3 Americas 06 42 Days in Bob Hermann Monster’s Isolation Dungeon and the Coerced Plea Bargain” (and why the State made sure mind-control victim, Jeremy Christian, would never get a fair trial by appointing “Gregory Troll” as his mumbling, bumbling, attorney)

THIS CHAPTER IS ABOUT OUR PRISONS AND JAILS
AND HOW AMERICA TODAY GETS AWAY WITH,
TORTURING AND MURDERING POOR AMERICANS!!!

(Last updated: October 25, 2020)
3 AMERICAS:
42 Days In “Bob Hermann Monster’s Isolation Bubble
And The Coerced Plea Bargain
by DR Wolfe

{As I continue a full revision, this is one of the new chapters from my revised autobiography, “3 Americas”.}

(Includes strong language.)

PART ONE:
Had I known, I would have taken a moment to eat something and drink some water that morning before the cops showed up to arrest me. but my wife never said a word. When we talked about the grand jury, she never said anything inditing me for a Measure 11 Offense, which is Oregon’s version of a mandatory minimum sentence.

At the time, I was subsisting on $700 social security and about $100 food stamps per month. As if they knew, a quarter-million dollar bail, for allegedly “touching my almost eleven-year-old step-daughter’s breast in a sexual manner”, was well beyond my means-

As it happened, I hadn’t ate or drank anything since about 8:00 p.m. the night before, when Beaverton Detectives Dennis Marley and Eric Oaes showed up at my door.

Curiously, just seconds before they showed up at my door Christel woke me up with a phone call, which was extremely coincidental. Especially since she had lied to me the previous Thursday evening when I asked her if I had been indited by the Washington County Grand Jury on December 30th, 2004. this was the last day the grand jury would meet, before a new, and less familiar, grand jury would be formed.

But there has been a lot of strange coincidences in my case (in my set up). For example.

The day after Thanksgiving in November of 2004, I was referred to an attorney named Bob Herd. I briefly explained my situation to Mr. Herd over the phone, including that I had no money or income besides Social Security. Despite this, he insisted I come out to Hillsboro and said, “we’ll talk about your case”.

I spent almost an hour and unburdened myself to who I thought was going to be my lawyer (after all why else would he need to see me in person).

One of the things he did tell me that stuck in my mind was that Oregon and one other state [Louisiana] did not require a unanimous jury to convict in a felony case.

I was already well-acquainted with the bigotry throughout Oregon against the disabled, and other minorities.

I once heard a guy from the local sports talk station say, “Brett Boone ought to be a paraplegic” after he missed a couple ground balls. And when I send an E mail to the local Saturday sports show, “the Rookies”, one of the other guys said on air, “Look Gavin, there’s some pissed off guy in a wheelchair who’s mad at you.” He said, “Get a life buddy!”

I remember thinking, it would be very difficult to convince three people, when it would only be my word against a pretty teenage girl about what happened three years earlier.

So, too my surprise, Mr. Heard requested a $5,000 retainer.

I told him once again, “I have no money Mr. Herd”. He then said he couldn’t take the case. That’s when I heard a person behind the flim-flam card board divider. I figured out by then this wasn’t Mr. Heard’s regular Office, but some kind of call center with thin card board dividers between each desk. But this is where he told me to meet him.

Apparently, the office was closed for Thanksgiving Holiday, and Mr. Heard, and a friend (maybe from the DA’s Office), used the space to carry out their nefarious plan.

He probably should have been disbarred for pulling this stunt, but that’s not how it works in Oregon.

He added, “I just have too many clients at this time to take any pro bono cases.” I wondered why he didn’t say this over the phone and save me a two and a half hour bus/train ride in the rain? I just assumed we would sign some papers, and that’s why he needed to see me in person.

But he could have just as likely suckered me into coming out there, to spill my guts to give his friends from the Washington County District Attorneys Office, where he apparently worked for thirteen years, A substantial advantage. At that time, there was no record of the proceedings, and the prosecutor can say anything he wants to a grand jury, meeting in secret. Including having Mr. Heard testify against me.

