"We don't care, Bill"

Christopher "Kit" Bond

 

 

June 20, 2017

Dear Rep. Wessels, Sen. Hummel, & Sen. Nasheed:

In four sections I will try to impart to you how serious this is.

Sgt. Smith

When a police officer shouts “Put it over there!” your correspondent complies. What happened after that I hope sends Richard Blum, Jerry Brown, and yes, Barack Obama to the type of prison referred to in the movies as “Club Fed.” Truly, I think they should all be waterboarded to see how they like it, but even John McCain proclaimed there will be no more of that. However, after what this man writing has seen and heard it is wise to ask this: Senator McCain is not in charge of the Central Intelligence Agency, is he? I happen to think all of the ugly interrogation practices condemned in Senator Feinstein’s long report have either never stopped, were given a scandalous legal review and toned down, or have gotten even worse by hiring some new soulless barbarians, again in secret. “When are they talking me away?” wondered a now “missing” Jew on my phone, and this sort of garbage in the “Homeland” has to be stopped.

I want compensation from the County of Ventura and State of California? No, I want people in the slammer. After the initial consultation with Sgt. Smith, I once again thought that criminals with shell companies in Missouri would maybe come to fetch me or pay for a train ticket. How wicked is your life? Not to the point where a former supervisor like mine at BJC Behavioral said they had insufficient funds. The nun at your old high school quoted a figure and said the wealthiest religion on earth lacked the rest of the money? Science fiction! Hogwash! Now it is clear these people have not just exercised their option to let me die, they were conspiring for decades over the biggest fortune ever amassed which they simply have no claim to whether I am related to Howard Robard Hughes or not. As for my two volumes of “Siege on the Parking Lot,” it all happened to me with plenty of witnesses, and my sense of humor about it is gone. Thugs and terrorists on the loose and actively harming people with no law applied whatsoever? You can rent or download Clockwork Orange, I cannot. That is what you are going to be looking at in USA very soon as very real news, which is why I called Hungary again. The kind, “liberal” university professor in Oregon will help? No, her dad was in the Army. How about my publisher rep in the Bay Area who praised my writing all through 1985, 1986 and again in 2005? Far too busy…with what? I did not try the abundant crack rocks, but Ventura County thugs were very well schooled on the C.I.A.- F.B.I. snitch who invented them. Heroin? There was none sold on the parking lot while I was there, to the disappointment of many addicts.  

Per usual, this Hughes called all of the local, state, and national officials who…must want to see me dead. The same deputy who stopped by after my “Lohan Encounter” dropped by during the East Lot Torture Program with a bottle of water, and you employers of dirty cops think I’m giving his name? This followed the West Lot Torture Program, and if I’m related to Howard Hughes here is how it is going to go. I call the name and you go to prison—period. Barack Obama’s eight years of tormenting me near to the point of death will be avenged. By the way, how did this man end up in the White House after allegedly seeking sex and drugs for a voice in the wilderness who is dismissed as “nuts.” I happen to believe man’s story and wonder how Mr. Obama lost a congressional race yet ended up your president so fast. I’ve long called Obama “A C.I.A. experiment” and this will be said in “the media” unless you really want a civil war through muzzling and detaining me next to the dregs of society everywhere I go. I’d rather be tossed dead into an canal in The Netherlands than spend one more day in the country you say you love so much. Pardon me, but I’m allowed to say I don’t.

The point here for the Missouri Department of Mental Health and BJC Behavioral Health is that the Sargent asked for some names and phone numbers of people who might be interested in getting me out of that Torture Trap. I will not disclose the names here because BJC needs a huge lawsuit to defend and one more allegation related to my mental health from a public employee will lead to a conversation with a cop who does not see a problem. Understood? The person who was named to Sgt. Smith along with “Spelled like the old sports announcer Curt Gowdy” is the man I want in a room with a Missouri State trooper. When? Dr. Rick Gowdy, the state police officer, and myself…when? As I told Rick’s assistant Vanessa, “I walked through that door in 1990, when the office was brand new.”

Northrup Grumman  

This solid citizen and Northrop retiree had a son with schizophrenia and a disabled wife. His dog was named “Charmin,” like the toilet tissue. I think he fell prey to what I call a “Medical Murder” after he allowed me to use his phone to call Dr. Gowdy. This looks bad for Missouri and the Department of Mental Health, not me. In my journals seized illegally in a state that could fall in the ocean for all I care, I referred to this fellow as “The Diode Man.” As a matter of fact Sgt. Smith said he’d like to see California underwater too. (But this event would ideally be after he had retried).

