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William Kelly

Bill Decker and John Tower

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Posted (edited)

Hi Ray:

I am an American, and while the bulk of my work is scientific and historical, I try to keep it all in relatively close orbit to my experiences.  Thanks for reading.  

Hi Joe:

Thanks for writing.  I guess that I need to remind this forum that my writings on the JFK hit and Gary are a very small part of my writings.  The JFK issue is only a paragraph in what will likely be regarded as my lifetime’s magnum opus of several hundred pages of mainly science and history, recently called a “renegade PhD” curriculum by one of my students.

I consider my most important writings to be scientific (which is highly regarded by world authorities), historical (also highly regarded), and a comprehensive view of the human potential.  I am currently the biographer of NASA’s most controversial astronaut and one of the greatest scholars of conscience that the USA has yet produced, but my main game is helping the biggest event in the human journey manifest, which I was in the middle of doing when we were wiped out, and Gary was instrumental in my springing my partner from jail, in the biggest miracle that I ever witnessed.  Gary will always be in my pantheon for that.

My work is multidisciplinary.  As one of Bucky Fuller’s pupils said, I am a comprehensivist, so I take it all in and digest it.  This is the last time that I plan to write about Gary much, and I want to do the subject justice.  I did it for Brian O’Leary, I am about done doing it for Ed Herman, and now I am doing it for Gary, and then I will resume my primary project.

You see me being autobiographical, and you lived close enough to my home town so that you know that I am accurately depicting the region.  That is kind of playing into the purpose of this string of posts, which is to make Gary as real as I can, and show why I have no doubt about his reporting of the John Tower conversation.  You can take it to the bank that he wrote about it as accurately as he could.  Over the past generation, I have seen Gary called a Nazi and McCarthyite bigot, whose John Tower story is a “fairy tale,” while Audie Murphy was incredibly called a coward, and I have seen Gary accused of making up the Tower conversation to sell books.  My writings on Gary are intended to help establish the reality and context of his writings about the Tower conversation, which, in my opinion, should be taken very seriously by the JFK researcher community.  I have written plenty that I am merely a dabbler in the JFK hit, compared to others in this forum, who have spent their lives studying it.  The Tower conversation was a small part of Gary’s book, but it understandably has become what he is best known for.  I guess that I understand that, but the JFK hit was really a small part of what Gary was involved with.

You have seen me write accurately about that odd milieu in Southern California, and when I get to the good parts of these coming posts, you might take what I write seriously.  I have stated many times that solving the crime of the JFK hit has never been my intention.  My intention is to show how the official “investigation” and mainstream party line for more than 50 years have been completely fraudulent.  Our system is not legitimate, but it is only one of degree for me, since JFK’s death.  The USA has been a plutocracy ever since its richest citizen became its first president, the favorite saying of the first Supreme Court Chief Justice was that the rich should run the nation, and they do to this day.  Our system is not worth believing in, IMO, which is a delusion that my students need to shake, if they are going to be useful for my effort.  Otherwise, they invariably go straight down the well-worn paths of failure, and time is short for humanity.  If we don’t begin to turn the corner in my lifetime, we may never turn it.  

But now it is back to Gary.  This series of posts will be over before long, this month, I would think.  Then I will write about Ed some more, then off to my other work.  

Thanks again for writing.

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier

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Hi Wade, The following is a post I made on the New Documents Release thread. This is some of the info I related in my earlier post to you. 

 

On 6/7/2018 at 8:22 PM, Michael Clark said:

https://www.archives.gov/files/research/jfk/releases/2018/docid-32262642.pdf

85 page Doc., handwritten.

Titled: "Dallas Police Department. Dallas Texas; racketeering and subversive activities. Ruby, Jack; background, racketeering and subversive activity. Organized crime. Matthews, Russell.

In my once-over, I see A lot of information on David Yaras and Lenny Patrick.

David Yaras is very interesting.

I often find that handwritten HSCA "notes" and reproductions have a document that contains all of the typed originals. If anyone finds the original counterpart to this handwritten doc. please share.

 

---------------------------

P.27

meetings with OC in San Francisco

 p.3 informant advised in November 1963 that in September 1963 there was a meeting at the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco and present was David Yaras, his son Ronald, Leonard Patrick, Louis Tom Dragna, and Nicolo Licata. Dragna is a La Cosa Nostra member and Licata is an underboss of the Cosa Nostra in the LA area. Several weeks later the same group met again and present was Ernest Debs , an LA county supervisor who is a close friend of California Governor Pat Brown and allegedly a pay off man for big people in LA.

 

 

Ernest  Debs[1] (February 7, 1904 – March 7, 2002).........

"........a member of the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors from 1958 to 1974."

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ernest_E._Debs

-----------------------------

 

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Posted (edited)

Hi:

After Gary’s career ended when he refused to take part in framing people, he made a living by buying a gas station, minimart, and bar, and he ran it.  That became his retirement nest egg, and he put it in his wife’s name.  He did not take his railroading lying down, and he fought back, waging lawsuits.  He was a gadfly to the corruption machine that rolled along in Ventura County.  They made him pay, and dearly, but he went down swinging.  In the early 1970s, he began drafting his book between customers at the gas station, and his wife typed it up.  It reminded me of how Dennis wrote his first book, from his jail cell.  They were slowed down enough to finally chronicle their adventures.  

When we moved to Ventura from Houston in 1967, after my father’s misadventure at NASA, our house was new, built on that former farm, of which my best friend’s house was the last remnant.  Our new housing development was surrounded by fields and lemon groves, which I saw get slowly mowed down and paved over during my childhood.  Down Telephone Road (which I lived a couple of blocks from) toward the city center, I recall seeing the walnut groves get mowed down when I was about ten years old, with huge piles of stumps.  Today’s Ventura County Center was one of the biggest construction projects west of the Mississippi when it was built, costing Ventura County’s taxpayers nearly $100 million, and it was built on those mowed-down groves, just a few miles from where I was raised.  After my first post-graduate misadventure in Seattle, I moved in with my mother and got a job at the County Center, as a water department accounting clerk, before I began my career in LA.  My mother married Fred while I lived with her, and we moved from near the County Center to the elite hills overlooking it.

Building the County Center was a typical raping of the public.  A Ventura County judge owned the company that built the County Center, in one of the spectacular conflicts of interest to be regularly found in Ventura County.  Gary filed a lawsuit to challenge their scam, which held up the first $65 million of bonds being issued.  Even though Gary’s lawsuit was quickly dismissed, he still had appeal rights…while he was alive.  The weekend before his lawsuit held up the issuance of the revenue bonds, Gary came home one evening and two hit men tried to kill him in his front yard, as a bullet intended for Gary blew off a limb next to his head.  Gary’s policeman instincts saved him, and he returned fire as the car sped away.  The official “investigation” said that it was somebody lighting off firecrackers, but on Monday, Gary got a very friendly call from the attorney trying to ram though the revenue bonds.  When Gary did not play ball, then the threats came.  Gary suddenly realized that if the hit men were successful, that those bonds would have sold without a hitch on Monday, as the lawsuit would be automatically dismissed if Gary was dead.  The judges were playing hardball.  

I am referring to the 1996 edition of Gary’s book as I write this, and it is falling apart in my hands.  It was very cheaply printed, as was the first edition.  

Some of Gary’s lawsuits ended up in Federal Court.  Harry Pregerson intervened and dismissed one of Gary’s lawsuits with prejudice, which is a judicial irregularity never seen in normal courts, but was standard procedure in the Kangaroo Court environment of LA and Ventura County.  Pregerson’s fraudulent machinations in those days caught Doug Caddy’s attention.  Gary later learned that the Ninth District Court of Appeals, where Pregerson presided, was legendary in American legal circles as the most corrupt in the USA.  I would discover that myself, the year after I met Gary.

The bar attached to the gas station had been in operation for decades, but when Gary owned it, suddenly it became a health hazard and the county refused to renew his beer license.  Another name in Gary’s book was the father of one of my childhood friends, who is the only person that I keep in contact with from my Ventura childhood.  That father used his position to deny the renewal of Gary’s license.  When I read that so long ago, I was not sure what to make of it.  I had played football with my friend’s father, and he seemed like a nice guy, but I have no doubt about Gary’s reporting.  As I later learned, the little people down the food chain just follow orders, and that man’s participation in the effort to harry Gary was just another day at the office, and may have even been “innocently” presented to him.  He lived only a couple of blocks away from those newly wealthy neighbors.  