Mr. heard may have never actually stopped working for the DA’s office — pretending to be a criminal defense attorney to unsuspecting indigent clients? Maybe our meeting was nothing more than a farce to help one of Bob Hermann’s friends, who may have been having an affair with my wife, as I’ll explain?

Then again, I was dumb enough back then to believe Christel and I were working on our marriage while temporarily maintaining separate residents.

A few years later, Robert Herd ended up being selected by the governor to serve out a term on the Circuit Court in Clackamas County. This is a de facto lifetime position since circuit judges almost always run unopposed.

Coincidentally, this is the same county where we lived and where Herd was appointed to the same court where one of my wife’s close friends, Circuit Judge Douglas Victor van Dyk, was serving. As a note, Judge van Dyk had practiced labor law in Washington County and probably knew Bob Herd and Greg Olson very well.

As I describe in another chapter (“A Pearl Necklace for Christmas”), Judge van Dyk would often bring his adopted, mentally-challenged daughter over to my wife’s apartment in West Linn for “visits”….and always, always leave his wife, “Mrs. van Dyk”, at home–

As a result of my wife’s deception, I never had a chance to eat anything or drink any water before I was taken away early that January 6th morning in 2005 from my Lake Oswego apartment by Marley and Oaes.

The two cups of coffee Detective Marley was so kind to bring me while I sat in a cell in the Beaverton jail, waiting to be transferred to the county facility, only served to dehydrate me a little quicker.

So as it worked out, other than the coffee, I didn’t have any food or water for over twenty-four hours until late that evening, as you can probably tell from the second mug shot they took that day…which they waited until sometime that evening to take (when I was feeling at my worst).

In fact, if you look at the mug shot Marley took while I was in the Beaverton Jail that morning and compare it to the one they took later that evening it should be obvious as to why they might have conspired to stress me out as much as possible before getting the mug shot they wanted.

The strategy is that, every dirty trick is used to make another trick possible. Intentionally dehydrating people is not only a strategy, some Washington County inmates have died because of it–

I soon learned Inmates are given a cup of this nasty, sugary liquid with every meal. Not just Washington County, this is done by many jurisdictions throughout the country to reach the inmate’s daily required caloric intake, without giving them actual food.

The recommended daily caloric amount, which Washington County jailers are intentionally manipulating, is intended to reflect the necessary daily intake of food the human body needs to function properly (so they can assist in their own defense).

And if an inmate should try to take their paper cup back to their cell, or keep it in their cells in the general medical unit, for a little water, it is quickly seized by the guard. They are told “you need a doctor’s note to have a paper cup in your cell (for water).”

While it’s true, everyone knows the paper cup would make an excellent weapon, the real purpose in having the deputies take the paper cups out of the cells is to keep the inmates dehydrated, which causes the brain to function at a lower level. And for someone who is coming off hard drugs, or who may have a physical or mental impairment, the effect of this sadistic practice is substantially more injurious.

Obviously, this is extremely beneficial to the county prosecutor’s ultimate goal — obtaining a plea bargain from every accused indigent defendant in Washington County.

The rule is never take a case to trial unless they know for sure the “public persecution” makes the prosecutors and cops look really good. If my case had gone to court, I suspect they would have been in big, big trouble.

I believe this is how they murdered Madaline Pitkin in 2014, in which the Pitkin family settled out of court for ten million dollars in damages, far less then they deserved.

By allowing Madaline to become so dehydrated from drinking this sugar crap, which probably tasted good to her at the time and temporarily made her feel better.

However, much like being stranded at sea and drinking salt water, the sugar water very quickly becomes an enemy of the body which is screaming for fresh water. The result is, first the brain, and then the body, slowly begin to shut down.

In their own reports, the Washington County deputies stated they knew Madaline was extremely dehydrated. For nine days the deputies allowed her condition to worsen, as she drank the sugar water. They were the only ones who had access to her cell and should have taken her to the hospital and got her on an IV once she was unable to keep any food or liquid down.

Yet the Washington County Sheriff, Pat Garrett, blamed the medical staff in order to protect the county’s liability in a wrongful death suit filed by the Pitkin family.

