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Lessons learned from my journey with Dennis


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Hi:

During the years when I was with Dennis, he said that those who screwed him the worst were those who believed in the “cause,” so that they when they struck, they did it with a religious fervor. However, one of the most common excuses that he heard was also, “It’s nothing personal, it’s only business.” That’s also the Mafia’s motto. By early 1989, human behavior could never surprise me again. That “flexible conscience” that anthropologists remark on meant that people could justify anything, even eating their own children. I got both barrels of that in Ventura.

Some of the more honest ones would tell Dennis, as they tried to steal the business, that Dennis was so talented that he could always start over, but this would be the only opportunity in their lifetime to strike it big, so stealing his business was justified in their eyes, as they idiotically killed the Golden Goose. Dennis later called it “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre effect,” and by the autumn of 1988, I strongly suspected that the mass movement, businessman’s/inventor’s path to FE did not stand a prayer, and I feel the same way today. After several years of coaxing me, Dennis got me to sign on with him again in 1996-1997. It did not last long, and when I left that operation, I was certain that that path would never work, but Dennis doggedly kept at it, until he was finally run out of the USA.

By the time that I ascended the witness stand, I had already learned my life’s most important lesson: personal integrity is the world’s scarcest commodity. But the turning point of my life was when Mr. Deputy rubbed my face in evil, when I was on the witness stand. That radicalized me, and I guess that I should thank him one day, as he was really the person who woke me up to how our world really works, not the Hollywood version that Americans grow up with.

That series of events will start in the next post.

Best,

Wade

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Hi:

While 1988 was the worst year of my life, by far, it was also the year of my greatest learning experiences. It woke me up, so I really can’t complain. Without that year, I would not be doing what I am today.

That year had many events for which lawyers would say, when they witnessed it, “They can’t do that!” I wish I had a dollar for every time that I heard that. I just heard somebody say it a few days ago, as I described an event that a fellow traveler experienced.

One issue that initially boggled my mind was how Mr. Deputy and friends planned to make their fraud charges stick. The only way that they could really do that was to portray Dennis as some con man who did not promote any viable technologies.

Dennis sold, hands down, the best heating system on Earth, which is finally being revived a little. How were they going to portray the heat pump as a scam? Even when Dennis was arrested with the million dollar bail, I had no idea how Mr. Deputy and friends would make the fraud charges stick. I soon found out, and in the years since then, I saw many other instances of similar kangaroo court tactics, particularly in the medical racket. For one thing, the officials just lie. Not little white lies, but Big Lies, the kind that Hitler liked telling. One of them even admitted it. The lies were just the tip of the iceberg of their criminal activities, however. Stealing all of those documents from Mr. Researcher’s office was just the warmup.

There was a stack of test data on Dennis’s heat pump, amassed from numerous tests over the years, some by federally certified laboratories. While the LamCo heat pump’s inventors cut their data in half to maintain “credibility,” many others had published their test data. In the “logic” of the courts, that mountain of test data was inadmissible. The only data admissible in court had to be introduced into evidence by the test performer. Consequently, Mr. Deputy and friends tried to make sure that anybody who had actually tested a properly functioning LamCo heat pump would never appear in court. They lied to and threatened everybody who could, and one of their more “famous” instances was when they wrote that lying letter to the lab where BESTEC had its LamCo-style heat pump tested. The prosecution’s strategy was the bigger the lie, the better. Very ironically, the only positive data submitted during the preliminary hearing was Brian’s (AKA MR. Young Engineer) test results, when Brian testified for the prosecution, after his extortion attempt failed. Dennis sprung Brian’s own test data on him, showing a COP of more than six. Brian’s testimony demonstrated how incompetent an engineer he was, unable to stop regurgitating his textbooks, even when he produced data that defied them.

Mr. Researcher had impeccable international credentials. It was shameful to hear him begging for mercy in Mr. Deputy’s office, saying every bad thing that he could about Dennis (none of which evidenced any criminal behavior or motivation, but was on the order of, “Dennis sure is a fast talker, and he’s fat”), but he also knew that the heat pump worked and would not deny it, and also thought that Mr. Mentor’s free energy idea would work. Mr. Deputy then began yelling at him and threatening him. Of course, they “lost” that part of their tape. :) Their evil corruption was so blatant that it could be breathtaking, but the way that they tried to keep all evidence out of court is also what inspired my plan, which ended up springing Dennis from jail, in the greatest miracle that I ever witnessed.

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier
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Hi:

That autumn of 1988 was eerily calm in ways, with our business destroyed and Dennis in jail. As I have written, many times in my journey, I would witness events, but it would often not be until many years later that I received new information that made the picture clearer. The mosaic of my worldview came over many years, and often very painfully, but its foundation was laid during my days with Dennis.

During the month of Dennis’s preliminary hearing, November 1988, I worked in LA as a temp, going blind reading microfiche and reconciling a garnishment account for one of the world’s largest security firms. I was looking for permanent work in LA, of all places. The irony was overwhelming, as I had previously left Southern California twice, vowing to never live there again, and there I was, and that time, with my life in ruins. I was working on my bankruptcy filing in the evenings after driving past the county jail on the way home, knowing that Dennis was in there and might never live to see this side of the bars again.

Also, in November 1988 was the presidential election. My perception of Michael Dukakis, from my Boston days, was that he was just another grandstanding politician. Reagan was the governor of California, and people there cursed his reign, with his greed-based agenda. Even back then, I heard that George Bush the First was owned by David Rockefeller, who had handpicked every president since JFK. I had yet to really have my political awakening (my mystical awakening was many years earlier, and I was in the midst of my economic awakening), but it was not far off.

The week after the election, the media announced, for the first time, that we had a big problem with the Savings and Loan (S&L) industry. George Bush the First, and Dukakis’s vice presidential candidate, Lloyd Bentsen, were up to their eyeballs in what became the Savings and Loan Scandal, and they made a mutual agreement to keep the issue silent during the presidential campaign. Ironically, when I moved to Ohio a couple of years later, I soon worked in the back office of an S&L, which was scooping up S&Ls for bottom dollar. I saw the scandal from the inside, before it became a scandal, and I helped mop up the mess. So, seeing how both candidates kept it quiet until literally the week after the election, and as I digested the growing scandal over the years, it was not long before electoral politics disgusted me.

Jack Kennedy was a reluctant imperialist who tried to end the Cold War, and for that, he had to go, and the only other presidential candidate in my lifetime worth voting for was Ralph Nader, and how he was treated in 2000 was the last time that I thought that the American retail political process might have some hope for it. The USA has become more openly imperial ever since, although our imperial overreach is helping bankrupt the empire, just like with all empires.

The preliminary hearing in November 1988 was among the most expensive in Ventura County history. The prosecution spared no expense, flying in about 20 witnesses to testify, including those nine “victims” that they searched so hard for.

When Dennis was arrested, he hired the “maverick” attorney in Ventura, who had a reputation for standing up to the system in Ventura, but we soon learned that it was just another useful fiction. The “maverick” was under their thumb, which became very evident during the preliminary hearing. Many events of those days I did not hear about until years later, when Dennis told me about them or I read about them in his books. The “professionalism” of the prosecution was immediately evident to me, when I heard Ms. Prosecutor lying her ass off in court. Not long after Dennis was arrested, Dennis’s attorney asked Ms. Prosecutor if some kind of deal could be worked out, and her memorable reply was that if Dennis pled guilty to all charges, that she would see to it that he did not receive the death penalty (but Dennis really did).

I was only getting a gentle preview of the character of the prosecution, and I would soon be stripped of all of my illusions.

Best,

Wade

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Hi:

American trials have the prosecution go first, and the defense second, to let the defense have the last word, which the jurors would supposedly remember best. The system is supposed to be biased toward the defense’s innocence, and guilt is supposed to be established beyond a reasonable doubt. That is how it works on paper, but how it works in practice is virtually the opposite. Legalistic fraud is an American specialty, in its “justice” system. The USA has the world’s largest prison population (Wikipedia no longer ranks prison populations - typical) by far, and as Michael Moore recently said, perhaps half of the USA’s prisoners are innocent. The system is rigged in many ways, so that the theoretical protections are meaningless.

For one thing, prosecutions almost never to go trial. The way it works is this: the prosecution (and even the judge, as was the case with Dennis’s prosecution) threatens their target with life in prison or some similarly lengthy prison term, based on the trumped up charges, and they make it clear that they can “get you” on their “evidence.” But if the persecuted person pleads to a lesser charge and less prison time, then a “deal” is made. It is kind of like the “treaties” that the USA forced on the Indians, in a fraudulent strategy crafted by George Washington. The “kill ratio” (convictions divided by prosecutions) is what prosecutors are evaluated on (officially called “prosecutorial efficiency”), and they don’t even care if their targets are innocent or not, which was also admitted to us in Dennis’s case. With prisons being privatized, states have literally signed contracts with the private prisons guaranteeing a minimum inmate population, and it has been become publicly known that some judges literally received commissions for sending people to prison. Those prisoners often end up working in corporate facilities. It epitomizes The American Way, with our capitalistic ideals, in which everything is for sale. Since my days with Dennis, my saying about the USA’s legal system is that you can get just as much justice as you can afford.

As I have written, I would often not get the facts about events until years later, sometimes many years, and many of the events I did not learn about for years, either through Dennis’s books or hearing about it from Dennis or others who were involved. I really did not know what I was walking into when I testified at the preliminary hearing, but I later heard about the prosecution’s turn. They paraded their nine “victims” onto the witness stand. The professor who tested that broken system testified. Another “expert” testified, who actually had never seen Dennis’s heat pump operate before, who announced that Dennis’s heat pump would not work. The sheriff’s deputies lied to that Arizona test lab, to prevent their tests from being admitted to court. Brian testified for the prosecution, the year after his extortion attempt failed, and one of his tests was admitted to evidence, showing a COP of nearly seven, as Brian demonstrated his incompetence. Mr. Inventor desperately wanted to testify for the prosecution, but all that he could say was that Dennis did not pay him enough, after the Seattle company was stolen. Fischer had long-since disappeared, and Mr. Researcher was about the only person left locally who could testify to the heat pump’s performance, and Mr. Deputy’s threats drove him into hiding rather than testifying, which left me as the star witness for the defense.

My day of testimony during the preliminary hearing was the turning point of my life.

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier
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Hi:

Why was my day on the witness stand so pivotal? It was no one thing, although it was the first time that a psychopath unmasked himself to me, and in this case, literally. That was the catalyst, but many other threads tied together that day. I testified only a few miles from where I was raised, next to a building that I worked at for six months after college, before beginning my career in LA. By the time of my testimony, Mr. Professor, David the salesman, and I (and Alison, of course) were the only people in Ventura County standing up to what was happening. Literally everybody else either ran away and hid, signed up with Ken Hodgell’s play, helped out Mr. Deputy and friends and piled on, or grim combinations of all three behaviors, and in ways that could be shocking, disgusting, and even criminal. But crimes committed on behalf of the people running the world can be richly rewarded, while failing to file a form merits prison time, and the prison officials actively try to get you murdered.