Gary was such a gadfly that not only was the health department sicced on him, so was the fire department, and that was how they got Gary.  They literally broke into his place of business and fabricated an extension-cord “violation.”  A decade later, when I had my fateful meeting with Gary, he told me that after they fabricated the “violation” and criminally prosecuted him, when the jury was formed, it was stacked with the relatives of firemen.  When Gary saw that, he knew that he did not have a chance.  He got probation, but it put him under their thumb.  I would later witness the awesome corruption in Ventura’s probation department, in their reports on Dennis, as they recommended maintaining his astronomical bail, justified with outright fairy tales about Dennis.  I learned that they can just make it up as they go.  

Gary was not shy; he named names.  Dennis’s first attorney said that Gary’s book was a Who’s Who of Ventura County.  I could spend many posts writing about the names in Gary’s book and my encounters with those names, but I don’t want this to stretch into a months-long process.  Suffice it to say that there were many overlaps in our journey, long before we met, and during my years in Ventura with Dennis, when my life was ruined, I learned the stark truth of what Gary wrote about.  

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier

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Thanks Michael:

Gary mentioned Dragna a few times in his book, but Gary made the point that while the Italian mobsters in California made the news, Jewish mobsters such as Pregerson really had the power.  The Jewish mob had a vested interest in keeping the public’s focus on the Italian mobsters, as a misdirection, so that Jewish mobsters could fly under the radar.  Cohen was prominent, obviously, but Gary watched Cohen get pummeled by Jack O’Hara over a debt.  Omertá prevented Cohen from involving the authorities, but O’Hara later got one right between the eyes, courtesy of Cohen.  Those kinds of spectacular activities were bad for business.  Cohen was eventually imprisoned and nearly murdered in there, as he was considered disposable by his Jewish mobster brethren.  High-profile gangsters did not live too long, as a rule.  Much better to operate in the shadows.  

Best,

Wade

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Well known crime films such as L.A.Confidential, Gangster Squad, Chinatown etc. all had major plot, story, setting and character elements based on true life events and people which clearly correlate to the corruption Wade describes in the L.A. area in that time frame. 

Much more true life than people who are not from Southern California might believe.

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Posted (edited)

Hi:

As I thumbed through Gary’s crumbling book in recent days, something pretty funny happened.  I wrote about Gary’s friendship with Richard Heaton, who died in a plane crash a few weeks after Lyman Smith and his wife were murdered.  Their friendship began when Gary was a patrol cop in Ventura in the 1950s, who regularly found a drunken Heaton “crapped out” in a doorway on Main Street in Ventura, early on Sunday mornings.  Instead of arresting him for being drunk in public, Gary would shepherd Heaton home to his grateful wife.  That was how Gary’s friendship began with Heaton.  Once Heaton was appointed as a judge in 1956, he never took another drink.  

When Lyman Smith and his wife were murdered, the DA was under pressure to convict somebody, anybody, for the crime and, about two years after Smith’s murder, they prosecuted a man whose company was bought by Smith.  There simply was no case, and they tried to frame the man for the murders, but it didn’t work, partly because of the tenacious defense attorney.  When the DA’s case fell apart (they never established a motive, among other issues), the DA had to settle for convicting the man in the local newspaper, saying that his guilt was certain but unprovable.  

About fifteen years after those events, I published the first version of what became my site today, before I hired a professional editor.  Between 1996 and 2002, I had a near-continual presence on the Internet with my site (I did not have one between April 1997 and late 1998, as I recall), with my email address on my site, and I took on all comers.  I have quite a few pals today that I met through having my email address on my site back then, before I finally had to take it down.  But in those early days of Internet innocence, a man contacted me a couple of years before I published my account of Gary and the JFK hit.  He was a retired policeman who worked in Ventura when Gary did.  He actually witnessed one of the events that Gary wrote about in his book, an outrageous event outside of a courtroom, and the man corroborated Gary’s account.  That retired policeman actually came to visit me in 1999, and here is the funny part.  

That attorney for the defendant in the Lyman Smith murder trial was known in Ventura as the “maverick” attorney who took on the Ventura County establishment, being a gadfly who defended pariahs.  He once sued Ventura County’s officials for illegally seizing his gun collection, and he won the case.  That maverick attorney became Dennis’s first attorney after he was arrested.  That retired policeman did not come to me because of my Ventura days, but because of my other writings.  He just happened to have also worked in Ventura during his career.  When we corresponded, that maverick defense attorney came up, and that retired policeman told me a story about him.  As he patrolled Main Street early one Sunday morning, around the 1960s, he found that maverick attorney “crapped out” in a doorway, drunken from his Saturday night binge, and like Gary, he gently shepherded that attorney to his home.  It was almost the exact same story that Gary wrote about with Heaton.  It seems that Ventura’s Main Street was where lawyers ended up, crapped out, after a night drinking.  :)  

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier

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Posted (edited)

Hi Joe:

As I have written, Gary’s career and life is the closest thing to the plot of LA Confidential that I know of.  One of my college chums became the mayor of Bishop, California.  After his Vietnam days, he became a ranger in the Sierras, and was with me on that trip where we were nearly hit by lightning.  He later said that that was the hairiest trip that he ever took, and only years later did I realize how close I came to getting us killed, and not from the lightning, but navigating the snowfields below the pass, where one slip meant a grim death after a several hundred foot fall.  Ah, such youthful ignorance!  :)  

Bishop is the “metropolis” of Owens Valley, which has been drained dry to provide LA’s water.  The theme of Chinatown is how LA got those water rights.  Bishop is legally prevented from ever growing, as all the land around it is owned by various governments, and LA’s water rights have the highest priority.  My friend told me that when LA was buying up the rights to Owens Valley’s water, that people who got in the way in Bishop met untimely demises, in one-car “accidents” and the like.  The theme of Chinatown was all too real.  

Unlike in Hollywood movies, Gary’s story did not have a happy ending, with his vindication and the “bad guys” brought to justice.  He died destitute, in exile, in Oregon, with an arrest warrant for his wife, as the Ventura County gangsters stole his gas station and store from him, and that story will come before I finish this string.  

Another college chum became Ventura’s mayor, and that is another story.  

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier

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Posted (edited)

Hi:

Growing up in Ventura, close to LA, meant that I regularly encountered celebrities.  I never treated them like one and left them alone, which I do to this day.  The only autograph that I have I didn’t even collect.  A commercial was shot in our neighborhood when I was about ten, I was sick in bed that day, and my brother brought home an autograph from this actor, who was in that commercial.  Oak View, where Gary lived, is on the way to Ojai from Ventura.  My family often went there to various parks while I grew up, especially Camp Comfort.  

While I was a golden boy from birth, my younger brother was the opposite, getting into trouble from infancy, and by the end of grade school, my parents were desperately trying to turn him around, which included sending him one summer to a military academy.  They seriously considered moving to Ojai, to a house on a few acres of grapefruit trees, as a way to help my brother.  Ojai is kind of a New Age elite enclave today, and it has been that way for a long time.  For his seventh grade year, they sent my brother to Ojai Valley School, which was a complete failure, as my brother got his worst grades ever, even failing one class, and he is more intelligent than I am.  He soon graduated to criminal activity.  At Ojai Valley School, my brother attended with the children of Hollywood celebrities, such as Christian Brando and one of the Fonda progeny, as I recall.  My brother and Christian were fellow screw-ups, and that year, Marlon tried to be the dutiful parent.  My brother and Christian were on the school soccer team, and Marlon came to a match and played soccer with them.  

I acted while in high school, and my acting pals tried to make it in Hollywood.  None of them made it, although one became a minor playwright who still writes plays performed in Ventura County.  When I lived in LA after college, half of my friends were either in entertainment, tried to break in, or had been in, as actors, writers, musicians, directors, producers, and the like.  Some made it.  One relative worked on the special effects for Disney’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, and this man grew up two doors away from my home, and I babysat him when he was young.  It was like if you grew up in a fishing village, you would likely become a fisherman.  In the hinterland of LA, going into entertainment was just a normal career path.  For everybody who becomes a star, thousands toil in anonymity.  I sometimes helped support friends who tried to make it in Hollywood, including my roommate when I met Dennis, and some pals went into the seedier side of LA and worked in porn for a while, including a woman whom I sat at the same table with in a high school class, who was in a porn magazine a couple of years after graduation, which created a sensation among my friends.  One close childhood friend attended UCLA and encountered celebrities daily, even serving them at his various jobs.

When I lived with Fred, one of his washed out Hollywood actor friends slept on our living room couch for a few weeks and spent his days getting drunk at those same establishments where those crapped-out attorneys did, on Main Street. His claim to fame was acting with Streisand in one of her “Funny” movies.  While he lived with us, be got arrested for drunk driving, and the next day, he drove to one of those bars to drown his sorrows, calling Fred from the bar.  Fred could hardly believe it.  The man was going to drive to our place, drunk, after being jailed for drunk driving the day before.  Fred himself never shook the bottle and Vegas lifestyle, which led to his early death.  