However, Sheriff Garrett’s deputies didn’t need any one’s permission to call an ambulance for Madaline and order that she be transported to the hospital. In their reports, the deputies admitted they knew for days Madaline Pitkin was not eating or drinking anything, and vomiting up anything she ingested.

Ironically, it was one of the nurses who eventually ended up getting me some food and water that first day. The deputies, who walked directly in front of me dozens and dozens of times, never once asked if I was okay, or needed any food, or water…which is why I know they negligently, and even perhaps maliciously, murdered Madaline. And I have no doubt, serving her that disgusting sugar water with every meal attributed to her early demise.

The truth is , cops don’t care anything about anyone who is poor or unattractive, or who appears to be “defective”.

As I sat there all day waiting to be processed, I wondered whether Marley and Oaes had the right to snatch me from another county? There were no Lake Oswego Police Officers or Clackamas Sheriff Deputies present to oversee the arrest of a dangerous Measure 11 suspect.

Would if I had resisted arrest and were killed in the process? It seemed kind of reckless to charge a person with a Measure Eleven crime and not have any local law enforcement officers there to witness the arrest.

Also, did Marley and Oaes have a right or legitimate reason to take me to the Beaverton Jail first, which delayed my being processed by Washington County until late that evening? Why did Marley need to take that first mug shot?

Besides never being given food or water that first day, the guards never spoke to me about what was happening. I kind of remember being told several times by the extremely unfriendly Washington County Sheriff Deputies, “sit up straight!” But they never said anything else to me.

Pretty much, that whole first day in the jail is still a blurry spot in my memory. I was in this kind of state of psychological shock not believing what was happening, and thinking someone would come along any minute and straighten it all out, and I would go home, but no one ever did.

I spent about ten or twelve hours in one or another of those uncomfortable plastic chairs you find in the bus station, waiting to be “processed”, they said. None of it seemed real; time seemed meaningless.

Apparently, an inmate had come around with a cart and handed out bags of food and drinks for lunch and dinner, but didn’t know I was blind and so assumed I didn’t want anything since I didn’t raise my hand, like everyone else. Although, as I think back, the fact that I was wearing the dark glasses would seem like a pretty good clue, I suppose, but maybe not since I often move my head around to listen to what’s going on–

But it does prove how very little Marley, Oaes, or the Washington County Deputies cared about making sure a person who was completely blind, partially deaf, and under their custody had something to eat or drink. And it does prove how little they care about any of the people under their scope and control, like Madaline.

I learned later, a few inmates were selected to be trusties. This way, they were allowed out of their cells for a few hours each day and assigned to pass out meals. If they wanted to keep this privilege, they were specifically instructed to never fraternize with any other inmates while working (for no pay).

If I had my white cane with me, the trusties would have known I was blind and made sure I got something to eat. This would have never happened — being denied food or water all day.

And since wheelchair users were allowed to keep their chairs, it seems discriminatory to have taken away my mobility device since it place me at an even greater risk of being injured or assaulted (for accidentally bumping into another inmate).

And wearing the dark glasses, they let me keep, may have only infuriated some of the inmates who may not have realized I was blind.

Yet both “my” attorney and two circuit judges, along with the prosecutors, ignored my petition for habeas corpus, as I describe below.

By taking away my white cane, along with not allowing me to verbally communicate with any of the other inmates, they violated my civil rights as a blind person who was also partially deaf, and failed to exercise any sort of due care with regard to my health and safety.

So, if you can try to imagine going through all of this as a blind person, with a significant hearing loss, you would have to agree that it would be both extremely traumatic and intimidating.

I believe this is all part of a ‘vast conspiracy’ to coerce all poor accused defendants in Washington County to accept the persecutors dirty plea deals, even if a few “expendable” inmates, like Madaline, have to die to keep the machine running–

I remember one thing that really freaked me out about the deputies, and made me wonder if I would ever leave that place alive.

When I was about fourteen or fifteen and living in Lansing, I learned the hard way to never trust the police. Bill Bonsky, a friend of my brother’s, and I were walking back on campus from the store at the school for the blind. Some cop stopped us in the parking lot behind the school cafeteria and searched us.