I took a day off from my job of reconciling that garnishment account to testify. Every dollar counted in those days, as I prepared my bankruptcy filing. As I look back at those days, I can tell that events that seemed to be “accidental,” “innocuous,” or merely bureaucratic were performed for my “benefit.” For instance, David and I were the only people who worked at the Ventura company who testified for the defense at the preliminary hearing. David’s wife visited Mr. Deputy, who then threatened to put David away behind bars (see The Alternative, exhibit 3N), and Mr. Deputy threatened another salesman with 60 years in prison (see The Alternative, exhibit 3M) if he kept working for us.

Since I was not about to get on my knees in Mr. Deputy’s office and beg for his mercy, I could have wallpapered my bedroom with the subpoenas that were served on me. One day, as I got home from a day working in LA, Mr. Sidekick, who had been waiting for me, jumped out of his car and handed me a subpoena in my driveway. I now know that it was a calculated attempt at intimidation.

My future wife took the day off from work to watch me testify, and she got quite a show. Before I testified, I met with Alison outside the courtroom, and she had me pray with her. She then told me that for all that she and Dennis had been through, including murder attempts, that this situation was the worst that they faced, as the full might of the evil legal system was brought to bear on them. I then walked into the courtroom, and again, many years later, I can tell that there was nothing accidental to the scene that I walked into. Mr. Deputy was literally blocking my path to the witness stand, talking with Mr. Cub Reporter. He was theatrically telling Mr. Cub Reporter sensational revelations about Dennis’s criminality, as Mr. Cub Reporter laughed. It reminded me of some obsequious fraternity pledge sucking up to the fraternity president. Mr. Cub Reporter’s newspaper articles were virtual dictation from Mr. Deputy, and as with that article that came out the day after the raid, there was rarely an accurate sentence in Mr. Cub Reporter’s articles, which my mother avidly saved for her scrapbook tour of her son the criminal.

I had to wait for Mr. Deputy and Mr. Cub Reporter to move aside so that I could walk to the witness stand, and I now know that it was just another calculated move to intimidate me, but it was just the warmup.

When Mr. Deputy got his meteoric promotion in the wake of Dennis’s arrest, he was put in charge of the jail, to see to the comfort of his career-making catch. You might think that running a jail with more than a thousand inmates would be a big job, but Mr. Deputy’s job was purely ceremonial. For the entire month of the preliminary hearing, Mr. Deputy laid around in the courtroom, looking like a cat that had just feasted on canaries. I was about to see kangaroo court in action.

With all of the technical witnesses chased off, so no evidence on the heat pump’s performance was admissible (other than Brian’s stupid performance), I became the defense’s star witness, not only regarding our business practices, but the defense was so desperate that I was called on to testify about the physics of the heat pump. As I sat on the witness stand, about 20-30 feet in front of me were the tables that you see in all the movies. On my left was the prosecution, and on the right was the defense. Dennis’s attorney was next to the aisle, which is normal (see this diagram, but with the defense and prosecution switched), but the prosecutor did not sit next to the aisle, as is customary, but she sat outward, with Mr. Deputy sitting on the aisle, and “coincidentally” sitting right in front of me. I now understand that it was more calculation on their part.

Dennis and Alison had prepared about 70 questions for me to answer. The people running Ventura County had gotten to Dennis’s “maverick” attorney, who knew the program and only provided a token defense. Dennis’s attorney was far from alone in realizing the political nature of Dennis’s trial. When Alison desperately tried to raise bail (and my future wife put up her house as collateral), the bail bond company, knowing the political nature of the affair, kept changing the collateral requirements on Alison, and eventually admitted that it did not matter how much bail collateral she raised, that they were not going to issue a bail bond.

I can’t recall if I was the first defense witness or not. If I wasn’t the first, I was among the first. The prosecution spent untold sums on its prosecution, flying in witnesses from across the USA, and spent the better part of a month parading their “victims” and other witnesses on the witness stand. As soon as I sat down, the judge said that the preliminary hearing was taking too much time, and he hoped that my testimony would not last long. I did not yet realize that I was in kangaroo court, but Mr. Deputy soon informed me of the situation, and he provided me with my radicalizing moment. I should thank him one day, probably as I try to rescue him from his hell.

I answered less than 20 of the 70 questions that Dennis and Alison had for me (as the judge kept remarking that he hoped that my testimony would not last long), and to every answer that I gave, Mr. Deputy made a visible reaction. They were not subtle reactions. He had a big, feces-eating grin on his face the entire day, positively glowing, and his reactions were of the Marcel Marceau variety, although he occasionally made audible snorts. For some answers, he would turn around, with his hand next to his mouth, like he was whispering to Mr. Sidekick behind him, and turn back to me, with a big grin on his face. That was my first experience on a witness stand, and the prosecution was making faces at me! Mr. Deputy’s behavior would not have lasted more than a few moments in a third grade classroom before the teacher put a swift end to it, but in kangaroo court, the judge and Ms. Prosecutor pointedly ignored his imbecilic behavior. It was shocking. There was a recess for lunch, and I asked my future wife if she saw Mr. Deputy’s behavior while I answered the questions. She did not notice, as she was far more interested in my testimony and Mr. Deputy had his back to her. Other than Alison, Mr. Sidekick, and Mr. Cub Reporter, I believe that my future wife was the only person sitting in the public seats.

As we returned from lunch, Mr. Deputy just “happened” to come to the courthouse’s doors just before we did, and he made a show of holding the door open for me. It was another act that, as I look back nearly 30 years, I now realize was another calculated event.

During my afternoon testimony, Mr. Deputy did not disappoint, as his theatrical gestures only became more florid. During one answer, regarding how much money we had taken in within a certain timeframe (my estimate was $2 million), Mr. Deputy nearly jumped out of his seat, turning around to Mr. Sidekick, with his gestures even taking in Mr. Cub Reporter, whom my future wife said openly laughed at that point. That $2 million number was fraudulently used the next day in Mr. Cub Reporter’s article, as it equated the company’s revenues with how much Dennis personally “stole.” That was either an idiotic or fraudulent statement, and I vote for fraudulent, as Mr. Cub Reporter later demonstrated that he could get his facts and logic straight when he wanted to.

When my day on the witness stand was over, my wife’s reaction to Mr. Deputy’s performance was, “How unprofessional!” That was one way to put it. It was the turning point of my life.

I could write at length on my testimony that day, but one last anecdote bears telling. During the cross-examination, Mr. Prosecutor asked me if I ever heard Mr. Researcher tell Dennis that he was going too fast. If you get The Alternative, you will see the questionable ethics and legality of even asking that question, and the defense protested. The judge overruled the defense and ordered me to answer the question. I truthfully answered no, and a few seconds later, the judge said that he was going to reverse his ruling and have my testimony stricken from the record. The fact was that privately, Mr. Researcher had told me that it would take longer than Dennis wanted, to develop the technology to being market-ready, consistent with what R&D veterans knew, but I never heard him say it in Dennis’s presence. One of Dennis’s terrible talents is his rhetorical skill, and he often used it to quell open dissent, but people would grumble in the corners, as Mr. Researcher did.

So, my answer was truthful, but it was not the answer that the prosecution and judge wanted, so my testimony was stricken from the record. But more than a year later, Ms. Prosecutor accused me of perjury for my truthful answer, which was just one of her innumerable gutter maneuvers.

I am doing my best to impartially describe the day’s events, but they were the pivotal ones of my life. The next month was the lowest one of my life’s journey. Unbidden thoughts arose, as I reconciled that garnishment account, where visions of murder danced in my head. I immediately dismissed them as a product of my pain, but even having thoughts like that was as soiled as I have ever felt. I hit rock bottom in December 1988, and that will take a little telling.

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier
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Hi:

That day on the witness stand was the turning point of my life, but it was not obvious to me that day. As with so many other events of my life, it was part of a continuum of events, with some coming earlier, some later, and new information coming to me, often many years later, which would make the picture bigger and clearer. The USA’s legal system is wholly evil, serving the dominant class at the expense of everybody else. It has been that way since George Washington’s strategy of swindling the Indians out of their land and lives. As Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, everything that Hitler did was legal. The USA has long been the most lawless international actor.

I have often wondered what was so special for me about that day on the witness stand. I had already seen Ms. Prosecutor lying her ass off in court, and the day after the raid, I realized that the sheriff’s deputies were criminals with badges and guns, but Mr. Deputy, through what I now know was very likely artful deception, was not at our facility when the sheriff’s deputies carried out their espionage exercise. He tried to appear like a Boy Scout on the day of the raid, just doing his job, and had some plausible deniability for the crimes committed that day. When he gave me his line of BS for why he went back on his word to allow me to get copies of the records they seized, he did it so politely. But during my day on the witness stand, I witnessed a psychopath taking off his mask. He was letting me know in no uncertain terms that destroying our lives was fun. That he was also helping destroy the planet, if he was capable of thinking that far, probably would have not mattered one whit to him, as long as he was guaranteed a berth in one of Godzilla’s survival enclaves. That it happened in my home town, one building away from where I worked several years earlier, was another reason why it was such a seminal day for me.

When Bill the BPA Hit Man, Ken Hodgell, and Mr. Skeptic took off their psychopathic masks, there was no more doubt about their intentions, but Mr. Deputy’s performance was literally in my face. Mr. Deputy was not just a psychopath; he was a sadist. More than a decade later, as I studied the Jewish Holocaust, I encountered many like Mr. Deputy, who would have been right at home running the death camps. Until you encounter them in their triumphant phase, it can be hard to believe that such people walk on Earth, much less do it as highly respected professionals receiving public accolades for their evil deeds. The system actively abets and rewards such evil, and I had my face rubbed in it that day. I was not particularly singled out, either. Alison told me that Mr. Deputy’s performance was reproduced for all of the defense witnesses at the preliminary hearing. What I witnessed was not really unusual, incredibly. That the judge and Ms. Prosecutor were all in on the railroad job is standard operating procedure in the USA, The Land of the Free, with Earth’s largest prison population, with perhaps half of the inmates being innocent, as they slave away for American corporations.

Dennis later told me that one reason for Mr. Deputy’s performance at the preliminary hearing was that he was liable for the case if it did not progress beyond the preliminary hearing stage. Once a judge remanded the case to the Superior Court for trial, then Mr. Deputy was off the hook and the case would be in the DA’s and judge’s hands, not his. Mr. Deputy “helped” all that he could, to get the case into the Superior Court, and trying to intimidate people like me was just part of his “job.” Well, he tried it on the wrong man. I wrote him a letter after I testified, and informed him that if he was going to act like a jackass in court again while I was testifying, I would stop the proceedings and ask that he be removed from the room.

