis were safest if they did it someplace like in downtown Manhattan. Dennis has done plenty of that kind of “hellraising,” and the results have been decidedly mixed. The sitting American president can be in your camp and it really does not matter, not when Godzilla and friends get involved.

That day was a mind-boggler in ways, and the most agonizing to me was Mr. Engineer and Mr. Researcher’s going to work for Ken Hodgell and friends. I smelled Ken’s play instantly, but Mr. Engineer and Mr. Researcher were duped like children lured into a pedophile’s car with a candy bar dangled from the car window. To his credit, soon before he died, Mr. Engineer admitted what “saps” that he and Mr. Researcher were. I cannot discuss much of those events publicly, but in ways, it was the beginning of the wrecking of my life, and again, it was not so much what Godzilla’s minions did, but what our allies did, as I soon witnessed people I had known for most of my life acting dishonorably and even criminally. What that old girlfriend did was only a gentle preview. When I heard, years later, that my mother, who would not speak to me since the raid, had made a scrapbook of her employer’s libelous articles about us and took it on tour to my friends, family, and investors, telling the story of her son the criminal, it did not even hurt anymore.

Victor Fischer never was tempted to support Hodgell’s play, saying that Dennis made things happen, and without Dennis’s leading the effort, Fischer was not interested. I always gave Fischer worldliness and savviness points for that, not integrity points. He had seen those power plays before, and he also smelled Hodgell’s play a mile away. But Fischer pulled a discord-sowing stunt about a month after the raid, and Dennis then paid him to stay away from our operation, while he lived in LA. But while Fischer did not support Hodgell’s play, he also did not help, and quickly disappeared from the scene. Mr. Professor never forgave Fischer for that, and when Dennis teamed back up with Fischer in 1997, we were distinctly unimpressed, although Dennis somehow expected us to be. I’ll give Dennis that he was in jail and did not see what happened when Hodgell made his play, but Fischer’s not signing up with Hodgell was not a great act of integrity, but just recognizing cutthroats when they make their plays, and knowing that it is only a matter of time before they slit yours.

Of course, Mr. Installer went to work for Hodgell, as he hated Dennis and would work for whoever could pay him. But what Fischer and Mr. Installer did paled next to nearly everybody else. Mr. Cameraman stole our professional recording equipment, which we played $6,000 for a few months before, and disappeared. The machinist sold off our machine shop for $5,000, pocketed the money, and went back to Boston. And they were far from alone. When the employees fled the premises after Hodgell’s announcement, they stole everything that was not nailed down, even equipment that we did not own, but were renting. I witnessed an installer trainee steal Alison’s keys from her car, which he ransomed for the few days of wages that he was owed.

Perhaps the most egregious was a woman and her boyfriend (she left the company in 1987, and we welcomed her back, along with her new boyfriend, who was made in charge of customer service, and who was given the keys to our building), who not only stole all of our computers, but they stole all of our customer service files and presented them to Mr. Deputy. Instead of returning the many stolen documents to us, and prosecute the thieves, the deputies happily used the stolen documents as evidence against us. What the deputies did – encourage felonious acts and abet them – was exactly what Mr. Big Time Attorney wrecked the careers of IRS agents for, that same year. Those were just some of the many outright felonies committed by Mr. Deputy and friends, but when you have the guns, badges, jails, judges, and Godzilla on your side, you get promoted instead of going to prison. Mr. Deputy’s sidekick on the investigation was promoted to sergeant, to take Mr. Deputy’s illustrious place, when Mr. Deputy was promoted to lieutenant.

Mr. Professor was a pillar of the community, and one of his pals was very close to many sheriff’s deputies. While he socialized with them, they openly gossiped about cases. He asked them about the Dennis Lee affair one day, and all that he received in reply was a tight-lipped silence.

Soon after we hit Ventura in the summer of 1987, one of Mr Professor’s pals knew people high on the inside of the local electric company, which is one of the USA’s largest. Mr. Professor’s pal said that the electric company’s chairman of the board was highly aware of us when we arrived in Ventura, but he had not yet decided what to do about us. Mr. Big Time Attorney’s investigation led to his suspicion that the electric company’s chairman of the board ordered the hit on us, but if he gave the order, it was very likely done with a little help from his CIA pal.

Best,

Wade

Edited September 25, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Not long after Ken Hodgell’s play completed the death blow that Mr. Deputy and friends initiated, Hodgell began screwing over all of the low-integrity idiots who supported his power play. One of the first was Mr. Engineer. Hodgell used Mr. Engineer’s connections to make a panel order, and Mr. Engineer moved to Texas to work for Hodgell. Mr. Engineer had approval stickers from the Seattle factory days, which were actually worthless, but they were treated like some sort of Holy Grail that Mr. Engineer possessed. Ken used Mr. Stooge to winkle those stickers from Mr. Engineer, and within minutes of prying them away from Mr. Engineer, they fired him, and he was left to try getting back home to Ellensburg from Texas, penniless. Mr. Engineer was relatively fortunate, getting his throat slit early on. Those who got deeply into bed with Hodgell mightily regretted it. I never heard exactly how Ken and Mr. Stooge parted, but it was definitely not in a “friends-for-life” way.

One fundamentalist minister (a regional dealer) from Missouri gave Hodgell some pretty big money for system orders, from his dealers, and Hodgell simply pocketed the money, never intended to deliver, and the minister fled into hiding and vowed to kill Hodgell if he ever saw him again. The Oregon member of the trio was also backstabbed by Hodgell. Any fools who signed on with Hodgell had their throats slit in the end. When I heard what had happened, I wondered if Ken was supposed to improve on what Bill the BPA Hit Man achieved. Bill slunk away after Dennis was taken out, leaving his dupes holding the bag, but Ken was likely supposed to help destroy the effort so thoroughly that nothing would ever arise from its ashes.