We were definitely on school property, so he should have called the campus security, who knew both of us, before conducting a search. I was clearly a minor, and he knew it.

The cop claimed he saw me getting drugs from “that black guy”, as he put it. It was another partly blind student named Lee McDonald.

I write more about Lee and our track team in another chapter, which got to travel across the midwest and compete against other blind schools.

Lee was around seventeen and stood about six-foot-four. He was solid muscle, and you could almost feel the ground shake when he laughed, which he did a lot.

Other than maybe Barry White, no one had a deeper voice than Lee McDonald.

Like a lot of guys who were blind, he had this way of leaning into you when he spoke. And then he would gently tap you on the shoulder or arm with his knuckles the whole time, while he was talking. And if he was real excited about something, he would instead start tapping the top of your head with his knuckles…very gently of course, while he was talking–

I was barely five foot tall and weighed less than ninety pounds. And it was kind of like looking up at this massive mountain that was towering over me.

However, as everyone who knows Lee knows, Lee McDonald was one of the friendliest kids around the school, and one of our best athletes, lettering in both wrestling and track and field during the 1970’s.

I’m pretty sure Lee holds the all-time school record in the men’s restricted high jump. Lee McDonald, along with Ed Chapman, also held the school record in the tandem mile, at least for awhile.

This one time during track practice, when I was still wrestling at 88 lbs. and Lee McDonald was wrestling light heavy weight, he had me stand in front of the high jump bar and then jumped right over the top of me. Everyone thought that was so funny, except maybe me. I kind of freaked out at first, Looking up and seeing this mountain flying over.

But to this cop he was just another black drug dealer. preying on this little white kid.

So if you didn’t know him, and you were a paranoid cop, maybe his behavior and appearance would come across like he was some sort of “street thug” who was literally pushing drugs to some little white kid from the blind school outside the local convenience store.

So maybe the cop thought he was going to be the hero that evening…or maybe he just had a thing for young white boys with pretty blue eyes? He never searched Bonsky that way, sticking his hand down his pants and looking around.

But after all, it was Lansing, Michigan, and we were just a few blocks from the capitol building and the governor’s mansion…

Bonsky and I both told the cop “He [Lee McDonald] didn’t give us anything!” But cops only hear what they want, and to them everything else is a lie.

So then this pervert cop made me unbutton and unzip my pants, and like most kids I did what I was told by the adult. Then all the sudden he stuck his hand down my pants and started groping my balls, pretending like he was looking for drugs. I freaked out…but couldn’t say anything!

Obviously, he didn’t find anything. But what really pissed me off about this, was that I was too dumb or scared at the time to realize I had just been sexually assaulted by a sick cop! Bonsky said he saw everything, but I didn’t have the courage to tell.

I was suddenly awaken late that afternoon from this sort of trance I was in, when I heard the news come on. All day the television was too low for me to hear, and they answered no in a way that made me never think about asking again when I once asked if they could turn up the volume.

But I remember being startled wide-awake that day when the evening news came on and they turned up the sound so loud that it was blasting from across the room. Despite my hearing loss, I could hear every word being spoken.

The first thing I thought was that they would say my name aloud and show my picture on the evening news, and then everyone in that room would immediately assume the worst of me, being an accused “child molester”. Let me tell you, it was a frightening moment. As I waited, I could hardly breathe.

I imagined someone behind me, seeing the news and thinking to himself:

“I see you, sitting there hiding behind your shades, looking all cool and smug. But I know what you did motherfucker, and I’m gonna make you pay for it motherfucker!”

I believe suddenly turning up the television really loud like that when the news comes on is just another intentional way to intimidate Washington County’s poor and disabled accused defendants into agreeing to an unjust plea bargain, just to get out of there.

Almost every inmate was probably thinking the exact same as me, in horror. Especially since it had been so quiet all day, then all at once, as if to intentionally traumatize our subconscious, a loud speaker began blaring random announcements about the latest alleged criminals who have been arrested in Washington County! It seems pretty reckless for the deputies to expose an inmate who is being featured on the ruthless, corporate news to any possible righteous vigilantes who may be among us.