Diode Man and I had many discussions on scintillating topics like TRW military spec resistors and so forth. When am I selling the rights to this long story? I can be sure a Mafia-connected Saint Louis lawyer won’t help with that!  Here, I will only disclose that I asked him if he had told younger aerospace engineers of my plight. He said he had, which might explain my cheap phone gifted by a Cornell engineer who worked at Intel. Problem was, and is, nobody cares about Bill Hughes except legions of spies and dirty cops as far as I can tell. Girlfriend? They are only in the movies or for sale as prostitutes these days. I can’t add The Diode Man to my “55 Dead by 55” list of people I’ve known who died young, because he was in his 80’s. How well I remember calling Dr. Gowdy’s Lana on his phone. Later, he showed me his colostomy bag in the same spot after a surgeon totally messed-up a simple procedure. No wonder my late dad got so agitated about his surgery to install plastic pipe instead of an Aorta. I never forgot the surgeon at St. Mary’s avoided me afterward and…oh the lawsuit against that SSM dump will be long, sister! I joked to Charles E. Hughes about the “warranty” for plastic in his chest I had saved, and to my surprise he did not want it. I was also given a video of the procedure, and I want it returned to me, or I’m a sudden supporter of full scale nuclear war. Do the Russians get what I mean?

The Consultation with Dr. Scott

I could easily write a book on my time spent working at what is left of the “State Hospital” in Saint Louis. When I was a case manager at BJC, I heard what young people call LOL rumors about contractors installing, removing, and replacing windows that would break at a medium security facility where the patients might was to get out faster than their doctor’s recommendation. Later, as a Mental Health Coordinator, I had a standard speech about how your son or daughter cannot check-in to eye catching cottages on the campus like the Super 8 Motel. They would sound shocked a crime was required to receive better care. In retrospect, I think they were advocates who already knew that and simply, to use common speech, were driving me nuts.

The same was true at the hospital as I trudged up the hill to Dome Building vending machines where the Regional Manager told me I was a “good man” and he was glad to see I’d accepted another DMH job. I think Catholics, Muslims, and Jews would be terrified if my standard Coca-Cola and Cheetos workplace lunch was in service to a politician or political candidate. On one of those days in 2007, Dr. Rick Scott asked me to sit down and have a discussion about Dr. Gowdy. The key phrase was his allegation that Dr. Gowdy “behaves mysteriously.” I told him Gowdy had been a venerable straight shooter when he reformed the case distribution system in the Coordinator’s office that had saddled me with half the investigations despite two part-time coordinators (Norma & Nell) and four full time besides me (Bill E., Jeff, Debra, and Pat).

I also mentioned that during the process of the layoff Dr. Gowdy had been fair if somewhat sterile in his discussion of employment options. Most of the statewide staff was near retirement age or could readily take it early with a handful of exceptions who seemed to have no problem landing new jobs outside of state service. (My 2003 private sector near-death experience working at Tenet’s Southpointe Hospital is another long story that unfolded in only two months).

Basically, I defended Dr. Gowdy’s management of the coordinators and his skepticism about clinical skills at the ACI provider (Access/Crisis Intervention) sill incredibly with a state contact today (Behavioral Health Response). I told Dr. Scott my political gripe was the Sexual Offender Unit in Farmington and their program of “rehabilitation” which I had alleged received our million dollar budget. I told Scott I had often referred to the program as “Rick’s baby.” Forensic psychiatry was Dr. Scott’s bread and butter, yet he did not disagree with my views as he seemed to probe for some “secret” about Dr. Gowdy I may have discovered.

Our conversation ended when two City of Saint Louis police officers showed up with a prisoner about to become a “patient.” This in and of itself I later learned may be a clue. About what? For one fact, you do not investigate serious incidents with excuses like “My tape recorder broke” and I gave the interview about my injured patient anyway to, as we said as teenagers, “Catch you later.” Who is JONAS GEISSLER? He is the U.S.D.O.J. attorney I called with only the tip of an iceberg, it now seems.

The Key Coordinator Cases

The Maplewood Carriage House

The man who called 877-3000 had what my family called “No visible means of support” but he owned a house and rented the Carriage House out back. The woman/respondent had been in the Air Force and as you know Howard Hughes was renowned for selling aluminum siding. On my first visit to the “Air Force Carriage House,” I did not sense any danger out of this mildly disturbed woman, and of course all of the usual questions were asked about the man’s relationship to the woman. Just a nice guy trying to help out a woman with schizophrenia, I was told.

The next visit was rare for a Mental Health Coordinator, because I was told she had become suicidal and would not come to the door. I had the time, so I traveled to this residence and tried to interview the woman again. Suddenly, half of the Maplewood police department showed up and the movie-ready line was: Who called you?, because I didn’t” I got a speech from a friendly Lieutenant about how they would, “Take care of it.” Once I established she was going to nearby St. Mary’s, I asked no further questions and departed. Firearm about to kill me perhaps? Point #1: The Maplewood police had no evidence of the legal requirement calling for “imminent danger,” and neither did I. If they were believing the male homeowner’s claim of an imminent suicide without observing her behavior and confirming this, it was illegal to take her to the hospital. I’d sure like to see the paperwork I reviewed, because I was the “monitor” for that hospital, and they are as crooked as the Jack’s Fork River! My non-clinical term for the respondent’s male friend is “creep.” Only a few months later, I drove by, saw the FOR SALE sign, and this U.S.A.F. hit squad was down the road. CLUE: Not much furniture in the house. Arrests, please!