After a couple of weeks in Ventura, and the effort was completely destroyed, I went back to Seattle to hike for a few more weeks, which included my life’s best backpacking experience (alone, for five days, on a juice fast), and then back to Ventura to begin picking up the pieces of my shattered life.

Mr. Deputy had his finest hour in those weeks after Dennis’s arrest, with a stream of frightened ex-employees on their knees in his office, begging for his mercy, as he held court as King Rat. People, including family members, advised me to get on my knees in Mr. Deputy’s office and beg for his mercy. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. It was like I was raised around a bunch of cowards. I can still hardly believe how cowardly and lacking in integrity those around me were. However, there were thankfully a few exceptions, and Mr. Professor shined like a beacon in the darkness.

Within days of having the doors shut, the operation ran out of money, and Alison and her daughters soon moved in with Mr. Professor, and that was their home for more than the next year. About when I came back to Ventura to begin picking up the pieces in early September, we loaded a trailer behind Mr. Professor’s van, to tow Alison, her daughters, and the remaining company assets to a dealer in Tennessee, who at least had not yet betrayed the effort (but I heard that he later did, and his invitation was like the spider to the fly). Dennis asked Alison to move away with the children and start a new life away from California, as Dennis was already expecting to spend the next 20 years behind bars. The van overheated in the California desert only a hundred miles away or so, and they returned to Ventura, which actually became critical to our rescuing Dennis from jail. I can tell that my “friends” were still orchestrating events, no matter how horrific they were.

A few other people in Ventura acted with integrity, but it was only a few, and David the Ventura salesman, who had been a minister and was one of the only Christians that I ever met who had the right stuff, I believe was the only employee who testified for Dennis at the preliminary hearing a few months later. All the others had either helped out Mr. Deputy, begged for his mercy, attacked us, or disappeared. By October, in Ventura, only Mr. Professor and I were helping, as we stood up against the forces of darkness. A regional dealer from Ohio, about the only black man in Dennis’s network, also testified at the preliminary hearing, and that was literally about it, from all of the hundreds of people who were involved only a few months earlier. Dennis’s fantasized picket line would have only been a handful of us. A lynch mob was more likely.

Best,

Wade

Edited September 26, 2016 by Wade Frazier

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Of all of the reactions to those days that I witnessed, Mr. Researcher’s were the most poignant for me, from watching the deputies ransack his office to going to work for Ken Hodgell with Mr. Engineer, to getting on his knees in Mr. Deputy’s office, begging for his mercy, to fleeing into hiding rather than testifying, to eventually testifying to what Mr. Deputy and friends did. There were plenty of other reactions like his, as people would act dishonorably or cowardly, then find their conscience when it became convenient, and Mr. Engineer got some points for admitting what “saps” he and Mr. Researcher were, and Mr. Engineer also testified at the misconduct hearing, but that comes later.

If you read The Alternative, you will see that plenty of affidavits were written by people not long after Dennis was released from jail (on April 1, 1989), such as Cab’s. Once we had the criminals and cowards at the sheriff’s department on the run, with Mr. Deputy eventually hiding in his house for months to avoid testifying regarding his innumerable crimes, his victims began finding the courage to come forward.

There was such a wide array of reactions to those events that it comprised my great anthropology lesson, when I had my life’s greatest lesson beaten into my head in no uncertain terms. Another “interesting” reaction came from Mr. Stooge’s pal André. André had witnessed what the deputies did on the day of the raid. He knew that they were gangsters. Dennis later told me that, like me, Mr. Stooge had allowed his credit card to be used for business expenses, so when Mr. Stooge helped steal the company, he was sacked with expenses that he signed for on his credit card. Dennis surmised that when they stole the company and began ripping people off, Mr. Stooge may have about broken even on the effort. I never knew what happened with Mr. Stooge, but I saw a letter that André sent to his credit card company, soon after Hodgell and Mr. Stooge stole the company. André wrote the letter to reverse charges that he put on his card. They were charges associated with our company. The letter said that our company was obviously a criminal enterprise, so that his charges should have been reversed, and he gave his credit card company Mr. Deputy’s contact information so that if the credit card company had any doubts about the fraudulent nature of the charges on his credit card (which he signed for), that Mr. Deputy could set them straight. That was one of many instances in which I saw people demonstrate outright chutzpa. André was involved with stealing our company, and used Mr. Deputy to establish his credibility.

There were so many bizarre ironies for me in those days. I had twice left Southern California, vowing to never live there again (1, 2), and there I was, living my life’s nightmare there. When I came back to Ventura in late summer, I began looking for work. I went to one employment agency, and as I sat there with the interviewer, one of our former employees walked right past me, who felt wronged by us, and who now worked at that agency. The interviewer then proceeded to challenge my credentials, but she did not even know what a Big Eight accounting firm was. Ventura was the backwoods in more than one way, and I quickly realized that not only was my name mud in my hometown, but Ventura was going to be too backwoods for me, so I began looking for work in LA, ironies of ironies. Before the year was out, I took a job with a medical lab in LA, and the feds began trying to wipe it out literally a week or so after I began working there. Once again, my “friends” were hard at work, orchestrating my life’s events. Even though the feds and LA’s power structure tried to wipe the lab out, and it soon sold out to a conglomerate and nearly everybody lost their jobs, the environment possessed a pastoral calm to me, compared to what I survived in Ventura.

When their misadventure in the desert was over and Alison retuned to Ventura, it was the long wait for trial, and I worked as temp around the San Fernando Valley and began preparing my bankruptcy filing.

Best,

Wade