The next post will chronicle the blackest month of my life: December 1988.

Best,

Wade

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Hi:

I think that I testified in late-November, and the preliminary hearing ended at about the end of November. I don’t know who all testified for the defense, but it wasn’t many. The ones who stand out were David the Salesman and Karl from Ohio, who was a regional dealer and about the only black man in the network. David had a degree in physics and was the only technically qualified witness in the entire preliminary hearing who testified positively about the technology, and Dennis had to badger his attorney to even let David testify (over the vociferous objections of the prosecution, of course, who tried to prevent even one expert witness from testifying positively about even the heat pump), as the attorney was in the Ventura legal establishment’s hip pocket, knowing full well how the political wind was blowing in Ventura and not about to buck it. He quit after the preliminary hearing was over, demanding big money to continue to represent Dennis.

David knew what pressure was being brought to bear on the case, and testified anyway, which was about as courageous as it got in Ventura, as virtually everybody else ran away and hid (I doubt that any of our Ventura employees actually testified on behalf of the prosecution – I’ll give them that, and there were really no “fraudulent” practices to testify to, anyway). I believe that Karl paid his way to the trial to testify. Also, how the rigged system works is that the prosecution can have a bottomless pit of money to work with (especially with Godzilla’s bribe money liberally distributed), while the defense was broke, after we all had our lives wrecked by the criminal actions of Mr. Deputy and friends.

After I testified, it was back to reconciling that garnishment account, preparing my bankruptcy filing, and looking for a permanent job. That garnishment-reconciling task was mind-numbing enough as it was, but I vividly recall how hard it was to concentrate, as visions of murder began dancing in my head.

In early December, Mr. Researcher called me from his hiding place. I was sympathetic, but he was largely in a predicament of his own creation, in more ways than one. When you act cowardly (getting on his knees in Mr. Deputy’s office definitely qualified), bullies take advantage of it, and they will then act with impunity. Mr. Researcher was played like a violin by not only Ken Hodgell, but also by Mr. Deputy, the two primary psychopaths who were sicced on us. If Mr. Researcher had testified at the preliminary hearing, the fraud charges might have been dropped. But Mr. Researcher was far from alone on the coward scale, as nearly everybody ran and hid, including Victor Fischer, leaving a mere handful of us standing up against the forces of darkness, and Mr. Professor stood out like a beacon. Like me, he was driven to imagining scenes of righteous violence, but like me, he knew how futile even such thoughts were, and he was the true hero of what happened in Ventura, but it cost him his life.

After reciting his tale of woe for the better part of an hour on the phone, Mr. Researcher began ranting and raving about what evil bastards Mr. Deputy and friends were. A few days later, a childhood friend called me. He was the only friend who strongly supported me in Ventura, but his interest was kind of voyeuristic. He called to get the latest scoop on my travails. I recall my demeanor then, as I recited the latest events in a stricken voice. He interrupted me with, “I sure am glad that I am not you.” I did not blame him for feeling that way. I would have rather been anyplace else on Earth than in Ventura. Our friendship did not survive my journey, but that story comes later.

In early December, I had an interview with a medical lab in LA. They hired me, and I began just before Christmas. The government and media began trying to put it out of business soon after I started there. I can readily see the fingerprints of my “friends” in that career choice, as I got both barrels of both the energy and medical rackets.

I gave notice at the temp firm for which I reconciled that garnishment account, and my last day was a Thursday. I would start my new job the next Monday. On the Friday after my last day as a temp, I made my bankruptcy filing at the same courthouse that Mr. Big Time Attorney would later sit on the steps of, stunned that no media would cover him, as he began to wake up to the reality of what he got involved with. Filing for bankruptcy was a trifling matter, compared to what else was happening in my life.

The next day, a Saturday, I got a call from a friend and investor. It was from his house that I had that last conversation with the girlfriend who attacked me. He put her on the phone as she went into attack mode. When she did that, and Dennis then made his offer to buy out my shareholders, for either double their money back or all of their money back for half of their stock, I begged that friend to sell at least half of his stock for his money back. At that time, Mr. Professor eagerly bought out anybody who wanted to sell, and one of my investors took us up on it, as he sold half of his shares for all of his money back.

After I begged him to sell his shares, he replied that he was fine with things as they were, and did not want to sell any. Now, the next year, when my life was being destroyed, he called to tell me that he betrayed me. Behind my back, and probably illegally, he sold his interest to some other people. He called to tell me that he had unhappy investors, and he wanted me to bail them all out. I would have been well within my rights to tell them all to go to hell, but I forgave my friend for his betrayal. I began that job at the medical lab making $32K per year, and during my first year there, I paid out the $5K to bail my betraying friend out. Another investor asked me to make her whole, and I did. Again, I had no obligation to, but I love my friends, even when they betray me. Of the many lessons that I learned during my journey, I found that those who betray you will go to great lengths to justify it, even when they don’t have a leg to stand on. It eventually got back to me that my betraying friend tried justifying his betrayal to my other pals, as if somehow that old girlfriend was right and I really was some kind of criminal. In the end, those whom I bailed out treated me the worst, and I later learned that I was not really seeing anything unusual, in my real-world anthropology lesson.

After the preliminary hearing ended and the kangaroo court judge naturally remanded the case to trial, things changed for Dennis. No more Mr. Nice Guy from Mr. Deputy. Until December, Dennis was the model prisoner and more, turning his cellblocks from places of fear into dormitory atmospheres. The only barbarity that Dennis saw was from the guards, who got their jollies by throwing inmates down stairwells. Mr. Deputy was quite the jail administrator. After the preliminary hearing was over, Dennis began writing what became My Quest. When Dennis’s attorney quit after the preliminary hearing, Dennis was on his own, preparing for his trial. Dennis became his own lawyer and made more than a hundred legal motions after the preliminary hearing was over. See The Alternative, exhibit 3W, for a list of them.

With Dennis’s legal motions and writing a manuscript that obviously was not going to flatter Mr. Deputy, Mr. Deputy and friends began turning down the screws on Dennis. Suddenly, Dennis was being written up for a jailhouse infraction every day. It was partly an attempt to make Dennis appear as less than the model prisoner, so that he would never be allowed to post bail, and they were also trying to break Dennis for trial. They tried it on the wrong man.

Dennis is a fanatical Christian, and Christmas is obviously the big day of the year for somebody like Dennis. He planned to throw a Christmas party for his inmates, and planned to give a sermon on the meaning of Christmas to his inmates. Mr. Deputy had Dennis thrown into solitary confinement for a month for trying to throw that Christmas party, like Mr. Deputy was some kind of parody of evil.

So did the worst year of my life end, with Dennis in solitary confinement, Mr. Researcher in hiding, me going bankrupt and bailing out a betraying friend, driving to LA, of all places, to begin digging out of my financial abyss, and that company would soon be attacked. My energy dreams, which were intended to help heal humanity and the planet, had turned into my worst nightmare, and almost nobody even cared. Unbidden visions of murder danced in my head that black month of December. But through it all, I met my wife and our relationship somehow survived that year. If it could survive that, it could survive anything.

By the end of 1988, my journey’s primary lesson, that personal integrity is the world’s scarcest commodity, had been beaten into my head in no uncertain terms, and my “friends” had orchestrated all of it. Human behavior could never surprise me again.

By early January 1989, after hitting rock bottom in December 1988, I came to a sense of peace with the situation. I accepted evil for what it was, and accepted that nearly all people kneeled before it. Mr. Deputy was just doing his psychopathic job on behalf of his employers, and somewhere along the way, Godzilla’s bribe money was liberally spread. The sadistic aspect of Mr. Deputy’s behavior was just what sadists do. I really got beyond the outrage, the innumerable betrayals and attacks, which usually came from those closest to me, and did not take it personally. I was witnessing how people acted in a world of scarcity and fear, although I could not articulate it that way in those days. Everything that I learned after 1988, including nearly all of the scholarly and scientific studies that resulted in the bulk of my site, was trivial compared to what I learned during those three years with Dennis. My paradigm was largely set, by the end of 1988, although it took encountering the work of Fuller and others before it really crystallized and I could articulate it. The learning never ends, but once I was radicalized by the events of 1988, I had gone over the big hump that hardly anybody ever clears.

Although I have not been back to Ventura since I left in 1990, and don’t plan to ever return (and neither does Dennis – one analogy could be that Auschwitz is not a museum, but is still in business, and Jews visit there at their peril), once I came to my place of peace in January 1989, I never wished Mr. Deputy or his cronies any ill will. I was done with that, and really never wished anybody any ill will ever since, even Godzilla, who was the ultimate author of what I survived in Ventura. They are all heading straight toward what most would call hell, and I will likely try to help them leave their hells one day (we are definitely karmically entangled). I have a few bones to pick with my “friends,” but we will likely come to terms, as my soul likely asked for it, and I learned lessons that almost nobody on Earth ever has, so can I really complain? I would not recommend that “curriculum” to anybody, however. If that was the standard classroom for learning such lessons, almost no students would survive to graduate.

In mid-January, I called Alison, who was living with her children at Mr. Professor’s home, and I told her that I was going to do whatever I could to spring Dennis. I only lived a ten-minute drive from Mr. Professor’s home, and when I went over to meet with Alison, she handed me Gary Wean’s book. Little did I suspect it, but that event began to turn the tide. Evil would not prevail, at least not that day.

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier
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For all that I had already been through, reading Gary’s book was a shock, to put it mildly. Dennis’s first attorney said that Gary’s book was a “Who’s Who of Ventura County.” Gary was not shy about naming names, other than to protect people such as John Tower. It was too traumatic for me to read all of it at first. Gary named two men from the neighborhood that I grew up in. I grew up with their children, and one of the fathers was deep into the corruption, taking huge bribes to frame people (and his children were always dressed fashionably and were relatively affluent for my neighborhood). The other father was used to try wiping Gary out, and his son is the only person from my childhood in Ventura who I still keep in touch with. Gary’s JFK revelations were really only a tangent. Gary’s book made for grim reading, and when I had read as much as I could stand, I asked Alison for Gary’s contact information, and she gave me his phone number. This was in mid-to-late-January 1989.