Sometime that evening during the news, I heard Several of the deputies began joking aloud about some former-inmate named Rick that apparently they all knew very well. According to the news broadcaster Rick was found dead that morning. While I don’t remember hearing exactly how he died, I do remember the deputies thought it was really funny that he was dead.

Some time later that night one of the nurses gave me something for my headache and a glass of water. But that was the first time that I had had any water since the night before. I asked when we would be taken to the cafeteria for dinner since I was starting to get really, really hungry, and she kind of laughed, and said she would see what she could do about eating.

It wasn’t until some time around 11:00 p.m., after I got a shower, a rectal search, and a set of orange jumpers to wear, before I ate anything. I remember I was handed a sack lunch just before being taken to a cell (in Bob Hermann’s Isolation Dungeon).

I suspect, the Washington County Jail tries to intentionally stress out everyone they arrest as much as possible, on behalf of the county’s DA, Robert W. Hermann, to get them to take a plea bargain rather then forcing the county prosecutors to prove their embellished charges in every case, as it should be.

For example, they create the worse mug shot possible for every accused defendant then use it to embarrass the accused defendant on the evening news. And some friend of Lisa Loving, whose local magazine features the mug shots of people not yet convicted of a crime. Which would obviously prejudice many of those who would be among the county’s prospective jury pool.

This way, the cops could always use the ugly mug shot again later, if needed, by showing it to all of the most vindictive neighbors, as they have often done with me…

Along with a couple other inmates, I was eventually walked out of the main waiting room where I had been all day and felt kind of relieved. I had no idea I was being taken to the jail’s most isolated area located off the medical unit, where there would be no fresh air, and no opportunity to exercise, and almost no opportunity to be with any other people. I was being put into solitary confinement, even though I didn’t know it at the time.

Make no mistake, I broke absolutely no rules to justify this punishment. I did everything I was told, but not ever again…

The county sort no qualified expert to advise them as to how an accused defendant who was completely blind, with a substantial hearing impairment, would react under these horrific circumstances. Or maybe they knew exactly how it would effect me, and my constitutional right to assist in my own defense.

But even my own lawyer cared nothing, never answering the phone when I called from the jail, and ignoring most of my voice messages.

Based on the well-documented history of Bob Hermann and his DDA’s attitude toward those with disabilities, apparently having any sort of “defect” was crime enough to justify what they did to me…and what they’ve done to many, many other indigent defendants in Washington County–

So maybe they thought they were protecting me from other inmates, based on an incident that occurred when I first arrived.

I recall, when I was first brought into a small room off the main jail by Detective Marley, where they made me empty my pockets and hand over my belt and shoes, I asked to use the bathroom.

The guard made me leave the door open, and when I sat down to urinate I heard one of the deputies who walked by the open door say, “Looks like we got us another one of those.” Then I heard another deputy, the one who had led me to the bathroom, chuckle.

So maybe that’s why they locked me up in solitary, so that none of the other inmates would be able to hurt someone they thought was a “gay” guy who is blind?

For the first couple weeks – for over twenty-three and one half hours per day – I was kept alone in a 8-by-5 foot cement room in the lock-down, “Isolation Bubble”. This five cell area is apparently where they were supposed to be keeping the severely mentally ill and the ones they thought were extremely dangerous, and anyone coming down off hard drugs, like Madaline Pitkin.

While I had used marijuana, medically, most of my life, I had only occasionally used any kind of “hard drugs”, and it had been many years ago.

However, using medical marijuana may have been their excuse for putting me into ‘Bob Hermann’s Dungeon’. It is well known among the MMJ community, I moved to Oregon in 1998 to specifically campaigned for the reform of medical marijuana laws.

So, some days I never got a minute out of the cell, and a few of those days I got no more than ten or fifteen minutes out.

“Would you rather take a shower or make a phone call?” They would ask.

The “isolation dungeon”, as I began calling it, was segregated by a thick metal door from the general Medical Unit. All of the cells also had thick metal doors and faced each other. When the doors would slam in succession it sounded like something out of that opening scene from that old television show, “Get Smart”-

As by design, the cement walls and floors made every sound echo and reverberate, exponentially. What turned out to be the worse, was that the stainless steel toilets were connected through the wall and were perfect targets for kicking.