Gary’s days in LA dealt with the Hollywood scene daily, and it was a deeply dysfunctional culture.  One Hollywood friend was at a party with Billy Joel and his wife at the time, Christy Brinkley.  While Christie was in the front of the house, talking with the others, Billy was in a back bedroom, doing cocaine, and Christie was visibly distressed.  Joel soon moved from LA back home to New York, saying that the LA lifestyle was wrecking his life.  In many ways, LA was a very unhealthy place to live, but it was pretty big time, professionally.  Downtown LA was the biggest business district west of the Mississippi and the heart of California’s economy, which is one of the world’s largest and where my career began.  Ventura was kind of out in the sticks, and not nearly as professional.  While LA could be incredibly corrupt, such as Harry Pregerson’s tenure, it at least had a professional veneer.  In Ventura, that veneer could be thin indeed, I saw previews of that before I left home, and I’ll finish with one last anecdote.  

During my last year at home, I was the janitor of an office building built on the land of that former walnut farm, which I salvaged the lumber from in my first job.  The tenants were primarily lawyers, accountants, and investment advisors.  I was in my early business studies, and I eagerly read the Wall Street Journal and other business periodicals as I threw them out.  I got the job through a childhood friend, whose father was the managing partner of the law firm that owned the building.  One new attorney had just come from the Ventura County DA’s office.  The DA’s office hired graduates from the local one-building law school, which was really a mill to pump out people who could pass the bar exam, but whose professional grooming was nil.  My wife’s brother went to the same junior college that I did, and ran for the same coach as I did. He attended Harvard Law with the Obamas (Barack was the ultimate political animal, while nobody liked Michelle much), and told my wife that the DA’s office in Ventura preferred graduates of that one-building law school.  

That new lawyer at the law firm was a Berkeley graduate, however, so presumably had a better education.  He eventually became a prominent judge in Nevada.  I just looked up his résumé, and he completely left out his Ventura days, which I can understand.  Lawyers are notoriously late adopters of technology, and that law firm had a substantial law library.  Law libraries had to be continually updated, and some reference materials had binders in which the pages could be replaced, but often the entire book had to be replaced, and I threw out law books almost daily, which could be impressive-looking tomes.  I was friendly with all of the attorneys and staff, and that new attorney worked late in his office sometimes.  His office was spartan, with a largely empty bookcase on the wall across from his desk, which sat behind the chairs where his clients sat.  One day, that attorney asked me to fill the shelves of his empty bookcase with any impressive-looking law books that I was hrowing away.  So, over the next several weeks, I did.  I don’t recall thinking at time how bush league that it was, as I had no frame of reference, but I have to laugh at that today.  It was like in The Great Gatsby, where books were just for show.  As I look back, that was an early preview and warning of what happened when my free energy efforts landed me back in my home town, where my life was wrecked.  

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier

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Posted (edited)

Hi:

When I have seen Gary called names and accused of making up his John Tower conversation, I knew that the writers had no conception of Gary’s situation or of the situations of people like Gary when they write such books.  Dennis wrote his first book from an incarceration that he did not expect to survive.  Dennis’s jailers threatened him while he wrote his first book, and he even smuggled out chapters of it.  Dennis wrote his second book in prison, the prison officials repeatedly tried to get him murdered by his inmates, and they nearly succeeded.  Ralph McGehee wrote his book after his early retirement and engaged in an epic legal battle with the CIA to publish it, in which the CIA went to the absurd extent of trying to reclassify declassified documents that Ralph used in his book.  The CIA tried to silence him after it was published, and even bought up his books to remove them from circulation.  I got attacked everywhere that I appeared on the Internet, even attacked in forums that I was invited into, and I most recently had my work erased at Wikipedia, under the flimsiest of pretexts.  Gary and Dennis had to survive murder attempts from the authorities during their travails, and Ralph suffered bodily injury, amongst threats and other harassments.  

You don’t travel that kind of territory and make up stories, not when your adversaries are looking for reasons to silence you and can resort to murder.  It is highly naïve, at best, to think that Gary wrote his book to make a lot of money or become famous.  People like Gary, Dennis, Ralph, and I write because our stories need to be told, as a public service, not to get rich.  I have never asked for a dime of compensation and passed up millions of dollars in earnings to perform my studies and writing.  We all sacrificed our lives to do what we did.  A similar argument can be made for Noam and Ed.  They were highly successful academics when they began their political writing careers, and anybody who thinks that they did it to make a lot of money or become famous has no idea what motivates people like that.  They all answered the insistent call of their consciences.  

When Brian O’Leary was an Ivy League professor after his astronaut days, protesting the genocide in Southeast Asia and being a NASA gadfly, his books were published by major publishing houses and his op eds ran in the New York Times.  After his mystical awakening, he gradually left the Establishment’s fold, and as he began exploring the fringes, he lost his access to the mainstream.  The more that he pursued the truth, the more ostracized he became.  He nearly lost his life, courtesy of the American military, in an attack that shortened his life, and spent his life’s last years in exile in South America, driven from his home nation by the gangsters who run it.  The Establishment tried to erase Brian more than once, Brian was eventually reduced to self-publishing, which bankrupted him, and he was further reduced to having people like me help edit his final book.  Recently, while I had my writings on Ed’s life and career erased at Wikipedia by a very rude admin, he also erased part of Brian’s scientific career, as well as the last 20 years of Brian’s life, which Brian considered his life’s most important years.  Mark Twain and George Orwell had similar suppression of their work.

After Gary was railroaded out of his career, he fought back and began filing lawsuits.  As Gary’s wife once told me, Gary was a fighter, not a lover.  Gary’s first lawsuit was a libel suit, and Audie Murphy set up Gary with Murphy’s own attorney.  Immediately after taking the case, Murphy’s attorney got a phone call from Ventura County and then resigned from Gary’s case.  Murphy died soon thereafter in a plane crash that Gary did not think was accidental.  Gary soon discovered that no lawyer in California would represent him.  When Gary and I had our fateful meeting in January 1989, Gary told me that it is easy to threaten lawyers with disbarment for simply taking a case, and Gary had been forced into being his own attorney for many years by that time.  Every time that he hired an attorney, that attorney would soon get a phone call that threatened disbarment, and then the attorney would resign.  

After I sacrificed my life to give Dennis at least a snowball’s chance, my legal fund hired the USA’s foremost Constitutionalist attorney, who remains the USA’s leading Constitutionalist attorney to this day, who specializes in taking on police brutality and other corrupt official acts.  The year before he took Dennis’s case, he destroyed the careers of IRS personnel, in a case that was ruled on by the USA’s Supreme Court, which became a direct precedent for Dennis’s case.  That attorney was threatened with disbarment for bringing his case against Ventura County’s officials, in the same court where Harry Pregerson presided.  That attorney thought that mopping up the floor of the USA’s Supreme Court with IRS personnel put him in the big time, and to a degree, it did, but whoever was behind Dennis’s persecution made the IRS look like choir boys.  They treated that big time attorney like something unpleasant that they stepped in and unceremoniously wiped from the bottom of their shoes.  I recently looked at that attorney’s list of cases that he promotes himself with, and nowhere is Dennis’s case mentioned, a high-profile client who spent two years behind bars, and was nearly murdered in there, for failing to file a form.  

Another example of somebody writing because of the insistent call of his conscience is FAA investigator Rodney Stich, who got in far deeper than he ever imagined.  Unlike the rest of us, Stich began his whistleblower career rich and thought that he was safe from legal attacks.  But the gangsters who run California’s legal system got creativity points in his case.  They declared his decades-old divorce invalid and used his unscrupulous ex-wife to take him down with their blatantly fraudulent rulings.  California has, by far, the most corrupt legal system in the USA, and that is saying something.  My wife’s doctor fled California, to stay out of prison for healing people of cancer with alternative means, and he was in good company.  My company got to bear the brunt of the medical racket in California, too, which was happening when I met Gary.

Even if I did not know Gary, I know that people like him are not going to make up events out of the thin air.  Gary knew that if he did that, then they would quickly have taken him out.  During our meeting, across the street from the jail where Dennis sat in solitary confinement for daring to throw a Christmas party for his inmates, as if Ventura County was some cartoonish parody of evil, Gary said that the only thing keeping him alive was never breaking the law, no matter how galling it was, because the gangsters in Ventura County would have then had an excuse to murder him, which they were accomplished at performing.  To think that in the midst of that, Gary would fabricate the Tower conversation, which is a minor part of his book (which was published a little over a year before I met Gary), is to have no idea of Gary’s situation or how the world really works.  