I called, and Gary’s wife answered the phone. She was brusque with me, until I told her who I was. Then she became very helpful and said that Gary could meet with me that evening. Gary bent over backwards to help me. We met at a donut shop across the street from the County Center and jail. We could look out and see where Dennis was incarcerated. Gary had just come from a meeting near where I grew up, where he was trying to unite the residents against a land grab being mounted by the developers. California developers are an evil lot in general, trying their best to pave over Earth, but in Ventura County they are in a class by themselves. I knew about some of that before I met Gary, as people who crossed the biggest developer in Ventura County simply disappeared, and Gary’s book chronicled his surveilling a meeting of Mick Cohen’s henchmen meeting with that developer’s goons, who were heavily involved in the drug trade. I am going to make more than one post on Gary (I have made a few already), on the things that he saw on his journey, but I want to focus on our meeting.

I went into our meeting to ask about where I could go in the USA to find somebody to intervene in the evil deeds in Ventura, and Gary immediately set me straight. What was being inflicted on us was just a day at the office in the USA. The USA’s legal system is evil, from top to bottom, and they are all in the same club, which rapes the public on behalf of the dominant class. America’s imperial behavior is just an extension of it. Gary informed me that no authority in the USA would intervene, all the way up to the president, and it would be a waste of my time to try. They are either in on it or cowards.

Gary’s tailing of Mick Cohen began to get him in trouble, and one of his chief antagonists still sits on the federal bench today, as a noted “liberal” judge. Posing as “progressives” is great cover for gangsters.

Ever since Gary found himself in the crossfire of their machinations, in which framing people to get them out of the way was standard operating procedure, and where murder was a common tool, Gary had been fighting back. Any lawyer who might have represented Gary was threatened with disbarment, so Gary had to become his own attorney, as Dennis was as we spoke, in solitary confinement. Gary constantly waged lawsuits, trying to get the evidence on the record. At our meeting, he told me of one time when he was on the witness stand during one of his lawsuits, and he unleashed some sensational and damning testimony. As he did so, the court reporter, who records the conversations in a trial, made a gesture to the judge and immediately scrolled back on her recording, and they erased his testimony. Gary said that he would file lawsuits and motions, and the women at the courthouse would feed them straight into the shredder and erase his filings as if they were never made, even when he had a receipt for them. Many of Dennis’s motions were similarly “lost.” When one of his lawsuits threatened to delay the bond issuance to build that nice, new County Center next to where we talked, they tried to murder Gary in his front yard, and his policeman’s instincts saved him. The Superior Court judges were the ringleaders for the corruption in Ventura County and controlled the drug trade, and murdering people who got in the way was standard practice.

That night, Gary told me that the only thing that kept him alive was always obeying the law, no matter how onerous it was, because if he ever broke the law, the Ventura County gangsters would have their excuse for murdering him. The next year, Gary ran for sheriff, and Ventura County quickly passed a law that made Gary too old to run for office, and in that election, for all offices, and officials ran unopposed, in a well-oiled political machine. Gary gave Dennis the ballot for the 1990 election, showing one candidate (the incumbents) for all offices, which you can see in Dennis’s The Alternative, exhibit 4J.

Gary told me that night about how they clipped his wings, and he wrote about it in his book. When his career was destroyed because he refused to participate in a frame job, so was framed himself (I call that being made an offer that you can’t refuse, which Dennis discovered, which Brian discovered), Gary bought a gas station and general store, the kind of minimart gas stations that abound today in the USA. Gary was really becoming a gadfly, and when their murder attempt did not work, they had to find something. The father of that childhood friend who I keep in touch with was used to try to get Gary on a health code violation for his store. When that failed, Fire Department “volunteers” literally broke into Gary’s store and found an extension cord which was not being used according to code, and that is what they “got him” on. Whereas Dennis eventually went to prison for failing to file a form, Gary “only” got probation, which put him under their thumb.

Gary told me that night that he demanded a trial for his extension cord “violation,” and as the jury was selected, it was carefully stacked with the relatives of firemen. Gary knew then that the fix was in. He kept fighting, however, but eventually got too old and tried to sell his gas station and move away. But that was no good enough, as the buyer declared bankruptcy as the sale was in escrow, and by the creative “logic” of the judges, Gary was supposed to forfeit his gas station, as it somehow became an asset of the “buyer,” who was obviously in on the deal. That was just one of many times when a legal stratagem would be used, as fraudulent as could be, and observing lawyers would say, “They can’t do that!” But the kangaroo court judges routinely made such stunning rulings.

I am going to write a series of posts on why I won’t live in California, as I was recently badgered to go live there again, and what Gary and Dennis lived through was standard in California, with rulings that made lawyers’ hair stand on end, such as how they took out Rodney Stich. I know that gangsters run Washington State’s legal system (I had my taste of that), but California is in a class by itself, with the most corrupt legal system in the USA, by far, and that is saying something. Gary had his gas station in his wife’s name, and their refusal to hand over the deed to the Ventura County courts resulted in an arrest warrant for Gary’s wife, and they moved to Oregon, where Gary died in exile and destitute, as that gas station was his nest egg.

Gary’s advice to me that night was that the best thing that I could do was sue them in their own court. I had already done that, and our lawsuits were dismissed. Gary came by my house after our meeting, and I gave him my copy of my lawsuit. I never saw it again (Alison did the same thing when I lent her that LA Times article (this was a warm-up article for their breathtaking disinformation article that was published the month after I met Gary), which I will come to soon), and I don’t loan out my books or documentation anymore.

That night was an epic one for me, and led to my quixotic gesture that incredibly worked, in the biggest miracle that I ever witnessed, but I went home that night sobered. I was on my own. I let that gestate for about a month, before I came up with my plan to sacrifice my life.

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier
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I am going to do something that I rarely do, and comment on one of the articles about us, which I recently linked to. I did it for the local paper, and now I’ll do it for the LA Times. The American TV media always told Big Lies about Dennis, which I first saw soon after I met Dennis, and several national TV shows have smeared him since 1997, when I was no longer with Dennis, and they all featured the psychopathic xxxx Mr. Skeptic. Of course, none of them ever contacted me, not that I would participate in their hatchet jobs, but that I was never even contacted speaks volumes about their commitment to the truth or even different points of view.

That article begins with, “47 felony counts”, which was highly misleading. All but nine of the “47 felony counts” were of the “you did not file a form” variety. The only actual felony counts were the nine fraud counts, which were all immediately dismissed when Mr. Professor and I busted Dennis out of jail and he was able to defend himself. All of the Big Lie attacks that I have seen either begin or end with Big Lies, meant to be sensational constructs to overwhelm the reader, so beginning the article with “47 felony counts” is in keeping with the program. In the middle of the article, they qualified the charges, separating the fraud charges from the “you did not file a form” ones.

The heat pump at the college is actually a good example of the poor judgment of even Dennis’s smartest talent. Mr. Professor got the college to have the heat pump installed for free at the college pool, and Mr. Engineer supervised the installation. As I have written plenty, that heat pump was a great anomaly in the HVAC world. Virtually all HVAC refrigeration applications are designed to extract heat and throw it away. Dennis’s heat pump did the opposite, as it extracted heat from the environment and pumped it to warm things up, not cool things. Although the panels were the only piece of exotic technology in that heat pump, all of the over-the-counter components were designed for cooling applications, not heating applications, which created some design issues, and I will discuss one related to the heat exchanger.

As I have written plenty, the back end of Dennis’s heat pump had to absorb the heat as fast as the panels did from the environment, so all of the applications I ever saw were air-to-water applications, as the heat pump had a heat exchange with water, to absorb the vast heat energy coming from the panels. Conventional heat pumps were air-to-air, and they could be, as they produced only around half of the heat energy that Dennis’s heat pump did. Gas-to-liquid heat exchangers are carefully engineered pieces of technology, as the gas comes in one side and the liquid from the other, and the internal surfaces that the gas and liquid interact with are markedly different, with their different physical properties. I have read virtual textbooks on the physics and design of those heat exchangers. But because the standard HVAC refrigeration applications were to get rid of heat, not absorb it, the heat exchangers were designed with the hot gas on the outside, next to the environment, with the water in the inside. It made sense, for a heat-venting application, as the outer surface of the heat exchanger would also radiate heat to the environment, which improved the heat exchange.

But for an application that wanted to capture heat, not lose it, you would want the cold water on the outside and the hot gas on the inside, to reduce heat loss to the environment. They did not build those kinds of heat exchangers in those days, so for Dennis’s heat pumps, they installed insulation around the heat exchangers, to reduce that heat loss. It was not an elegant solution, but until heat exchangers were designed to capture heat instead of vent it, they were stuck with that solution. If Dennis had ever built that industry around that heat pump, like he dreamed of, he would have had some company redesign their heat exchangers so they would work ideally for that heat pump application.

It did not take a genius to see that those heat exchangers were not designed for Dennis’s application, and I heard Mr. Researcher say more than once that those heat exchangers were not designed right for that application, and that the water should go on the outside, and the gas on the inside. Fair enough, but you could not just swap the water and gas lines, so that the gas went where the water did and the water where the gas did. The gas part of the heat exchanger was designed for gas to run through it, and the water part was designed for water. Swapping them would impair the heat exchange far more than the heat being lost to the environment if the heat exchanger was plumbed correctly. It might have been a nice R&D project, to see what the impacts of swapping them were, but Mr. Engineer listened to Mr. Researcher and swapped them for that pool installation. How idiotic. That kind of poor judgment was reflected in their going to work for Ken Hodgell and friends a few months later. I doubt that even Brian would have done something as stupid as swap the water and gas lines like that, especially for a possible showcase installation. I heard Mr. Researcher saying that about the heat exchanger, but I did not know that Mr. Engineer had done that to that pool installation until Dennis told me after he got out of jail. That saga gets sillier and worse, unfortunately.

About the time that that LA Times article came out (I think that I saw it for the first time yesterday), Mr. Professor had me talk to the George Lanning cited in that article. I looked at the data that the installation produced: it had watt and BTU meters on it, which is the only way that you can reliably measure the COPs. The data that George looked at said that the COP was something like a 0.4, which meant that it took more energy to run the system than it delivered. But whoever produced that data did not know how to read it and slipped a decimal, so the COP was really a 4.0 (it was something like that, although I cannot recall the exact numbers). With that application, it should have gotten at least a COP of eight, which may reflect that swapping of the gas and water lines. I told George that they were not reading the data properly, and George agreed to give the heat pump another chance. That all of that focus was on the heat pump, in the media and in the Ventura milieu, was ignorant in the first place. It would have been a nice showcase installation if Mr. Engineer had not listened to Mr. Researcher’s uninformed musings, but there were plenty of showcase installations of the heat pump in the USA, and one was nearby, and that tale will help flesh out this story.

