Are you a right wing nut?
Trotsky tard?
Apolitical sociopath?
01.24.2019
Dear Rabbi:
The need on my end is HOUSING, for how many
years? Too many, and the embarrassment of it in the supposed place of my birth
is not the topic. There have been too many unproductive trips to Los Angeles
over screenplays that are far better than the works of Rupert Hughes. Thus, my
troubles are not about money, they are over royal genes, so let’s skip Lucy
Horton Henderson and the statements of Felix Turner Hughes. Instead, why not get down to receiving more death
threats while trying to help others? Sorry, this is my type of “work” on only a
$535 per month pension that was earned through hard work for the State of
Missouri.
The cold approach to JCC I won’t try out of
safety concerns, so here is the background to my call and material dating back
to my time as a mental health case manager for two Jewish men with great
wealth. First, some editorials. In my opinion, your legal system in the U.S. is
slowly breaking down to where wealthy “big fish” can simply gobble up the assets
of smaller fish with sufficient trickery and legal firepower. Lawyers? Almost
all are corrupted souls, but basic research told me my entire family took a J.D.
and practiced law. This retrospectively explained the jaws dropping at a
Lindenwood College “Law School Day” for recruitment in 1977. The debate about what
I call “lying” has continued to include by 2013 advice from a $800 per hour LA
legal suite. Current events? Rod Rosenstein is too smart for his own good, and
Bob Mueller, as the right alleges, is indeed a crafty “dirty cop.”
I told Sandy that both crime and danger
negates the mental health law on confidentiality, but to start I will use
initials for the victims. Please, do not suggest I call a police agency, because
everywhere in this nation they seem to: A). Already know of the material, and
B). Have been corrupted by graft to do nothing about it. My movie career was a
$1,500 retainer away last September and the literary Intellectual Property
lawyer wanted $3,500 to find a home for my national security book. Today, my
situation has become so dangerous, I’d feel vastly safer in Cuba or an unstable
Venezuela than Ladue, Missouri! Why? Both nations, and most famously Iran sent emissaries
when I was “stranded” in California. The Jet Propulsion Lab (JPL) would also
like to deny their discussions with me, but they took place. You would think I’d
have cell phone service as recommended by one of their scientists by now, but
this has not happened. My problem? A “stewpot” of royal genes in one body, and
where is the DNA test? “Chain of custody” on DNA is not assured by postal mail
or FedEx, so that is not the way to end this, nor is my untimely murder sought
my many.
H.B. had a mess of a home in University City.
He was mysteriously allowed to have over $60,000 on hand yet still had active
Medicaid. This raised by eyebrows, as did his parents’ upstairs bedroom I dared
to enter. Musty and untouched since his father died and mom was placed in a
skilled nursing home, I saw the old world photos and Hebrew books but retreated
lest something be damaged. The room, because of H.B.’s mental issues had been
left undisturbed. One of my hallmarks as a community worker was a “No hospital
unless dangerous” policy so I will never forget the previous case manager on
the porch with H.B.’s medical chart in her arms. “This man needs State Hospital”
she said. Why? TO GET TO THE HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS IN GOLD. This gold made it
out of Nazi Germany only to be taken by a Saint Louis lawyer who needs a real “rendition,”
or maybe the U.K. authorities would cooperate, given where I am from.
One of my first calls when the dial tone
was heard on Michigan Avenue in the place I call “Tony Brown’s Mafia House” was
to call “R.M.,” the lawyer in this case only to find the practice closed. His younger
female assistant, “R.C.” is related to a Saint Louis sports personality who I
am sure has “no idea” where his sister went with the gold. I happen to know
where they went, and as for what cheapie informant told me, I do not recall.
This saga gets better because that same
year I was at the now bizarrely razed to be replaced Midtown branch of the
Saint Louis County Library on the public computer when I looked up and saw H.B.’s
sister J.A.B. standing behind me. This is a “nonverbal” message in many circles
where I do not travel. She was seen there a second time as I printed and sent
futile postal mail. At one point this library because so undisciplined and full
of noise I angrily told a woman at the circulation desk, “I am never coming
back here” but eventually I did. I was also not invited to form a committee and
“protest” the destruction of what I considered a classic building and “ultra-modern”
parking garage.
This is crucial because J.A.B. stays at a
boarding home, or as it is officially known a “Residential Care Facility” (RCF).
I had one face-to-face meeting with her as H.B.’s case manager and sh quite
logically said, “”he’s a poor housekeeper” which you would consider the biggest
understatement in the history of University City if you fought the battles I
did. I insisted H.B. run a vacuum, exterminate mice, flush the toilet, and toss
our rotten food. He was this spoiled about keeping house because mom did
everything, as it should be in an orthodox Jewish family. I innocently went to
see his Rabbi and was turned away as if I had tried to see President Clinton.
Later, H.B. decided he was more of a “liberal”
and drove out to see Rabbi Stiffman at 20 m.p.h. all the way out Clayton Road.