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier

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Hi Paul:

Gary’s book is over 600 pages.  Before this series of posts is over, I will tell a brief account of how the man who sold Gary’s book after he died took me to task for even putting up that photo of Gary.  He jealously protected his rights to selling Gary’s book.  Unlike how that rude Wikipedia admin characterized me, I am not a careless plagiarist or copyright thief.  My work is the closest thing to a shrine to Gary’s memory on the Internet, and while that guy does not appear to be selling Gary’s book today, he is about my age, lives in Texas, and ran for Congress in 2016.  If I actually did something like scan Gary’s book and made it available, I could see him taking legal action against me.  Sigh.  

Best,

Wade

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Posted (edited)

Hi:

I think that I have published enough anecdotes to establish that Gary’s path and mine had plenty of overlaps before we met.  I’ll briefly recap my last stint in Ventura that led to our fateful meeting.  While Gary’s journey is the closest thing to the plot of LA Confidential that I know of, Dennis’s journey makes Indiana Jones look like Walter Mitty.  From his migrant farmer roots to his Vietnam days to his first awakening moment to his hobnobbing with the Eastern Oligarchy to surviving mobs hit attempts over his idealistic businesses to nearly dying from medical negligence to getting involved with the world’s best heating system and using his ingenious methods to mount the greatest attempt to bring alternative energy to the American marketplace, his journey before I met him is preposterous enough, but once I met him, it became surreal and those days comprised my life’s steepest learning curve.  

That voice in my head led me to Dennis, to begin our bizarre journey together.  He could not get rid of me, and I chased him out to Boston, where I soon became his partner and we began pursuing free energy.  I brought in my first professional mentor to make a technical assessment, and he not only thought that we had a chance, he proposed marrying his revolutionary engine with Dennis’s heat pump panels to produce free energy.  He persuaded Dennis to move our operation to Ventura, in a secret deal that I did not know about until reading it in Dennis’s book nearly a decade later.  I had twice left Southern California, intending to never return, and there we were, moving to Ventura.  I could feel the heavy hand of my “friends” on my shoulder once again.  

Our Boston days were a failed effort, but were kind of a blessed calm before the storm.  Within a couple of months after hitting Ventura, Dennis invented a program that worked, and money began pouring in from across the USA.  We went from a few volunteers to 40 employees in a couple of months.  I have never seen anything like it.  The rocket ship was taking off.  Our first encounters with the Global Controllers were in Boston, as we received the anonymous calls in the night to keep up the good work from the so-called White Hats, to the friendly buyout offer from the Black Hats.  They may well have been behind some of what happened in Seattle, such as the activities of the electric company hit man and the theft of Dennis’s company, but their hand was more evident in Boston and became blatant in Ventura.  

As in Seattle, the official attacks were incredibly underhanded.  In both instances, Dennis sought to work with the authorities before they attacked.  In Seattle, they said that there were only a couple minor issues, and Dennis bent over backward to work with them, but they tried to wipe out his company while he was out of town, seeking a friendlier business environment to work in, at the same time that the hit man struck, in what I have called and “inside-outside job,” which they also did in Ventura.  In Ventura, Dennis’s assistant had a conversation with the deputy who led the raid against us a few weeks later, asking the deputy if we were doing anything wrong, and that deputy assured us that all was well.  Little did I know it at the time, but when those cars sped into our parking lot in a cloud of dust, as the raid began, it was the beginning of my life’s worst year.  I learned my lifetime’s greatest lessons in that year, and the chief one, which was driven home in no uncertain terms, was that personal integrity is the world’s scarcest commodity.  I resisted that lesson every step of the way, until I could deny it no longer.  There were some beacons in the darkness, such as Mr. Professor, who was the true hero of what happened in Ventura, but they were few and far between.  

My life’s radicalizing moment was on the witness stand, in Kangaroo Court, as the prosecution made faces at me as I testified.  And that “maverick” attorney lied down and played dead, going along with the railroad job.  He literally sat next to Mr. Deputy as he made faces at me all day, and that “maverick” never raised a note of protest.  That behavior would not have lasted ten seconds in a fifth grade classroom, but in Kangaroo Court, the judge, prosecutor, and even that “maverick” attorney pointedly ignored Mr. Deputy’s imbecilic behavior, which was intended to intimidate me as I testified.  Dennis’s wife later told me that he did it throughout all of the defense witness testimony, as if it was a Stalinist show trial.  The next month, December 1988, was my life’s blackest month, as visions of murder danced in my head, which was my life’s lowest moment.  

By January, I had overcome those black thoughts and decided that I would do whatever I could to save Dennis (I no longer cared about our free energy efforts), who was in solitary confinement for trying to throw a Christmas party for his inmates, and he was writing that he did not expect to live to see this side of the bars again.  And that was when I met Gary, after reading some of his book. For all that I had been through, Gary’s  book was a shock to read, naming names that I knew, and it was too traumatic at the time for me to read all of it.  I read it cover-to-cover twice since then, and have periodically referred to it, such as now, while I write what is likely my last extensive treatment of Gary’s work and its relationship to mine.  Before I get to our fateful meeting, I’ll cover one last parallel of his journey to ours, and a curious aspect of how dark pathers operate.  

The month before Dennis was arrested with his astronomical bail, a CIA man, who said that he represented “European interests,” offered Dennis $1 billion or so to fold up our operation.  That was the first time that Dennis knew that what he called “The Big Boys” were involved, and Dennis’s counteroffer stunned the CIA man.  

In Gary’s book, there was a tactic that he called “The Kiss of Death” or something similar.  Gary saw a “Kiss of Death” moment between one of the gangster judges and a man who soon met an untimely demise, and it goes like this…

When gangsters decide to kill their targets, they can fete their victim, with a party and over-the-top well-wishing, as if their target was a long-lost son, but they soon murder him.  You can see an event like that, when Joe Pesci’s character met his demise, in Goodfellas.  

I confess that I don’t quite know what is going on in their heads.  Was it to give their target one last good moment in life?  Was it to deflect any future suspicion?  Was it an act of sadism?  Was it a way to help lure their victim to his demise, as it was in the case of Pesci’s character?  I don’t know, and it could be a combination of such motivations, depending on the situation, but I have known my fair share of sociopaths and psychopaths, especially when they were sicced on us (1, 2, 3), and they can be very friendly, just as they sink their daggers in.  A couple of weeks after their meeting in Chicago, that CIA man called Dennis, said he would be in town, and offered to take Dennis out to dinner.  He was a high-ranking CIA man, a perfectly coifed Ivy-League type with the gold cufflinks, witty and urbane, the kind that Allen Dulles hired.  During their meal, the CIA man never mentioned the offer from the previous meeting, as he feted Dennis.  Was that a “Kiss of Death” meeting?  I suspect that it was, and I also suspect that during his trip to California, the CIA man arranged for Dennis’s upcoming treatment.  Although Dennis refused the billion dollar bribe, ten million dollars, or one percent of the bribe offered to Dennis, would have handsomely greased enough palms to make what happened next a certainty.

In the GCs’ manual on organized suppression, which has been compiled over the past century, the problem that Dennis presented, and how he was dealt with, likely comprises a chapter or two, and there is probably a footnote or two on me.  

So, on to my fateful meeting with Gary, which I will write about in detail like I have not done before.  

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier

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Hi:

I need to portray the background of my meeting with Gary, which was the only time that we met in the flesh.  The farce of a preliminary hearing ended in December 1988, and Mr. Deputy, who was promoted to be in charge of the jail soon after his career-making “investigation” and arrest of Dennis, was trying his best to break Dennis for trial and ensure that he was never free again.  At the jail, the jailers regularly threw people down stairwells, and three prisoners were found hanging in their cells during the previous year.  Dennis later told me that the barbarities of the jailers were of a kind that he had not seen in many years.  Throwing Dennis into solitary confinement for trying to throw a Christmas party for his inmates was typical of their malice.  

All technical witnesses had been chased off, and Mr. Researcher was in hiding at the time, driven there by Mr. Deputy’s threats.  Fischer had disappeared, as had all other technical witnesses, leaving me as the defense’s star witness, and they got me off the witness stand as soon as possible, as the judge led the corrupt festivities.  We later discovered that they had even lied to a test lab about us, frightening them off.  In Kangaroo Court, with all technical witnesses threatened and chased off, and all test data declared inadmissible, they had successfully portrayed the world’s best heating system as a scam, and the prosecution paraded an “expert” on the stand who had never actually seen one of the systems operating, but who categorically stated that a COP of seven was “impossible.”  At the preliminary hearing, the best testimony on the equipment’s performance ironically came from prosecution witnesses, such as an engineer who tried to extort money from us the previous year, who stupidly forgot that he tested the equipment and that his test results directly contradicted his parroting of his textbooks on the witness stand.  Another witness for the prosecution was a dealer who set up a competing network to ours, was pursuing free energy with our technology, and who testified that one of his systems got a COP of nine.  That was the nature of the “victims” to our scam that the prosecution paraded onto the witness stand.