I’ll use the man’s name, as he is almost certainly dead by now and he was one of the good guys. His name was Jerry Hipple, and I believe that he knew Mr. Professor, which is why he got involved with us. Jerry had a ranch in nearby Carpenteria, and among his activities was raising exotic plants in a greenhouse. I seem to recall that orchids were part of his “crop.” Even in sunny Southern California, keeping tropical plants warm can be a challenge, so greenhouses in the area were not unusual. Jerry spent several hundred dollars a month to heat his greenhouse, and burned natural gas to do it.

Jerry was one of the first interested parties on the scene when we hit Ventura, before Dennis’s program took off. Jerry kept coming by our office, wondering what we had, and was becoming a pest. One day, when he came by for about the tenth time, Dennis said, “What are you here for, Jerry? Either buy something or stop bothering us.” Jerry then spent $1,000 (what we sold our salesman’s materials for in those days), as I recall, for our “kits,” as we eventually called them, and Dennis sold him one of our few remaining systems in inventory from the Seattle factory days, for about $4K, as I recall.

Jerry took the system home, and with his son, they installed it themselves. It was a beautiful installation, and they actually did it right (again, tinkerers installing them was a very mixed bag), and Jerry immediately began saving $400-500 per month in energy costs with that system. That became the real showcase installation in Ventura, and that pool could have been, if Mr. Engineer had not stupidly listened to Mr. Researcher’s ignorant musings. When we were flying high in late 1987, there was a stream of people visiting Jerry’s ranch and seeing that beautiful installation. I took somebody there once.

When Dennis was arrested, Jerry put up his ranch as bail collateral, and he then got a visit from Ken and Mr. Stooge. They tried to intimidate him and lied to him, telling him that if Dennis was convicted, that Jerry would lose his ranch. That was in the Big Lie category, and was part of Ken’s effort to make sure that Dennis never lived to see this side of the bars again. After his visit from Ken and friends, Jerry pulled his ranch from bail collateral consideration, and you can see his statement in The Alternative, exhibit 3L.

Of course, a marvelous nearby showcase installation (a 20-minute drive from Ventura), which paid for itself in less than year, was not what Mr. Deputy and his allies in the media wanted the public to know about. Jerry was never visited by Mr. Deputy, the state’s “expert witness,” who testified that the heat pump would never work, even though he never saw one, the prosecution, the media, etc. They were all deathly afraid of the public learning that Dennis’s heat pump was the world’s best heating system.

So, all the Sturm und Drang about the pool installation was ignorant and fraudulent, as far as the media went, so the article was ridiculous on its face. The rest of the article is a mundane effort, but its end was a preview of what was coming from the LA Times. The article ends by quoting Ms. Pinch Hitter. After Betsy’s hands got too dirty with the blood of the innocent and her conscience woke up and she quit her career, Mr. Pinch Hitter eagerly stepped up to bat and makes her swings to this day. After Dennis was run out of his home state with nothing but the clothes on his back, from a $50 million net worth the previous year, Ms. Pinch Hitter stalked him, siccing the authorities on Dennis however she could, and she initiated that “investigation” in Massachusetts. If you ever talk to her about Dennis, she immediately goes into hysterical shrieks about what an evil man Dennis is.

The quotes from her at the end of that LA Times article are kind of amusing to me today. At least that LA Times article did not lie about what they “got” Dennis on in Seattle: a civil law consumer protection action. That did not stop Mr. Skeptic from lying about it nearly a decade later, and other liars using the Washington events as some sort of evidence for Dennis’s “criminality.”

That non-sequitur from Ms. Pinch Hitter, “He was doing business dishonestly. He told people it would save 70% to 80% on their energy bills,” either demonstrated Ms. Pinch Hitter’s stupidity or criminality. Dennis’s heat pump indeed saved people 70% to 80% and more of their heating bills in Seattle, and he put it on their homes for free, and they only had to pay what the heat pump was proven to save, but somehow that was doing business “dishonestly.” If only all businesses were that “dishonest.” As Dennis’s accountant for 20 years, I also know that Ms. Pinch Hitter’s “made a lot of money” statement about Dennis is also a Big Lie, and in typical dark pather fashion, Ms. Pinch Hitter is a noted “philanthropist” today, and teaches law school.

Again, it gives me no great pleasure to analyze the Big Lies that came from the media and people like Ms. Pinch Hitter in those days, but I decided to do it this once. A month after I met with Gary, the LA Times published the most libelous attack on Dennis that I ever witnessed, and that is saying something. That article in September 1988 was just the warmup.

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier
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Here is some more on Gary, before I continue on my efforts to spring Dennis from jail. Dealing with mobsters was Gary’s daily routine, from Cohen to Ruby. One day, Gary was contacted by a Chicago mobster who had “retired” to sunny Ventura County, and they met for lunch. The mobster marveled over how sweet the real estate developer racket was in Ventura County. It was beyond the wildest dreams of mobsters in the eastern USA, and the judges controlled it all in Ventura County, with land grabs and kangaroo court rulings, and murder was a tool that they used frequently, when their frame jobs did not accomplish the task. When the judges tried to have Gary murdered, it was because one of Gary’s lawsuits blocked the issuance of revenue bonds to build the Ventura County Center, which was a huge swindling of the taxpayer.

The biggest developer in Ventura County was a gangster who was heavily involved in the drug trade, as the judges also were, and I heard before I met Dennis that people who crossed that developer simply disappeared. That developer built the only “skyscrapers” in Ventura County, a few miles from where I was raised.

Unfortunately, the high-tech booms, especially Amazon’s success, is turning Seattle into a metropolis, with skyrocketing real estate values and entire neighborhoods being torn down and replaced with high-density condos and apartments. Seattle is beginning to look like New York City, and I only go into Seattle when I have to, but the suburbs are getting the same treatment, with downtown areas being torn down and replaced with high-density condos. It is happening just down the road from where I live.

The real estate boom here really began with the first dot-com boom, and the big Ventura developer got in on the action and built Seattle skyscrapers. I worked with a woman whose husband was a developer (who moved to build skyscrapers in Shanghai), and I asked her if she knew of that developer, and she did. She said that that developer had a reputation for honesty and was also a noted “philanthropist.” Anymore, when I hear somebody called a “philanthropist,” I immediately think, “gangster.” The media can make gangsters into saints, and saints into criminals. I have watched them do it.

LA is one big slab of asphalt, and my years living there were my life’s unhappiest, and I escaped whenever I could. A million dollars a year would not be enough to entice me to work there. What a hellhole. Ventura County has been slowing turning into a slab of asphalt in my lifetime. The Seattle area residents, seeing what was happening in California, did their best to avoid that fate. In the 1970s, the developers had plans for about a dozen bridges to cross Lake Washington, turning the lake into something resembling LA’s freeways and the entire area into a little LA. The residents fought it, and there are only two bridges across the lake today. My favorite local mountain to hike on was slated to become condos in the 1960s, but the rising conservation movement saved it. In the 1980s and 1990s, with the flood of Californians moving here, the motto of the locals was “Don’t Californicate Washington.” It is well on its way to it today.

Just last month, while hiking with a friend who lives near me, he told me of attending a city council meeting. California developers are here and mowing down neighborhoods and putting up condos, and the area is going to become complete gridlock, just like LA, while the developers skate out of town with their haul for paving it all over, as they retreat to their pastoral villas. One corporate facility near my friend’s home has a huge rolling lawn, in keeping with the zoning laws, which mandated a high percentage of trees and vegetation for such developments, and at that recent city council meeting, a California developer had bought the facility and was trying to overturn the zoning law so that he could pave it all over. If it ends up working how it does in California, a few well-placed bribes and other enticements will get the zoning laws overturned and turn that pastoral area into a big slab of asphalt. That is how they do it in California, and increasingly, in the Seattle area. I don’t have much love for the gangsters who run Washington, but they are amateurs compared to those who run California.

Gary kept fighting in Ventura County until he was too old to do it anymore, and the judges stole his gas station/store, which was his nest egg, issued an arrest warrant for his wife, and Gary died destitute, in exile, in Oregon.

Gary was a great one, and is in my pantheon. When I read his book in early 1989, his JFK revelations were a mere sideshow. I digested what Gary told me for about a month. During that month, I spent a weekend completing the income tax forms for the salesmen and employees of our dead business. Even though so many of them acted criminally, not all did, and they all would need those forms to file their taxes and get credit for their income tax withholdings, even though they did not get paid to the IRS. When I signed back up with Dennis in 1996-1997, I insisted that they make those deposits as they went along.

My memory fails me a little, of the exact sequence of events that inspired me to sacrifice my life, but right around the time that I did, the LA Times published an article on Dennis. I read the newspaper, either the local paper or the LA Times, nearly every day for 20 years. In a box in my attic, I have the newspaper clippings of my athletic feats in baseball, bowling, and track from those two newspapers. The LA Times has a Ventura County edition, and back then, every Thursday would be a section devoted to Ventura County’s news. One Thursday around mid-February 1989, I came home from work (soon before the feds and media tried to put my employer out of business), and the Ventura County section of the LA Times edition on my doorstep was almost entirely devoted to Dennis. It took up the entire first page and the pages behind it. It took me about an hour to read the entire thing, and when I finished, I remember saying to myself, “They can simply make it up as they go.” That article that I recently analyzed was only a gentle preview of that piece of “investigative” journalism. The article was a series of misrepresentations and outright lies, of the Big Lie variety. Goebbels would have been impressed, if he did not think it a little heavy handed. Dennis was portrayed as the con-man of the century, and Mr. Deputy, Ms. Pinch Hitter, and other authorities held forth in that article, lying out of both sides of their mouths. As usual, any casual reader would have had no idea that Dennis put the world’s best heating system on people’s homes for free.

That was the beginning of the end of my consumption of the mainstream media, much less believing any of it, especially on foreign affairs, as the imperial media regularly turns reality upside down on that score. Around the same time, we got a new boarder at my future wife’s home. He was hip, and as I told him about what I was living through, he mentioned Noam Chomsky. I had never heard of him, but just hearing Chomsky’s name was the beginning of my alternative media studies, and I was primed to hear its message. The next year, while driving to work, on the talk radio station that I listened to (the AM radio in my Pinto couldn’t pick up much else) I heard who might have been Uncle Ed, as he promoted a new magazine that he was the editor of, titled Lies of our Times (LOOT), which dealt with the lies in The New York Times and the mainstream media in general. I subscribed to LOOT later that year, when I moved away to Ohio, which was when my media studies began in earnest.

In early 1997, I had a long talk with Dennis about those days, and why I sacrificed my life. Do any of us really know why we do what we do? So many issues raced through my mind in those days. The outright evil inflicted by Mr. Deputy and friends, the local paper’s regular disinformation articles (which my mother eagerly lapped up), the criminality and cowardliness of nearly everybody involved with us, and that it was all happening in my home town drove it all home in ways that seated it into my soul. Unless you have experienced something similar, you have no idea what it is like. Going bankrupt, and then bailing out betraying friends, was a trifling matter compared to the rest of it.