I was pleased with the speed but not the use of the car which I could not
prohibit. Later, he began to take cabs and regularly “hit up” his Rabbi for a $20
bill that covered the fare. This practice I asked him to stop, given H.B.’s large
post office retirement check and cash on hand. I think it is incumbent upon the
rabbi’s successor to help me sort this one out, because if the family wealth
was great, it should not be carted off to foreign lands by a crooked lawyer, I
think we can agree. The bottom like here, as with the previous case, is that I’d
be happy to argue in court all day to convince a judge that J.A.B. is legally
competent, but did not receive a penny of the family capital, much like me. For
the unschooled, it is quite a leap from a diagnosis of depression or even
alleged “schizophrenia” to legal incompetence. I served many happy clients with
schizophrenia who had driver’s licenses, worked jobs, signed leases, paid all
of their bills, and raised children competently. My clients who had guardians
truly needed them and largely sat and smoked cigarettes all day. Read Out of Bedlam by Ann Braden Johnson for
more details on the devotion to coffee and tobacco that is typically part of
this illness. My books and screenplays were suppressed because my political
claim is simple: “Nazis won the war” and you’d better listen to me. The Executive
Branch “police action” wars in Vietnam and twice in Iraq were nto real wars,
because WWII never ended. I’ve met people who hate Catholics, so I think we
need to talk this mess over in-person soon. I see great urgency given I have
also been called “A fucking Jew” and therefore been on the receiving end of
rocks, bottles, cans, and paintballs. I was not hallucinating assault rifle
fire in my old neighborhood, and you’d better realize the police do not care.
C.G. lived in a condo I was stunned to be
reminded of by riding the perpetual hassle #94 bus westward to the Starbucks
where about 13 years ago the entire movie brain trust for Herbie Fully Loaded sat and tried to get my attention. The crew
later made me late for work in Granite City by blocking the road near Mid
America Raceway. I drove home from Westport in my later wrecked by Homeland
terrorists vehicle and used a search engine for the name “Lindsay Lohan.” I now
keep up with the Disney stars who stared at me in the 605 E. Janss Road
Starbucks when I did not know who they were, but I did recognize Lindsay. The
rest of my saga is not germane to huge diamonds being cut in a condo after this
family of two moved out of a University City apartment off Olive. Addresses
unlock many “secrets” from public records I have discovered.
C.G. did not abuse drugs but had something
of a “sex addiction” that found him in the company of prostitutes who he bought
gifts for and swore were serious “girlfriends.” My psychotherapeutic skill
found me saying, “No, they are hookers” and off to the psychiatrist we went
when C.G. had a car—a Ford Contour he boasted was “fast” as I wondered with dad
if he should be driving it to another shabby motel to meet a new “girlfriend.” In
my view, the problem was garden variety Jewish male depression and anxiety, not
so much a serious mental illness. Therefore, I’d bet the farm his doctor does
not call me back. His dad at 80 something years of age bluntly said, “My son is
an idiot” and that term is not psychiatric. I joked with my coworkers about
saying, “Look, it’s Spiderman!” and pocketing a diamond so big you may think I
am lying, but I am not. Mr. G’s reasoning was that he was both getting old and
less likely to be robbed or hassled working on diamond cutting out of his
residence as compared to a shop. My late dad was simultaneously running what
was left of his trade association from an apartment, but I do not think I ever
mentioned this to him.
I conferred with my supervisor KATHY MORGAN
and later ROB NOVAK about this case, and both are unfindable without transportation
in a vehicle because, as another prostitute said recently, “You have to knock
on the door.” This speaks to the oddly “covert” activities of nearly everyone I
have ever known and calls to mind a comment made by my late dad who said, “Who
are these clients of yours?” In the movies we see diamond cutters in the back
of a limousine with bad guys, but I do not think Mr. G was in that line of
business. My treatment plans drawn up for C.G. are much like my own files I
created as a Mental Health Coordinator and the family vital records in that I
can’t seem to gain access without some HELP.
As I recall, the treatment objectives for C.G.
were to access all he needed independently, and my tonic was always for the
client to find a job. It is obvious in this case with tens of millions of dollars
in diamonds at home why C.G. did not find employment. His father had asked me
about the process of Guardianship, so it is possible a relative I was never
told of took on this task. If, however, the case ended up with the Saint Louis
County Public Administrator, the roads are being salted today with money from
the “cut” of such assets the county is allowed to take if C.G. was found to be
legally incompetent. In my many mental
health professional roles, it was a truism that guardians are difficult to have
appointed in Eastern Missouri circuit courts, and nearly impossible to replace
if they behave irresponsibly. I realized in real-time Mr. G could be walking
into a trap that would remove his wealth from the family, but a job change took
me off this case.
In my professional opinion, if nothing
changed about C.G.’s illness, he is not legally incompetent if alive today.
If deceased, where did the money go? I am not writing another screenplay or
mystery novel. This is more than enough money to trigger a murder that of
course would be made to look like an “accident.” In my case, no one has ever
heard of “toxicology” or the commandment that says, “Thou shalt not kill.” In
the “Information Age” I can find out very little, and much of what I was told
while in California is deemed “secret” by many. Am I trapped in a horrible homeless
shelter until someone hears a story about Hughes Aircraft man Ken C.? For God’s
sake, you can all look at his wife’s website and wonder why she sent me links
by e-mail about OIL. Hughes Tool Company was my company to claim—end of story,
and this has to be proven.
Thanks,