Other than Mr. Professor and Dennis’s wife, I was about the only person supporting Dennis in Ventura, other than a few brave souls who testified, which included a minister who was a scientist and salesman, a black dealer in Ohio (one of the few black people in our organization), and maybe one or two others.  Everybody else was gone, either chased off with threats, cowering in fear, or they joined up with the prosecution, committed crimes, and piled on.  My own mother, who worked for the local paper, never even asked for my side of the story, saved up her employer’s libelous newspaper articles about us, made a scrapbook out of them, and took it on tour to my friends, family, and investors, while telling the story of her son the criminal.  It did not look like Dennis had a prayer, in the rigged proceedings.  It was in that environment that I contacted Gary.

By mid-January 1989, I had overcome my black thoughts of December 1988, during my life’s worst month, in which going bankrupt was the least of my problems.  Dennis’s wife and children had lived with Mr. Professor since the previous summer.  I visited her one evening after work, asked what more I could do, and she gave me Gary’s book.  I began reading it, and did not get far into it before I recognized the names of fathers of children that I grew up with, and many other names that I knew.  It was too traumatic to completely read at the time, and I put it aside.  I don’t recall if I even read the chapter on the John Tower conversation back then, but I may have.  Compared to what else was happening, the JFK hit was a trivial matter and I never discussed it with Gary.  After reading as much of Gary’s book as I could stand, I got his phone number from Dennis’s wife and called one day, on a weekend, as I recall.  Gary had been fighting those gangsters for nearly 20 years by that time, and I figured that if anybody knew what to do, it would be Gary.

When I called, Gary’s wife answered and I announced that I wanted to talk with Gary.  She initially treated me very brusquely, saying that she could not trust anybody who called out of the blue.  I then explained that I was Dennis’s partner, and she got real friendly, fast, and said that Gary was not home, but that he would contact me.  Gary did far better than that.  I soon heard from Gary, who said that he would meet me that evening, at a donut shop across the street from the County Center.  I could see the jail from that donut shop.

When we met, the first thing that I said was that I would do anything that I could to save Dennis, and asked that if I went to Washington D.C., could I find somebody to intervene?  For the next two-to-three hours, Gary gave me the benefit of his experience.  Gary said that what was happening to us was standard operating procedure in the USA, as the kind of official criminality that we encountered was normal, in all jurisdictions.  Gary said that, furthermore, they were all in the same club together, and that nobody in the USA would intervene.  He said that the powers that be would send Dennis to prison for a good, long time, and make sure that he never even thought about his business efforts again.  

For all that I had already been through, it was a very enlightening evening.  Gary said that the only reason why he was still alive was that he never broke the law, no matter how galling, as it would have given them a reason to murder him.  Gary had filed numerous lawsuits, and he said that the clerks at the court would simply put his lawsuits and motions through the shredder, and they would have no record of his case or filing, even when he had the filing receipt in hand.  I saw that happen with Dennis, too, as his filings would be “lost” by the court.  Gary told me how they even erased his testimony from the court transcript, as he testified.  He told me of being on the witness stand, and when he made a sensational bit of testimony, the court reporter made a hand gesture to the judge, who then paused the proceedings as the reporter scrolled through her tape and removed Gary’s damning testimony, which was subsequently not in the court transcript.  Gary said that he eventually began wearing a tape recorder, hidden in his jacket, so that he could catch them erasing his testimony.  

Gary also told me how they stacked juries there, and related the situation where the fire department broke into his store and fabricated an extension-cord “violation,” and when the jury was selected, it was stacked with the relatives of firemen.  When Gary saw that, he knew that he had no chance, and they put him on an onerous probation.  Gary ran for sheriff the next year, and the county quickly passed a law that made Gary too old to run for office!  

Gary had met me on his way home from a meeting in Saticoy, as he tried to help organize the residents to resist a land grab that the Ventura County gangsters were orchestrating with the courts.  Gary said that it was nearly an impossible task, as everybody flew off in their self-serving directions and failed to put up a united front to resist the play to steal their land.  With what I had seen in the previous three years with Dennis, that was no surprise.  

At the end of our sobering conversation, with all avenues seemingly closed off, I asked if there was really anything that I could do.  I had already mentioned our civil rights lawsuits that we filed after the raid, which were dismissed just before Dennis was arrested, and Gary said that I could refile my lawsuit and put the heat on them in their own court.  He wanted to see my lawsuit, we drove from the donut shop to my nearby house, and I lent him my lawsuit filing, which I never saw again.  That was in the days when I did not have ready access to a photocopier.  A month later, I lent Dennis’s wife that LA Timesinvestigative” article on Dennis, after she asked me for it, which I also never saw again.  I learned to not lend out stuff like that, even if it was to luminaries like them.  

Gary’s sobering advice was the best advice that I could have received.  It prevented me from wasting my time, camping on a Senator’s doorstep.  I digested Gary’s advice for the next month before deciding on my course of action, which miraculously sprang Dennis from jail, in the biggest miracle that I ever witnessed, which Dennis and I knew was an act of divine intervention.  That Gary went out of his way, mere hours after my plea for help, and gave me his critical advice, put him forever in my pantheon.  The JFK hit was a trivial issue, given what I was facing, and I never discussed the JFK hit with Gary.  It was just not that important in our subsequent relationship, even though I spent the next dozen years poking into the JFK hit evidence, to see how it lined up with Gary’s story.  And, really, what was there to discuss?  Gary had given a great deal of detail on the conversation in his book, and I knew that Gary would not make up something like that.  With the milieu that we navigated, such behavior would be suicidal, not to mention far beneath our level of integrity.  Making up stories was the furthest thing from our minds.  We were dealing with the brutal truths of our world, and that was plenty to have on our plates.  Lying and criminality was the province of our assailants, who could make it up as they went along.  Because they worked for the evil-minded people who ran the show, they were immune to any sort of earthly justice, which I first saw with the hit man in Seattle and have seen many times since.  It is just how it works today on our planet.  

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier

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Hi:

During that month between when I met Gary and made my decision, I worked for the largest privately owned medical lab in the USA, just as the government and their media henchmen tried to wipe the lab out.  It was very similar to what I had seen during my days with Dennis, and would see more of in subsequent years.  The government lies and the media broadcasts it, as they work on behalf of their private-interest patrons, to help wipe out the competition.  I believe that it was during that month when the Los Angeles Times published an “investigative” article on Dennis.  It took about an hour to read it, and I clearly recall that when I finally finished it, I said to myself, “They can simply make it up as they go.”  Calling it propaganda is being polite.  It was a libelous series of lies and half-truths that turned reality upside down.  I was permanently cured of the idea that the media had any concern with the truth, and when I heard of Uncle Ed’s magazine the next year, I was so ready for its message.

Gary had dissuaded me from entertaining the idea that anybody in the USA would help; even allegedly “liberal” organizations such as the ACLU.  Even “progressive” and “radical” organizations get captured in various ways, as their initial thrust gets watered down into irrelevance, as they hack at branches if they hack at all.  As I began to realize back in my days on Boston, so-called environmental groups are usually worse than worthless regarding the big issues, and treat the global solution to all of their concerns like the enemy.  But also, Gary’s advice, to become my own lawyer and take them on in their court, did not seem very promising.  I had already seen Kangaroo Court in action, and it was their turf.  I did not see how that was going to help Dennis much, although maybe it could have.  I needed to do something with more direct benefit for Dennis instead of suing for my civil rights violations, which I suppose could have landed me in jail, too, but I was not thinking in that way.  

By February 1989, I had long since been radicalized.  1988 was just the exclamation point on the real world lessons that I began to learn upon college graduation and my days in LA.  1986 in Seattle was the beginning of my big lessons, Boston was when my learning curve began steepening, and 1988 was when I learned my life’s most important lessons in no uncertain terms.  Back then, Dennis and I did not even know that there was a free energy field.  Neither of us had even heard of Nikola Tesla, in our ignorance.  We had stumbled into the biggest issue on Earth, which dwarfed events such as the JFK hit, but we did not begin to realize it until much later.  We had no idea that we had been made the friendly buyout offer in Boston, and I did not know about the billion dollar bribe until 1996, when I read it in Dennis’s book, The Alternative.  If I had known of those issues at the time, would it have changed my decision?  I don’t know, but I doubt it.  Nearly a decade later, I discussed my decision with Dennis, Alison, and Mr. Professor, and I said that who knows why they really do anything?  The cowardliness and criminality of those around me were no longer surprising.  After those days in Ventura, nothing about human behavior could ever surprise me again.  I had been awakened.  