Around the time that I met Gary, I had a phone call with Dennis from solitary confinement. Dennis was at peace with his fate, and by that time had written in his book, My Quest, that he did not expect to live to see this side of the bars again, and that Mr. Deputy and friends would have him murdered (on Godzilla’s behalf, of course). In fact, the officials did try to murder him, repeatedly, and Dennis should not have survived, but got “lucky” and only had some teeth knocked out and had his fingers broken.

What follows is the best that I can come up with, for why I sacrificed my life. If you read The Alternative, you will see that some of the cowardliness and low-integrity acts were very close to me, and that had something to do with my decision. But that was only one influence. After watching kangaroo court in action, and how it was able to keep nearly all evidence of the heat pump’s performance out of court, it became evident to me that they were desperately trying to discredit the mountain of data behind that heat pump, so that they could make the fraud charges stick. They were going for life-in-prison for Dennis, and then having him murdered in prison, and the only way that they could really do that was to keep all evidence and testimony of the heat pump out of court. Not even they were going to be able to send Dennis away for life because he did not file a form.

Bankruptcy had actually bailed me out of a financial abyss, so that I could do what I did: mortgage my life, to give Dennis a slim chance of living to see this side of the bars again. Mr. Professor was the true hero of what happened in Ventura, and it cost him his life. It was not so much what had happened to that time, but what he did after we sprung Dennis from jail, but that comes later.

My thinking was that if we could get evidence of the heat pump’s performance into court, that we had a chance to beat the fraud charges. While the prosecution had a bottomless well of money to throw at the case, to bring in their “experts,” who had never even seen the heat pump before, the defense was broke and Dennis was defending himself. My idea was to approach Mr. Professor and ask him to mortgage his home and lend me $50K for Dennis’s defense, to bring in expert witnesses and get the evidence of the heat pump’s performance introduced to the court. That was my plan in a nutshell.

I clearly recall when I made that decision, and I knew that I was sacrificing my life. Borrowing $50K was like taking out a mortgage, nearly twice what I could earn in year. I knew then that paying off that loan would mean that I would not have children, would drive that Pinto until it fell apart, and would never own my own home. All of that indeed came to pass, as part of the price of my journey. My “friends” have plenty to answer for, but I have no regrets. When I made that decision, to sacrifice my life, I did it for the truth, I did it for love, I did it to stand up to evil, and I did it because almost everybody else proved themselves to be cowards and criminals. Somebody had to do the right thing. I no longer cared about our dead business. I just wanted Dennis to escape Mr. Deputy’s evil clutches. I knew that I would have no regrets for doing that. I had been quite the spiritual student for many years by then, and knew that such gestures were not futile, even if they could appear that way in the real world. I did it for my conscience, if for nothing else. Even if my gesture was futile (I thought that I had about a 1% chance of making a dent when I did it, as the fix was in), and Dennis died behind bars, I knew that this was something that I had to do, that my “friends” and others had manipulated the situation to where I was faced with my decision. Once I made it, I never looked back.

I went to Mr. Professor’s home and asked him to mortgage his house and lend me the money. Alison and her children lived there, and I do not recall the setting when I asked him, but I did not want Alison or Dennis to know where the money was coming from, as they might have refused it, and if Mr. Deputy and friends got wind of it, I might have joined Dennis behind bars, as well as Mr. Professor. Mr. Professor said that he would have to ask his wife, and a week later, in his office, across the street from the County Center, they agreed to let me borrow the money. When they agreed, the gravity of it all overcame me, and we all had a good cry together. And six weeks later, the greatest miracle that I ever witnessed happened, and we all knew that it was an act of divine intervention. Evil is not in charge like it thinks it is.

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier
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After Mr. Professor agreed to lend me the money (I never touched it; he managed it and put it on my “tab”), I then began what became the scholarly aspect of my work. I was a bookworm since I could walk, but I descended into the bowels of the libraries at UCLA and UCSB, hunting for documentation to prepare any expert witnesses that we could line up to testify. I was digging into the Congressional Record, obtaining patents, hunting down old magazines, beginning to resume my science studies, which I had not done since college, when that voice had me change majors, and the like. What I came up with was eventually used by Mr. Big Time Attorney, as well as my strategy for getting expert testimony on the record. Dennis was out of solitary confinement by then, and Mr. Professor told Dennis that a secret benefactor had put up $50K for Dennis’s defense. When Dennis was in solitary confinement, he still had faith that his god would come through again, when the night was the darkest, and when he heard about his secret benefactor, he knew that his god was coming through again. The tide then began to turn.

When the case was remanded to the Superior Court after the preliminary hearing, Dennis got one judge instead of the several that had presided so far, and Dennis was making motions almost daily. One motion will give an idea of what Dennis faced in jail. That jail was a state-of-the-art, steel-and-concrete facility, built with all of the money that the judges had skimmed millions from. The preliminary hearing lasted for more than a month (I think that it went on for two months, from beginning to end), and ten thousand pages of discovery evidence was adduced, much of it stolen from us (paying to copy materials stolen from us was one of the many ironies of those days). The jailhouse rules allowed an inmate one box, like one that oranges comes in, for their personal papers. Dennis made a motion to get two boxes, as there was so much discovery evidence that he had to sift through to prepare his defense. The prosecution heatedly challenged his motion, stating that two boxes would constitute a fire hazard for the jail. It was an insane argument, but in keeping with the evil and irrationality of the prosecution. The judge granted Dennis’s motion, which I believe is the first one that Dennis ever won.

When Dennis won that motion, the man who really ran the jail, not Mr. Deputy, whose position was purely ceremonial, as his reward for putting the hit on us, came to Dennis’s cell and threatened his life. Dennis was also busily writing My Quest at the time, and that deputy bragged about how he could read thousands of words a minute. He informed Dennis that because Dennis mentioned his god liberally in his manuscript, that it was some kind of proselytizing religious tract, and under some obscure jailhouse rule, it posed a danger to the sheriff’s department or the public, so that deputy read every word of Dennis’s manuscript.

Dennis had no private communications while he did not have a lawyer, and the first thing that my money did was hire a lawyer. When I saw Dennis in 2013, he said that he only paid $500, but I seem to recall Mr. Professor using $5K of my legal fund for that lawyer. The attorney was a college professor who had never actually worked in a courtroom before, but once Dennis had an attorney again, Dennis got private legal mail with his lawyer and Alison was the legal runner, so she got to meet with Dennis at the jail when she played legal runner. At the first hearing, when Dennis’s attorney attended, Ms. Prosecutor asked him for his card, and when the attorney said that he did not have one to give her, she made a laughing stage whisper that the entire court heard, “He does not even have a card!” A few weeks later, during a hearing, that attorney heard Ms. Prosecutor tell a bold-faced lie, and he told Dennis, with a tone of amazement, that Ms. Prosecutor had just told a whopping Big Lie, and Dennis replied with something like, “Welcome to the real world of America’s ‘justice’ system.”

The deputies were writing Dennis up for a jailhouse infraction every day, and Dennis seemed no worse for wear from his stint in solitary confinement, and they tried stepping up their intimidation, to break Dennis for trial. Dennis had survived numerous murder attempts by that time and their tactics did not impress him, other than make him disgusted with the USA’s legal system. Dennis’s legal mail with his attorney was supposed to be one of the cornerstones of the American legal system, of attorney-defendant privilege, in which the accused can have private communications with their attorneys. What do you think that Mr. Deputy and friends did? They opened his legal mail! They were acting like Nazis in a concentration camp, acting with impunity on their terrified victims, but they tried it on the wrong man. One of Dennis’s motions was about them opening his legal mail, as they were caught doing it. The Superior Court judge on the case reprimanded the deputies for that crime.

Before Dennis got an attorney again, he had leaving inmates smuggle out chapters of his book, and one inmate’s story bears telling. Mr. Professor not only housed Alison and her children, but their home also became a halfway house for departing inmates, and one was memorable. He was an elderly gentleman who looked about 75 years old. Late in his life, he married a much younger woman (gold digger?), and their marriage was troubled, but he helped raise her children. That summer of 1988, he took his stepchildren to visit their relatives in Florida and visit Orlando. The wife accused him of kidnapping the children. That was a pretty strange kidnapping, when he was taking them to their relatives’ house, which everybody knew they were heading to. The Ventura County sheriff’s department put out some kind of interstate crime alert and notified the Florida authorities of a kidnapper who was heading to their state. That old man and the children (teenagers, as I recall) showed up to the relatives’ home in Florida, and was greeted with a SWAT team and hovering helicopter. The Florida police were ready to apprehend an armed and dangerous kidnapper, and out of the van shambled an old man with his stepchildren, who obviously had not been kidnapped. The Florida police had a good laugh but wondered about the sanity of Ventura County’s sheriff’s department. The old man was returned to Ventura, charged with kidnapping, and had a $250K bail, which may have been the second highest at the jail, far below Dennis’s $750K.

That legal farce was over after a couple of months, with the charges dropped, and that old man lived at Mr. Professor’s home for some time after being released. When he was released, he smuggled out a few chapters of My Quest. For about two years, Mr. Professor’s home and phone number was Dennis’s only address and phone number, and for years after Dennis escaped jail, Mr. Professor received calls from Dennis’s former inmates. They called to let Dennis know that they had been walking the straight and narrow since their release from incarceration. They called to thank the man who changed their lives. While Mr. Deputy kept moving Dennis into unfamiliar cellblocks, so that he was never comfortable, Dennis always turned his cellblocks from places of fear into dormitory atmospheres. While Dennis was thrown into solitary confinement for trying to throw a Christmas party, Dennis still had an Easter celebration that spring, replete with an Easter egg hunt for the inmates. Try to imagine that scene. :)

We will never know what all happened behind the scenes, but after Dennis got a lawyer again and won that legal motion to have two boxes to hold the discovery evidence, and the deputies were caught opening his legal mail, at a hearing soon afterward, the judge asked Dennis why he was not making a motion to have his astronomical bail reviewed. Dennis had already had eight bail appeals, all summarily rejected by the kangaroo court judges, other than the first one, in which the judge reduced his bail from the surreal $1 million to the paltry $750K, which was still by far the highest bail at the jail.

Dennis replied in shock that he was taking his time to prepare the best possible bail appeal, to try to make bail by the trial. The judge replied that he was going to initiate his own motion, to review Dennis’s seemingly excessive bail. From the situation of merely a month earlier, what the judge did was bizarre. Dennis did not have to be told twice, and for the next week, Dennis prepared his bail appeal. He had Alison obtain affidavits of the people that Mr. Deputy had threatened, and the affidavits from Dave the Salesman’s wife and that salesman who was threatened with 60 years in prison was obtained that week in late March. I was scheduled to be a character witness, and took the day off to testify.