The P.T.’s Stripper

The case was in Afton, too near my late dad’s apartment. I was already acquainted with part of this respondent by virtue of her mostly bare breasts depicted in a Riverfront Times print ad every week. There she sat at the dining room table with every bit as much quite visible at close range. The parents wanted her kicked out because of odd hours, a mafia-ish father of her child, and did I mention she had become depressed? Since the parents were hovering, I suggested we go to the back yard where during the interview she disclosed both her cell phone number and how much money the top dancer makes at that club. She was instructed to make an appointment at BJC Behavioral Health and possibly begin taking an antidepressant. Of course I asked about the welfare of her child, and apparently the only issue with that amount of cash coming in was his “asshole” dad. I further encouraged her to get out of the business of stripping on the East Side, because she seemed to have intelligence and must have had other skills.

There were no further calls about her after I closed this case, but I think I was supposed to call her cell phone and be fired. Nice try, Charlie! In another movie-like scene, at the Clayton Metrolink station, a woman approached me for a light in 2014. She grabbed my hands in the process of lighting a cigarette and when I asked what she did for a living, she exclaimed, “I’m a stripper!” and walked away. In my old profession, that is called “Follow-up.” Apparently, P.T.’s dos this too, because it was the same woman 11 years later. CLUE: Not much furniture in the house again, and I do not think those stoic Mafia types were her parents. Address, please! Arrests, please!

The Alcoholic / Officer Blake Snyder Case

For your information, UBS is a bank in Switzerland I’ve called too many times and also the fictional TV network in Network. Ask California custodian Allan Gleisner why an actress in the film was staring at me, because Ms. Dunaway was. More recently, I found out when my late dad’s chum Warren Hearnes was blindsided by Richard Nixon’s D.O.J., he was exonerated by a Grand Jury, then the transcript was classified. Must have been my dad in there telling the truth, as do I every damn day since I could talk in about 1958. The drama regarding Missouri’s governor found the Feds opening a “secret” and incriminating safe deposit box…to find only a rubber band. Perhaps UBS has long known that is what Howard left in a Zurich box. CLUE: “Why aren’t you going to Zurich?” about 10 times in 1977. My answer was: ”Too Nazi.” I hate being right. To Euro spooks promoting at that time communist Prague I said, “They might let me in, then not let me out.” Right again!

Moving along to your shot & killed cop, I must mention a fellow I met in Zip Code 91362. His name was only known as RAY. This gent was well over 80 years of age and would play bingo at the senior center. He wore a ball cap, as did I, and small thick sunglasses. My joke? “No light penetrates their sunglasses.” Ray would sit and smoke during the bingo break and said little. One day the discussion wandered on to the topic of cheating, and since this writer thinks in broader terms I suggested the whole bingo process was “rigged.” The not a movie but near Hollywood dialog was:

RAY: “Yeah, maybe somebody’s skimming something off the top.”

BILL: “There’s no maybe about it.”

This writer does not know bingo, or the much about B-2 bomber hydraulics, but after that remark the “new” computerized bingo machine was wheeled in and Ray’s Chevrolet Avalanche turned from gray to royal blue, whatever that is supposed to symbolize. What does this have to do with the death of your police officer? In case you don’t know, your community is flooded with illegal drugs, and I’m allowed to allege your police in brown uniforms are “skimming off the top.” There is much Grand Jury worthy evidence of this and there was no attempt on my part to “spy” or “investigate” when it is so painfully obvious. Now, why not beat up on police in the City of St. Louis? What did Jesus say about throwing stones? I’d like to ask the County Executive.

When your correspondent returned to this fair city and discovered the Ferguson incidents caused ticket-happy police departments to fold their tents, at first I thought this was a good development because as a mental health professional I had to work with all of them. I’d love to ask some dedicated local “liberals” if they have ever been in the Jennings or Pagedale jail tracking mental health clients who would land there. I think the answer would be “No.” On one occasion, three municipal police officers sat me down and said, “Your client is going to kill you.” My response was, “I don’t think so” and later in front of the jail I said, “Mike, get in the car.” Later, this gentleman was told by me that he was going to be murdered over idiocy such as a cigarette lighter that looked like a 38 caliber handgun. We can wonder all day why he never seemed to pay rent and one of his “girlfriends” had graduated from UMSL.

The “Quick & Dirty” theory here is that the gunman who killed Snyder somehow leads to a fellow cop who is not going to win any civic awards. If he already did, I surely have nothing to say about that in this legendarily corrupt state. I seem to know too many California Highway Patrol public servants by name if anyone believes that, and you’d better.      

The Secret Service Case

I’m tempted to attach Hughes v. United States Government, which I wrote all by myself, but here we will cover just one federal atrocity. First, know that the phone seemed to only ring with “Secret Service” calling on Friday when someone knew I’d be on the phone all day. This case was the only one of four involving a field investigation, application to the court, commitment order, 96 hours, another application with which I assisted adding 21 days of detention & treatment, and eventually, the probable buddy of an actual terrorist on the loose was discharged from St. John’s, a greedy medical facility where once again I was the “monitor” over this criminal enterprise that rips-off the taxpayers through a program called “Medicaid.” (More on that later if Rod Rosenstein prevails).

  

William C. Hughes, MSW

Former DMH Central Office MHC I