As I have written, by February 1989, I no longer cared about our free energy efforts.  Dennis is the greatest human being that I have ever met or heard of, and you have to see him in action to believe it.  I just wanted to save him from spending the rest of his life behind bars.  I did not know it at the time, but Dennis was writing about how the authorities would have him murdered by an inmate, which they nearly accomplished.  I saw how Kangaroo Court operated, and it was my radicalizing moment.  There was no looking back to my days of innocence after that.

As Uncle Ed said, reconstructing the past is not easy, but my eidetic memory makes the task easier.  My thinking was that the primary body of the charges related to an obscure civil law that nobody had ever heard about, but I incredibly had, and Dennis’s “crime” under those laws was failing to file a form, which was actually my job.  I figured that life-in-prison for failing to file a form was going to be a bit of a stretch, even for Ventura County’s gangsters.  They had successfully chased off all expert witnesses who could testify to the reality of the world’s best heating system, with lies and threats.  A fraud conviction would enable them to go for life-in-prison, and they could only do that if they prevented any expert witnesses from testifying and they successfully prevented test data from being submitted as evidence, of which there was a mountain, from test labs, customers, a Fortune 500 company, etc.  How I saw it, the only way that they could make their life-in-prison attempt stick was to have Dennis hogtied in jail, unable to defend himself, while they paraded their dupes, “experts,” and extortionists on the witness stand.  That was where I saw my opportunity to make a dent, even though I thought that my chances were realistically nil.  There was likely no end to their evil machinations.  They simply made it up as they went along, and they had the guns, jail, media, and whatever else they needed to make their charade stick, and their palms had likely been generously greased.  

In early February 1989, I approached Mr. Professor.  I asked him to mortgage his house and lend me $50,000 for a defense fund for Dennis.  After the farce of a preliminary hearing was over, that “maverick” attorney demanded big money to continue with the case and resigned from the engagement.  Dennis was defending himself, as his own attorney.  My plan was to use the legal fund to get Dennis an attorney and bring in expert witnesses for the trial, who did not live locally and were not subject to threats made by the local gangsters.  I did not know at the time that they had already been at work, chasing off a test lab from out-of-state with their lies.

I knew what I was doing: I was sacrificing my life.  $50,000 was twice my annual salary before I met Dennis, and I knew that if Mr. Professor loaned me the money, I would be paying it back (at 10% interest) over many years, and that I was taking a path of never being a parent, never owning my own home, never buying a new car, and the like.  It largely turned out that way.  I have never owned my home, was never a parent, and until 2010, I had never bought myself a car.  I finally did, and they will have to pry it out of my dead cold hands one day.  I figured that my gesture would be an exercise in futility, with about a 1% chance of making a dent in the railroad job.  A week later, I met with Mr. Professor and his wife, at his office, and you could see the jail from his office window.  They agreed to lend me the money, and we had a good cry afterward.  It is not easy to relate the evil of those days, and what blew me away was not their evil acts, not really.  The big lesson for me was how nearly everybody else cowered, performed criminal acts once Dennis was in a headlock from the Big Boys, or piled on and helped.  A decade later, as I studied the Holocaust and hardly a hero was to be found, it was no surprise to me.  Personal integrity is indeed the scarcest commodity on Earth.  

There was another good guy in those days, before we miraculously sprang Dennis from jail: the president of the company that was going to manufacture the heat pumps that Dennis was trying to carpet Seattle with.  His company was wiped out by the Rockefellers’ bank, just as Dennis found a finance company that made his plan feasible.  I did not connect those dots back then, but in subsequent years, I think that the Rockefellers’ wiping out Dennis’s manufacturer, just as Dennis obtained financing, was no coincidence.  I also think that the Mormon grifters, who stole Dennis’s company, with my boss’s help, may have been acting on behalf of the GCs, although I will never be able to prove it.  But the same dynamics happened in Ventura two years later, so it is a little too much coincidence, especially when I later heard that the Mormon financial empire was not only the biggest investor in Washington’s electric companies, but they were the leading organization in the global cabal that keeps the lid on free energy and related technologies.  But I did not know any of that when I sacrificed my life.  If I had, I wonder if it would have impacted my decision.  I doubt it, but I’ll never know for sure.  I knew that I was on special assignment, ever since that voice told me to move to Seattle, and I had to live by the light of the truth, no matter what.  I could tell that my “friends” were orchestrating events, and that if I had to sacrifice my life to give Dennis at least a snowball’s chance, then I had to. I don’t want to hear from that voice again, not for any more suicide missions, but I can’t regret what I did.  

Six weeks after Mr. Professor and his wife agreed to lend me the money, Dennis was released from jail, in the biggest miracle that I ever witnessed, which we knew was an act of divine intervention.  The forces of darkness would not prevail on that day, and Gary’s advice was a critical ingredient in my decision.  The JFK hit was the furthest thing from my mind in those days.  

Best,

Wade

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Hi:

While it is true that Ventura County has the reputation as one of the most corrupt counties in the USA, I really don’t want to pick on them too much, as the corruption that we encountered there we found all over the USA, in the highest places, such as the USA’s Supreme Court.  I wish I had a dollar for every time that one of Dennis’s attorneys said “They can’t do that!”  Dennis almost invariably saw Kangaroo Court rulings on his cases, from the lowest to highest levels in the USA’s legal system, as his attorneys, some with national reputations, had their jaws hanging open or scratched their heads, saying that they never saw that before.  

However, I’ll say this...  When I was the janitor in that office building, I was very friendly with one of the managing partners of the law firm that owned the building.  One day, I heard him on the phone, saying that Ventura was “in the sticks” compared to LA.  When Dennis and I hit town in 1987, I called that law partner, saying that we were in town, and I had a question about setting up our business there, and he told me, “Be careful!”  In retrospect, I wonder what he was referring to.

That bush league move by that attorney, to fill his shelves with pretty books destined for the trash can, was just a preview of my future dealings with Ventura County’s legal system.  The raid, led by a man who just weeks previously said that we were doing nothing illegal, a raid in which they stole our technical materials, was a mere introduction to their brand of corruption.  When Dennis was arrested with his million dollar bail and Mr. Deputy was promoted to be in charge of the jail weeks later, and given an award for completing the most difficult investigation in department history, I attended the first hearing and saw Ms. Prosecutor for the first time.  She was a graduate of that local mill, her participation in Dennis’s case earned her a judgeship, and when she took the floor at Dennis’s first hearing, in less than a minute, she uttered a stream of lies that left me stunned, as she argued for the propriety of Dennis’s million dollar bail.  Soon after Dennis was arrested, that “maverick” attorney took her aside and sought some kind of plea bargain, and her memorable reply was that if Dennis pled guilty to all charges, she promised that Dennis would not get the death penalty.  It was her attempt at being funny, and showed the level of professionalism that we were dealing with.  Out in the sticks, indeed.  

If we had lied down and played dead, as that “maverick” attorney did, as he signed on for the railroad job, they would have made it happen, and Dennis would have gone to prison and likely have been murdered in there, which nearly happened anyway.  But we never gave up, especially Dennis.  He filed more than 100 legal motions while he was in jail.  As Gary wrote in his book, those gangsters who run the legal system, especially the judges, are cowards.  In the end, dark pathers are cowards.  They seize the reins of governance, rigging the system, because they don’t have the courage to make an honest living.  They beat the system by becoming the system, and they all gorged at the trough.  When I studied the global human rights situation, and found it to be as corrupt as everything else, with the so-called human rights organizations adopting the imperial framework, the word that I saw plenty was “impunity,” as death squad regimes could commit genocide while promotions were handed all around.  Torturing people to death was just a day at the office in our client regimes, and the media always covered for them.  In that light, what happened to us was trivial, but Mr. Deputy and friends operated with the same impunity.  When you are used to doing whatever you want, with not only no negative consequences, but promotions and greased palms, it becomes a hard habit to break and ended up costing Mr. Deputy and friends, because we did not give up.  