Mr. Deputy was not used to victims who did not surrender to his Nazi tactics, and when you are as corrupt as he was, and the sheriff’s department in general, you develop evil habits that are hard to break. Alison talked to Dennis on the jailhouse phone (and all of Dennis’s conversations in jail with the outside world were naturally recorded), and told Dennis that in the next legal mail package, she was enclosing the affidavits from people whom Mr. Deputy threatened. Mr. Deputy could not help himself, and had Dennis’s legal mail opened again, and was caught again. I have no doubt that the judge was in on the deal to take Dennis out, as he was promoted to a higher court soon after Dennis’s case was over, but what Mr. Deputy and friends were doing was so far over the line, and we were definitely not going along quietly with the railroad job, that the judge would have had serious problems presiding over such an obviously rigged situation. It might work on poor Mexicans and other victims of Ventura County’s legal system, but we were proving to be difficult to digest, and the judge had a legal tarbaby on his hands.

Mr. Professor was still trying to keep the business alive, and was using my legal fund for it, and I let him know that I no longer cared about our business. I was done with the businessman’s approach to FE and was only trying to pick up the pieces of my shattered life. Preventing Dennis from spending the rest of his life behind bars was all that I wanted to do, and I told Mr. Professor that I was only going to pay back money used to defend Dennis.

The miracle was about to happen, which nobody could have convinced any of us of, six weeks earlier, when I sacrificed my life.

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier
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Dennis’s bail hearing was held on March 31, 1989. Mr. Professor and I were there to testify as character witnesses. Mr. Professor’s wife was there, and I can’t recall if my future wife was there or not. I doubt it, but I should ask her. Mr. Deputy was there. Instead of sitting next to Ms. Prosecutor, looking like the cat who had just feasted on canaries, he was in the public seats with his own attorney. The hearing was short, sweet, and hard to believe.

The judge began by saying that Mr. Deputy’s attorney had a few words to say before the hearing began. Mr. Deputy’s attorney stood up and said that opening Dennis’s legal mail again, after the judge had previously reprimanded the deputies for doing so, was just an innocent clerical error, and they would produce the deputy who inadvertently opened Dennis’s legal mail and explain it all away, and Mr. Deputy’s attorney promised that it would not happen again. The judge replied that he was sure that it wouldn’t happen again (I think that he was being subtly humorous).

The judge then opened the hearing, which lasted only a minute or two. He noted that the nine “victims” from the preliminary hearing had paid about $20K to Dennis’s company. The judge said that he was reducing Dennis’s bail from $750K to his own recognizance, but he was also requiring a $20K cash deposit for restitution, in case Dennis was convicted of the fraud charges (which would soon be dismissed). It was one of my life’s happiest moments, and a moment that seemed impossible a mere month earlier. I no longer cared about Mr. Deputy and did not pay attention to him, but Mr. Professor watched Mr. Deputy closely. When the judge announced Dennis’s bail reduction, Mr. Deputy looked like he had swallowed his shoe. The next year of Mr. Deputy’s life was not very fun for him, as he spent months hiding in his house, “sick,” to avoid answering for his many crimes. But I really did not care. It was Dennis that mattered to me, not Godzilla’s minions. I never saw Mr. Deputy again.

The next day, on April Fools’ Day, Mr. Professor took $20K from my legal fund, made that deposit, and Dennis walked out of jail. The day before, as Dennis returned to his cellblock, he told his inmates what had happened, those inmates who had hunted for Easter eggs a few days earlier, and they cheered and hoisted Dennis onto their shoulders, as the guards looked on, stunned.

On April Fools’ Day, I went straight to Mr. Professor’s home when I returned from work. When the door opened, one of Dennis’s salesmen who disappeared when Dennis was arrested was there. People began coming out of the woodwork when Dennis was released from jail, and in The Alternative are affidavits that people prepared in April 1989, when they no longer cowered in fear. They all get some points for that. That was the best that they could muster, and it beat all of the crimes that the others committed.

I walked in Mr. Professor’s door and Dennis engulfed me in a bear hug. He showed off his flat belly. He lost about 70 pounds while in jail, mainly because they starved the inmates, and Dennis saw it as a county-hosted fat farm. Dennis treated the entire ordeal as a trifling matter that let him rest up for his next effort. He was raring to go make free energy happen, prepared to go at it harder than ever. It was awe-inspiring to witness Dennis a few hours after being released from incarceration (I witnessed it again five years later, and it was even more incredible the second time). His spirit was soaring, and I never saw a moment of bitterness from him for what he had been through. He just saw it as the journey that his god set before him, which made him a better person for the experience. You really had to see it to believe it.

Dennis later said that he in no way felt that he was out of the woods, legally, when he was released from jail. But when he walked out of jail, I knew that the life-in-prison plan that Mr. Deputy and friends were trying for crumbled, as Dennis was then able to defend himself. The only chance that their evil plan ever had was to have Dennis hogtied in jail and unable to defend himself. I did not worry about Dennis once he escaped jail, knowing full well how resourceful he was, and he did not disappoint me.

The judge still put what I believe was an unprecedented restriction on Dennis. He was not allowed to leave the city of Ventura unless he got permission from the court first, and he had to sign in at the jail every day, and for the next year, Dennis did. But that was enjoyable compared to being in solitary confinement only a few months earlier.

The next year was a happy one for me, but by no means without its challenges. At almost the exact same time that Dennis was released from jail, the government and media tried to put my company out of business, and the owner soon sold out to a corporate conglomerate and retired. A year after he sold out, I was the highest-ranking person in administration who survived the takeover. That year was one of fear at my company, but compared to what I had just been through in Ventura, it possessed a pastoral calm.

The American system is so evil in so many ways that I can never chronicle it all. A couple of days ago, I watched the Trump/Clinton presidential debate, for its entertainment value (the last debate that I watched had Ross Perot in it), and it was entertaining, in a sickening way. Hillary kept playing the Russian card, portraying them as some malevolent threat, in the best tradition of Orwell. Russia-bashing goes back for a century in the USA, and it looks like our first woman president may well be the one who initiates World War III, which will end in mushroom clouds. Psychopaths make for successful CEOs and politicians.

When Dennis escaped jail, Mr. Professor and I did not reveal who Dennis’s secret benefactor was, and only after months, when there was pressure to come up with more money, and Dennis kept asking whether his secret benefactor could come up with more ($50,000 more, to pay for Mr. Big Time Attorney), Mr. Professor revealed who Dennis’s secret benefactor was, and Dennis was “upset and pleased and disappointed and proud…”

If you read The Alternative, you will see that I was actually pitted against a family member in all of that, in the middle of a tug-of-war between Dennis and the prosecution. It was not easy ground to stand on, let me tell you. During the year after Dennis got out of jail, I avoided him and my family. I pursued the relationship with the woman who became my wife a year after Dennis got out of jail, and that year was one of my life’s happiest, even with all of that happening.

Soon after Dennis got out of jail, he had a conversation with Mr. Professor and me in Mr. Professor’s kitchen, to tell us how he was going to resurrect the business, as if we were going to be right there, carrying his spears again. That was before Dennis discovered who his secret benefactor was, and I let Dennis know in no uncertain terms that I was done with the free energy business, and was instead digging out of my financial abyss and trying to put my life back together. Most of the money that I made from my new job was paying off that betraying friend and paying back Mr. Professor. For nearly a decade, I wrote a check every month to Mr. Professor, only wishing that the checks were ten times as large. Mr. Professor achieved sainthood in those days, and was the true hero of what happened in Ventura, but it cost him his life.

While I was out of the free energy game, and let Mr. Professor know that I was not interested in resurrecting the business, he decided to fund Dennis’s next effort, which Dennis named “Resurrection Marketing,” as Dennis always had a sense of humor about his journey. They were doing it literally a few blocks from where our old business was, and the prosecution tried to have Dennis jailed again because of it, but that tale comes later.

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier
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Hi:

As I have mentioned, my first alternative media and political literature was right wing, which the deputies seized, and perhaps the most common alternative political stripe that I saw from the Ventura days were Constitutionalists. They believed in the original intent of the U.S. Constitution, which was about limiting the powers of government (even though the Founding Fathers greatly overstepped their authority to create the Constitution in the first place). That paralegal group that helped us after the raid was comprised of Constitutionalists. When Dennis was in jail, he sought attorneys that were not owned by Ventura County’s gangsters, as his first attorney was.

Dennis got interest from big name attorneys, such as Mafia attorney Melvin Belli, but he wanted $250K up front as his retainer. It turned out that Dennis’s being his own attorney had provided the best defense that he had so far, and one of his motions triggered the judge’s bail review. But in order to turn the tide, Dennis needed a big name attorney who could back up the gangsters in Ventura a few steps, and one attorney above all others was recommended by Dennis’s Constitutionalist pals as the best in the business, and he had just moved from Colorado to San Diego, where he still lives today. Dennis received permission from the judge to leave Ventura to meet the attorney, whom I call Mr. Big Time Attorney in my work.

The year before he took Dennis’s case, Mr. Big Time Attorney fried IRS agents who committed felony acts in pursuit of his client, in a case that went to the USA’s Supreme Court, which ended up being a precedential ruling for Dennis’s case: the USA’s Supreme Court ruled that the prosecutors being convicted of felony acts committed while pursuing a case does not taint the case, in a ruling made by the legendarily corrupt William Rehnquist’s Supreme Court, which also ruled that kidnapping people from abroad, to bring them back to the USA for “justice,” was perfectly legal. Hitler could not even get away with that, but the USA does. Somewhat predictably, the dissenting opinion to that Orwellian ruling on Mr. Big Time Attorney’s case was from Thurgood Marshall, the first black Supreme Court justice, and almost the opposite of Uncle Tom Clarence Thomas, who liked to brag about his penis size. Marshall seemed to actually believe in the concept of justice.

When Dennis visited Mr. Big Time Attorney, they reviewed the case, and Ventura County’s sheriff’s deputies had committed some of the exact same crimes that those fried IRS agents had committed. Mr. Big Time Attorney considered that getting Dennis off the hook was almost perfunctory; he was more interested in getting the sheriff’s deputies prosecuted for their numerous crimes and violations of Dennis’s civil rights. He took the case for an almost token $10K, which was about the last of my legal fund. My money ended up busting Dennis from jail and securing Mr. Big Time Attorney’s services, and that was about the end of my involvement, other than testifying.