After the Kangaroo Court preliminary hearing ended, when I had my radicalizing moment, it was no more Mr. Nice Guy act from Mr. Deputy.  Dennis had been the model prisoner for the previous six months.  In fact, wherever he was, he turned the jail from a place of fear into a dormitory atmosphere, and for years afterward, Mr. Professor would receive calls from Dennis’s former inmates, who called to let Dennis know that they had been treading the straight and narrow ever since, calling to thank the man who changed their lives.  But after the preliminary hearing was over, they threw Dennis into solitary confinement for trying to throw a Christmas party for his inmates, and when Dennis got out a month later, they began writing up Dennis for an imaginary rules infraction every day.  They were doing their best to portray Dennis as an unruly prisoner, to reduce his chances of ever being able to make his astronomical bail.  Ms. Prosecutor also filed a motion that argued that even if Dennis somehow posted bail, that he still would not be released, as Ms. Prosecutor cited the precedent case of a heroin dealer who sold drugs to make bail.  It was regularly nauseating to read the legal “logic” in her filings.  She later accused me of perjury for my truthful testimony, and if you ever read The Alternative, you will see that my participation in the entire affair was far more spectacular than I put in my public writings.  One day, I may be able to tell the whole story, which would make this story far more sensational, but several more people have to die before I can, and I might not outlive them.  Dennis’s books, however, fill in most of the blanks.  

When Mr. Professor mortgaged his home and got my legal fund going, the first thing that they did was hire an attorney.  The attorney was a college professor who had never worked in a courtroom before, but at least he was an attorney, so that Dennis could have a little privacy.  The attorney-client privilege is one of the cornerstones of the American legal system, and Dennis was entitled to private mail going between him and his attorney.  Until that time, all of Dennis’s mail was read and all of his phone calls recorded (as well as the rest of us – they tapped all of our phones and recorded all of our conversations).  But in their culture of impunity, they opened Dennis’s legal mail from his attorney.  Mr. Deputy was making sure that Dennis had no private contact at all, but they stepped over the line.  In his brief tenure as Dennis’s attorney, he witnessed Ms. Prosecutor telling outrageous lies, and he was stunned.  The attorney told Dennis, in shocked disbelief, that Ms. Prosecutor had lied to him.  Dennis replied that he was now seeing how our vaunted legal system really operated, not the college version.  

Before the preliminary hearing finished, Mr. Deputy was kind of on the legal hook, which was why he made faces at me, etc., to do what he could to make sure that the case was remanded to trial.  If the case never made it past the preliminary hearing, it would be a black mark on his record and he might have been more legally vulnerable for all of the crimes that he and his henchmen had already committed.  But after the hearing was over, Mr. Deputy felt that he had carte blanche to act with impunity.  However, another factor weighed in, post-preliminary-hearing-wise.  Until the preliminary hearing, several judges presided over the case.  But when a case gets remanded to Superior Court, then one judge is assigned to the case, and that judge had a problem: the prosecutorial crimes and legal irregularities in Dennis’s case were legion, and Mr. Deputy and friends were not letting up.  The judge had a legal tarbaby on his hands, and the Kangaroo Court behaviors and other crimes would end up on his judicial record one day, and he had aspirations of serving on a higher court.  He could not openly play Kangaroo Court judge, not when we did not lie down and take it, but he had to present a semblance of legal decorum.  When Mr. Deputy and friends were caught opening Dennis’s legal mail, the judge reprimanded them for it.  

Dennis won a minor motion, to get two boxes to hold all of the discovery information (most of which had been stolen from us), instead of the one that the jail’s rules allowed, and the deputy who really ran the jail (Mr. Deputy’s position was purely ceremonial) openly threatened Dennis’s life after Dennis won the motion.  The tide began slowly turning in the six weeks after my seemingly futile gesture, and then one day, the judge asked Dennis during a hearing why he had not petitioned to have his “possibly excessive bail” reduced.  Dennis had already made several bail appeals, all summarily rejected (except for the first one, in which the judge lowered the bail from $1 million to a paltry $750,000), and he replied that he was planning on making one last bail appeal just before the trial, but he wasn’t ready for that yet.  Then the judge made his own motion to review Dennis’s bail.  

Something was afoot, and Dennis did not need to be told twice.  On the jailhouse phone, Dennis told his wife to get affidavits from the people whom Mr. Deputy threatened during his “investigation,” and to get them to him through his attorney.  The affidavits were soon assembled and on their way to Dennis, but Mr. Deputy could not help himself and had to take a peek, and the legal mail had been opened once again when it got to Dennis, and Dennis had his entire cellblock witness the opened legal mail.  

A few days later the bail hearing was held.  I took the day off from work to be a character witness, and the hearing was short, sweet, and hard to believe.  Mr. Deputy arrived with his own attorney, looking very humble.  No more feces-eating grin.  The judge began the hearing by noting that Mr. Deputy’s attorney had something to say before the hearing, and allowed him to speak.  Mr. Deputy’s attorney profusely apologized for Dennis’s legal mail being opened, swore that it was simply a clerical error, and offered to have the deputy who handled the mail testify that he inadvertently opened Dennis’s legal mail and that nobody else saw its contents (wink, nudge).  The judge thanked the attorney for the confession and he said that he was confident that it would not happen again.  The judge then noted that the prosecution’s “victims” seemed to have paid about $20,000 to our company, so the judge ruled that Dennis be released on his own recognizance, with a $20,000 cash restitution deposit in case he was convicted of the fraud charges (he wasn’t), and he then adjourned the hearing.  I no longer cared about Mr. Deputy, and did not look at his reaction, but Mr. Professor did.  He said that Mr. Deputy turned white as a sheet and looked like he had swallowed his shoe.  It was no longer fun for Mr. Deputy, who later hid in his house for months to avoid the witness stand during the prosecutorial misconduct hearing, and that story is coming.  The next day, April Fools’ Day, as fate would have it, Dennis walked out of jail, after enjoying Mr. Deputy’s hospitality for more than nine months.  The week of Dennis’s release, Easter was celebrated, and instead of getting solitary confinement that time, Dennis threw an Easter celebration for his inmates, replete with an Easter egg hunt, if you can believe it.  I have never met or heard of another like Dennis.  

From then on, I was no longer worried about Dennis.  I knew how resourceful he was, and with the ability to defend himself, and no longer hogtied in Mr. Deputy’s custody, I did not see how the prosecution’s case had a chance, and that tale is coming.  They still nearly had Dennis murdered over failing to file a form.  

The worst was over for me, and I then began digging out of my financial abyss and picking up the pieces of my shattered life, which had more shattering to go, but the next year was relatively pleasant for me, even with what was happening at my day job, as an unholy government/media alliance tried to put my company out of business.  

So, let’s just say that nothing in Gary’s book could shock me, and I never had any doubts that Gary related the John Tower conversation to the best of his recollection, as he wrote about it nearly a decade after it happened.  Before this series of posts is over, I will summarize my tour of the JFK hit evidence.  

Best,

Wade

 

Edited by Wade Frazier

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Posted (edited)

Hi:

The day that Dennis was released from jail, I headed over to Mr. Professor’s house straight from work.  When I got there, one of Dennis’s salesmen who disappeared after Dennis was arrested was there.  If you get The Alternative, you will see quite a few affidavits made by people soon after April 1, 1989, when Dennis left the jail, such as Dennis’s assistant.  Those people win some points with me, but those who helped before Dennis was released from jail were few and far between.  Most cowered and hid, helped steal the business after Dennis was arrested, stole documents for Mr. Deputy and friends, or stole anything not nailed down on their way out the door.  But I’ll say this for the Ventura employees: I don’t recall any of them testifying for the prosecution.  They only testified for the defense, and mostly at the misconduct hearing.  

Dennis did not know that I was his secret benefactor until months afterward (I had very good reasons for doing it secretly), when he needed more money for his defense and Mr. Professor finally admitted who the benefactor was, and Dennis was “upset and pleased and disappointed and proud.”  When I met Dennis that evening, he acted like he had just gotten back from vacation.  He showed off his flat belly, as he lost about 80 pounds in jail.  The jailers starved the inmates, as money not spent on food went into a corrupt pocket.  Dennis acted like he had just spent more than nine months at a county-hosted fat farm, and he was more enthused than ever to go make free energy happen.  You really had to see it to believe it.  Soon afterward, I told Dennis that I was done with trying to make free energy happen with him, but he kept trying to recruit me back, and in 1996, he finally did again, but it did not last long and I nearly went to prison for my trouble.  I no longer believed in the businessman’s path to free energy and still don’t.  I don’t know if Dennis ever met Gary, but I am guessing that they did, but Dennis did not know the pivotal part that Gary played in Dennis’s release.  

When Dennis was in jail after the preliminary hearing and that “maverick” attorney quit, Dennis and his wife tried to find an attorney.  Mob attorney Melvin Belli wanted $250,000 up front as his retainer, which was a little beyond Dennis’s means.  Dennis is a right-wing literalist Christian, which reflects his migrant farmworker roots, and Dennis’s efforts from Ventura onward had a large contingent of right-wing Christians in the ranks, even dominant at times.  The first alternative political information that I saw came through Dennis’s dealers, and some was in that “seditious literature” folder that was seized in the raid.  When we sued for our civil rights violations after the raid, it was with the assistance of a Constitutionalist group out of Montana.  Their communal house was set on fire and bulldozed while they were at church one Sunday, and some members of their organization had been murdered for crimes such as homeschooling their children.  As Gary said, what was happening to us was not unusual in the USA, and I developed a lot of respect for Constitutionalists.  Their entire purpose was to limit the powers of government.  

Dennis sought a Constitutionalist attorney while he was in jail, and one name repeatedly came up as the best in the USA.  He had moved to San Diego just before Dennis escaped jail, and still lives there, 30 years later, and he is still the foremost Constitutionalist attorney in the USA.  As I later discovered, he did not become a Constitutionalist attorney because he believed in the cause so much; he saw an opportunity to be dominant in a niche in the legal profession, which few attorneys practiced in.  When Dennis was released from jail, he was put under a kind of house arrest, in which he had to sign in at the jail daily and had to ask the judge’s permission to leave Ventura.  He did not get any kind of time-served credit for that odd treatment, for one of the many legal irregularities in his case.  But soon after being released from jail, he got the judge’s permission to visit that Constitutionalist attorney in San Diego, whom I call Mr. Big Time Attorney in my writings.

The year before, Mr. Big Time Attorney had one of his cases ruled on in the USA’s Supreme Court, in a landmark case that became a precedent in Dennis’s case.  The Rehnquist Supreme Court became legendary for its Kangaroo Court rulings.  Rehnquist himself was a notable racist, arguing against desegregation and preventing Mexican-Americans from voting, and probably his court’s most notable ruling was its intervention in the 2000 presidential election, as it handed the presidency to George Bush the Second.  My Harvard Law in-law told me that if you read their ruling and got past the legalistic mumbo jumbo, their ruling nakedly said that they were giving the presidency to Bush “because we want to.”  For the record, the last time that I voted in a presidential election was 2000, but I voted for Ralph Nader, who was the only candidate that I saw worth voting for in my adulthood, and the way he was treated permanently soured me on the electoral process in the USA (as it did Uncle Ed), which is a completely rigged game.  Would Gore have been better than Bush?  I wonder, but it would have likely not been much better, if at all.  We met with Mr. Environment at the White House, and he backed off of any involvement, but I was invited to the Bush White House a decade later.  Dennis was treated better by Republican administrations than by Democratic ones, believe it or not.  

One of the Rehnquist Court’s more infamous rulings was making kidnapping people from foreign nations legal, in what is called extraordinary rendition today, which not even Hitler got away with.  As Noam said, no nation comes close to the American disregard for international law, which is the worst since the days of the Third Reich.  We simply make it up as we go, so watching the courts make it up as they went along in Dennis’s case was fairly typical behavior.  The Kangaroo Court ruling in Mr. Big Time Attorney’s case went like this: although Mr. Big Time Attorney was able to get IRS personnel convicted of felonies during their pursuit of his client, the Rehnquist Court ruled that even if the prosecutors were convicted of felonies for their behavior while prosecuting people, that their crimes did not taint the state’s case.  Thurgood Marshall notably dissented from the majority position.  So, even though Mr. Big Time Attorney fried IRS personnel for their crimes, the Rehnquist Court ruled that they could just assign new IRS personnel to the case and keep going, and Mr. Big Time Attorney’s client still had to face the charges, which he eventually beat.  

When Dennis met with Mr. Big Time Attorney, he brought along his documentary evidence of what was happening in Ventura.  Mr. Big Time Attorney’s mouth began to water.  Dennis had affidavits, and even reports from the deputies themselves, documenting crimes that were exactly what Mr. Big Time Attorney had fried IRS personnel with.  Mr. Big Time Attorney said that he would take Dennis’s case, not so much to get him off the hook, which he said would be easy, but to sue Ventura County’s officials for violating Dennis’s civil rights.  Instead of the $250K that Belli and others demanded, Mr. Big Time Attorney asked for a token amount to get started, such as $10K, which was almost exactly what was left in my legal fund (Dennis’s’ bail money came from my fund).  Mr. Big Time Attorney later told me that what initially attracted him to Dennis’s case was his astronomical bail.  In a funny anecdote, just before a hearing (I think it was just before I testified at the misconduct hearing), I gave Mr. Big Time Attorney a copy of Gary’s book, and he placed it on the table in front of him, in plain view of the judge and Ms. Prosecutor, and he wore a little grin as the placed Gary’s book there.

I have written about it plenty before so will not belabor it, but in the year after taking Dennis’s case, Mr. Big Time Attorney got the education of his career.  He got put in his place.  Whoever was behind Dennis’s persecution made the IRS look like schoolyard bullies.  Mr. Big Time Attorney had never seen the gutter maneuvers that Ventura County’s officials engaged in daily, and he filed a lawsuit against them in federal court, gratis, when he finally became disgusted enough.  Then the federal court put him in his place, as he was threatened with disbarment.  On the Internet, you can easily find rulings on Dennis’s case in the higher courts, such as this one, and reading their rulings is enlightening.  Just like that Kangaroo Court ruling in the Rehnquist Court on Mr. Big Time Attorney’s case, the higher courts ruled that it did not matter if the officials committed any crimes against Dennis, as they were protected by immunity and statute of limitations.  So, if they committed crimes and fraudulently jailed their target, and put him in solitary confinement and other judicial outrages, the statute of limitations could expire while their victim was incarcerated, even while they were in the midst of a prosecutorial misconduct hearing.  Just lock up somebody long enough, and all of your crimes against your victim are protected by statute of limitations and prosecutorial immunity.  Neat system, and it reminds me of Martin Luther King Jr.’s statement, that we should not forget that everything that Hitler did was legal.  

I staggered out of Ventura in 1990 (and never returned), the same year that Dennis was rooked into a plea bargain, after the judge took Mr. Big Time Attorney hostage, to force Dennis to capitulate (in Seattle, they took Dennis’s customers hostage).  The courts naturally violated their end of the deal and Dennis was sent to prison two years later, and the officials repeatedly tried to get Dennis killed by the inmates.  Dennis got “lucky” and only had some fingers broken and teeth knocked out.  When Dennis was finally released from prison, I flew him out of California and had his plane stop in Columbus, where I lived at the time.  Dennis acted like he did when he got out of jail: prison was almost a vacation for him, and he was rested up and ready to go back after free energy harder than ever.  Within two years, he was barnstorming the USA, putting on his free energy shows (I was amazed at the first one that I saw), and he attracted a great deal of attention from many parties, including the White Hats and Black Hats, as well as the Justice Department.  The sitting president, Bill Clinton, was highly aware of Dennis, but American presidents are down the food chain a ways.  I may never be able to publicly relate all of the attention that Dennis’s efforts received back then, but let’s just say that the highest councils on Earth deliberated on the “problem” that Dennis presented.  

In those years after the Ventura experience and in the circles that I began running around in, one close pal was given an underground technology show, the kind that you and I will never receive.  Dennis was not chasing unicorns; the technologies that he pursued were very real, but have been sequestered from public awareness in history’s greatest cover-up, which is conjoined with the UFO/ET cover-up.  Doug Caddy’s testimony of what E. Howard Hunt told him about why JFK was murdered was no surprise to me.  What my friend saw was likely mostly developed by reverse-engineering captured ET craft.  Several years later, I saw Steven Greer’s Disclosure Project witnesses describing the same technologies that my friend saw, in a show likely given by the disenchanted faction of Earth’s ruling cabal.  

I could write for months on these subjects, but I want to get back to Gary and the JFK hit.  After I left Ventura in 1990, with my life in ruins, I began the studies that became my public writings.  The JFK hit was a small part of a wide range of topics that I studied, in what I later learned was how “comprehensivists” do it.  As I have written, Gary’s book only had one chapter on the JFK hit, and Gary did not reveal John Tower’s identity until after he died, in the 1996 edition of his book.  When I learned that it was Tower, a whole bunch of dots connected, and I have seen Gary’s account called the basis for the master theory of JFK’s death, which brings together key aspects of the assassination literature, such as the CIA, military intelligence, FBI, Texas, oilmen, George Bush the First, and Cuba connections.  Gary tried connecting the dots with his Jack Ruby and Jewish mobster connections, which don’t come up in the Tower conversation.  As a cop and investigator, I can understand why Gary tried to solve the crime, but my goal over the next dozen years, as I studied the JFK hit evidence, was to see how the evidence lined up with the Tower conversation, and I knew that Gary was recounting the conversation to the best of his ability.  I never saw any convincing evidence contradict it, and over the years, more evidence came to light that supported Gary’s tale, and the Operation Northwoods documents in particular.  

On that note, I will begin my survey of the JFK literature, and how my relationship with Gary went until he died.  

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier

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