I really did not pay attention to Dennis’s attempts to resurrect the business. I have really not been very interested ever since, for reasons that I will cover before long. It has nothing to do with Dennis’s qualifications, which are the best on Earth that I know of, for what he attempted, but because of humanity’s egocentric inertia and the organized suppression. When 1988 ended, my life’s primary lesson was beaten into my head in no uncertain terms: personal integrity is the world’s scarcest commodity, and that is why humanity is in the predicament that it is, as manifested by Godzilla and all the way down to the man on the street. Not enough people care enough, not for an effort like Dennis’s to succeed. The “density” of integrity is not great enough for a mass movement effort. Godzilla is merely the master of a game that almost all humans play each day. I learned my lesson in 1988 and was no longer interested in the inventor’s/businessman’s approach to free energy. But even after my initial rejection of Dennis’s offer to help him rebuild, he worked on me every chance that he could, and finally coaxed me into the saddle with him again in 1996, but it was like a bad dream for me, and I nearly went to prison for my trouble, but that story comes later.

Mr. Big Time Attorney appeared in court immediately after Dennis hired him. Ms. Prosecutor, who stage-whispered her disdain of Dennis’s former attorney, got in way over her head when Mr. Big Time Attorney appeared, and was reduced to following orders and having the judge put words in her mouth. It was really the judge versus Mr. Big Time Attorney after that, although the prosecution began with gutter maneuvers from Day One, which initially dismayed Mr. Big Time Attorney, who was used to the more urbane environs of the federal courts. He was about to see what hillbilly lawyering was really like, and how corrupt California was.

When Mr. Big Time Attorney appeared in court, he said that the case would have to be delayed for months, as his court calendar was very busy, and all of his cases but that one were in the federal courts. The judge replied that if Mr. Big Time Attorney did not have an immediately open calendar, he could not take the case. Mr. Big Time Attorney then showed why he was there: he informed the judge that the USA’s Constitution guaranteed Dennis the attorney of his choice, and that he was that attorney.

He also informed the judge that he could not yet defend Dennis in court, as he had just moved to California and was in the process of getting his license to practice in California, which would be issued soon. Immediately after the hearing, the Ventura County DA’s office called the California state bar and accused Mr. Big Time Attorney of practicing without a license. It was the first gutter move from them and far from the last, and Mr. Big Time Attorney was about to get the education of his career. That gutter maneuver held up the issuance of his license for months, and Mr. Big Time Attorney was incensed. But he was on the case, and the fun began.

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier
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When Dennis escaped jail and was able to defend himself, Mr. Deputy’s career-making case soon began crumbling. Mr. Big Time Attorney did not become a Constitutionalist attorney so much because he believed in the “cause,” but because it became a legal specialty that he could make a living in. He always tried to dissuade his clients from using the courtroom to air their political philosophies. The task at hand was being exonerated of the charges, not making grand political statements, so Mr. Big Time Attorney’s efforts were focused on finding and promoting a sliver of reasonable doubt, to exonerate his clients of the charges. He was very good at it, which was why he still is the leading Constitutionalist attorney in the USA. He once told me, “If you are looking for the truth, the courtroom is not the place to find it.”

Soon after taking Dennis’s case, Mr. Big Time Attorney became increasingly astounded. He told Dennis that his clients were usually very much down the path to being found guilty when he got involved, and his job was to find a sliver of reasonable doubt to lodge in the jury’s mind, to get his clients off the hook. For Dennis’s case, it was the opposite: the case made by Ventura County was fabricated from the thin air, other than Dennis’s (or my) failure to file a form. Mr. Big Time Attorney had never taken a case that was so easy, and he was more interested in suing the pants off of Mr. Deputy and friends for their innumerable violations of Dennis’s civil rights. Mr. Big Time Attorney told me that what initially attracted him to the case was the surreal million dollar bail. He asked, “Is a SAMP filing a deadly weapon that Dennis was beating people over the head with?”

Soon after Dennis was released from jail, the fraud charges were dropped. Only one of the nine “victims” portrayed himself as one, who not only got his money back long before Dennis was arrested, but argued in court that he should have been paid for the time that he spent reviewing Dennis’s materials. He was about as slimy as I have ever encountered, and was my leading candidate for being a “planted” victim, somebody whose “victimhood” was purposely staged by Mr. Deputy and friends. He may well not have been, but it would have been no surprise to discover that he was.

Ms. Prosecutor, from the local law school mill, with her incredibly unprofessional statements and serial lying, was soon in very far over her head and eagerly wanted to settle the case. It was not fun anymore, as she got drug through the mud of her own making, but her superiors had to approve, and they didn’t. There was still pressure being brought from high places, and they had to earn their bribe money. She was an ambitious housewife who got that degree from that law school mill and played at being a lawyer, and in the incredibly corrupt environs of Ventura County’s legal system, she was successful. She was soon making proposals to settle the case, as the centerpiece of her career-making case, the sensational fraud charges, soon evaporated in the light of day and her case was reduced to charges of failing to file a form.

But she was also like Mr. Deputy, in that she was so steeped in corruption that she did not really know how to do it right, kind of like a mobster trying to become a model citizen. They may try to act like it, but their criminal habits are just too ingrained. She made gutter maneuvers until the end of the case. Trying to prevent Mr. Big Time Attorney from getting his license to practice in California was just a preview of the continual gutter maneuvers the she and her cronies engaged in. For one example of many, in normal cases, the standard practice is that when legal motions are filed by either side, they are provided to the opposition as a matter of professional courtesy, so that the other side can prepare to argue the matter. Ms. Prosecutor dispensed with that courtesy and literally handed her motions to Mr. Big Time Attorney as she stood up to argue them in court. Mr. Big Time Attorney was initially shocked at such crude maneuvers, but soon came to understand that they were just days at the office in Ventura County.

Again, after Mr. Big Time Attorney took the case, Mr. Prosecutor was reduced to taking orders and having the judge put words in her mouth (I witnessed that more than once), as it was really the judge versus Mr. Big Time Attorney, with Ms. Prosecutor reduced to largely being a bystander. After several months, it almost became fun, and one day in court, Mr. Big Time Attorney referred to the numerous crimes committed by Mr. Deputy and friends. The judge then asked Mr. Big Time Attorney what he was referring to, and Mr. Big Time Attorney launched into a litany. Then the judge astoundingly made a motion to have a prosecutorial misconduct hearing, which was certainly very rare in Ventura County. As Mr. Big Time Attorney recently learned, even frying the prosecution with felony convictions was not enough to get his clients off the hook, but it could not hurt, and then it was kind of fun for a while. Dennis thought, and probably accurately, that the reasons for the misconduct hearing were that we never gave up, the prosecution’s crimes were so numerous and egregious, and that the local legal gangsters did not own Mr. Big Time Attorney, like they did all of the local lawyers. His presence was a critical piece of the puzzle, and he will always get credit for that, at least, although he betrayed Dennis before it was all over. Lawyers aren’t heroes, either. Almost all of them go into it for the money, just like medical doctors do.

All the time, I was working in LA again, incredibly, and pursuing my relationship with my future wife. They were happy days for me. I saw Mr. Big Time Attorney several times, maybe ten times in all, so I must have taken days off of work to be in court. The prosecutorial misconduct hearing was not only highly unpleasant for Ms. Prosecutor, but Mr. Deputy was reduced to hiding in his house for months, to duck the witness stand, and that will take some telling.

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier
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I have been writing my lessons learned posts with Dennis’s books handy. When you are a key character in books, especially that chronicle incredibly traumatic events, you are not eager to read them, and I did not read Dennis’s books cover-to-cover when they were published. Years later, Dennis would creatively recall events and I had to point him to his own books to refresh his memory. My memory is nearly photographic and better than Dennis’s, but it is not perfect, either, and I sometimes would refer to Dennis’s books, to see how I recalled something. It was always close, if not exact, but I can garble stuff, too, so when I write essays, for instance, I do my homework, much more so than in forum posts.

Also, I can tell that Dennis was writing for certain audiences and had constraints on what he could write about, and he and I saw different events, especially when he was in jail. Although Ken Hodgell unmasked himself to Dennis, and I instantly knew what his play was, Dennis was in jail when those events happened and did not see what I did. That also happened in Seattle and Boston. Dennis also kept events from me, as he played his secrecy games. So, we had different views of events. But I saw enough, and doubt that there is much that Dennis saw in his journey that I don’t know about that would change my views much, not on the big picture of humanity’s predicament and what needs to be done. In ways, I am far more informed than Dennis is, but he learned lessons on his journey that I never will (or almost anybody else on Earth will). Each of us has our own journey, and all that we take with us when we leave physical life is our awareness. When the movie of Dennis’s journey is played in the Afterlife Theater, I will stand in line for the show (as I will for Brian’s, Greer’s, Trombly’s, etc.).

As the misconduct hearing progressed, it was almost fun for a while. Mr. Cub Reporter was subpoenaed to testify about his role in the affair, and he was no longer laughing. Right after a misconduct hearing, as Mr. Cub Reporter was getting sobered up, his article the next day was completely accurate. It was not that Mr. Cub Reporter was incapable of reporting the truth; he just reported the truth when he was forced to or when it was convenient. When I began studying how the media operates, I had already received both barrels of it in the real world.

Of course, once Dennis was out of jail and able to defend himself, all of the sensational news stories ended, and the progress of the misconduct hearing was buried in the back of the paper, and I doubt that the LA Times covered those days at all. Awesome police and judicial corruption, to prevent the next Epoch of the human journey from manifesting, is not “newsworthy.” Two years later, a carefully stacked jury in Ventura County exonerated those cops who beat Rodney King, and Ventura County’s judicial system became justifiably famous.

As the misconduct hearing progressed, Mr. Deputy suddenly became “ill” and could not ascend to the hot seat and testify. The hearings were held up for months because of Mr. Deputy’s “illness,” which Mr. Big Time Attorney did not believe for an instant, and even said so in open court. Privately, he disparaged Mr. Deputy’s “note to the teacher” as he ducked the witness stand. Mr. Deputy was likely being coached in those “ill” days for his coming performance.

In his stead, the chief “investigator” on the case became a man I will call Mr. Investigator. His stint on the case provided many chilling realizations for why the USA’s evil legal system works like it does, and that will take some telling.

Early in the case, Mr. Big Time Attorney asked his pals at the FBI and CIA what they had on Dennis, and there were filing cabinets full of documents. I sometimes wonder how big the files are on me, and what other attention from Godzilla and friends has come my way, but I don’t lie awake at night thinking about it. Dennis thinks that it is probably about a tenth of the attention that he has received, and I’ll buy that. For those who do their homework, it becomes increasingly obvious why I am as high on Godzilla’s radar as that. I have assumed that I have been under constant surveillance since the 1980s, and the Snowden “revelations” were yawn-worthy in my circles. I heard about the NSA office at Microsoft back in the early 1990s. The Snowden material is only the tip of the iceberg.

Best,

Wade

Edited by Wade Frazier
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