The screaming and pounding never stopped. When one crazed inmate would fall asleep after eight or ten hours of yelling and pounding, on the wall, door, and toilet, another would start up. And when I asked the guards if they would please make them stop, they would say, ‘We’re doing something about it’ or they would ignore me, or in one case, tell me to just, “shut up!”

I did not learn until May of 2007, when they arrested me again for an alleged ‘probation violation’, ironically just three days prior to my custody trial, that the Washington County Jail had a ‘Special Needs Pod’ [Pod 7].

It’s very possible the special needs pod was not created until after my original incarceration in 2005. Which means they knew they had discriminated against me.

I was very outspoken to my assigned therapist, Johneen Manno-Verbeck, and others about what I felt was an extremely abusive experience, especially for a person who was severely disabled and presumably ‘innocent until proven guilty’.

If they created an entire “special needs pod” based on my letters, and my statements to Johneen and my P.O., this meant they knew that they had mistreated me in their effort to obtain a coerced plea bargain rather than taking the case to trial.

I knew after 2007, having access to fresh air and an exercise area, along with spending the day around other inmates with disabilities, who make up almost half of Oregon’s incarcerated population, would have made a big difference.

I can say without doubt I would have never agreed to any sort of plea bargain for my role in what actually happened that would have made me a convicted felon, and a registered sex offender, for life!

While in the isolation dungeon in 2005, I asked several of the guards if I could possibly have a small portable radio or my talking book machine to help distract from the growing madness I was feeling. I was told no by the pod’s commanding officer, Sergeant Brown, though other inmates were able to sort of watch television from their cells, and there was a full rack of printed books available which they could choose a book and take it back into their cell to read.

Not even my requests for a Braille bible to the three chaplains I met was ever granted, despite their repeated promises. After that, I focused on prayer and meditation and gave up talking to any of the chaplains, who seen to visit the jail every day, but I don’t know why–

The courts have said, one of the most basic rights one has while being incarcerated is the right to read and write. They may limit what you read, and stop you from sharing your writings, like in the case of Chelsea Manning, but just the act of being able to read the thoughts of others and express one’s own thoughts and feelings in writing is a fundamental part of being human, and feeling alive.

Clearly, being able to read or write anything, would have helped me to focus on my legal dilemma, and able to assist in my own defense. Presumably, a constitutional right in America for anyone who is determined to have mental capacity and who is charged with a crime…but which America was I now in, I began to ask myself?

Here’s another reason why I feel the public defender was probably assisting in the prosecutor’s, rather than defending me from these well-placed thugs, and who I believe are the real ones perverting our legal system in America.

Gregory Scholl could argue, his office, which has a constitution obligation to defend every indigent client who requests it when accused of a serious crime, is simply not being given the resources by the state to meet it’s legal obligation to its clients.

He could have argued, if he wanted to, ‘My client has a degree in both pre-law and political science from Georgia State University. He graduated with honors. This certified letter from last November to Robert Hermann and Dennis Marley clearly documents that he is qualified, and capable, of assisting in his own defense, given an opportunity.’

He could have went on to say, ‘And only by having access to his adaptive technology will my client be able to do this- This adaptive equipment is located in his home in Lake Oswego. So simply by placing an ankle bracelet on my client, surely the state would be capable of monitoring the movements and protecting the public safety from someone who is completely blind. Not to mention, who is also partially deaf!’

But “my lawyer” never made any of these arguments on behalf of his client, just stood there and mumbled like a well-coached idiot (or witness)…

Maybe that’s why the State picked him to misrepresent Jeremy Christian. During the closing arguments in the MAX stabbing case I listened to this same idiot mumbling away, and it infuriated me.

PART TWO:
From the time humans began gathering in small groups and living in shelters, and began to care for each other, it was common knowledge that providing some fresh air to a member of the clan who was feeling ill often helped speed up their recovery. Yet, those who are locked into the Medical Observation Unit or isolation bubble of the Washington County Jail are never given any fresh air or sunshine, unlike the inmates in the general population which has a small outside area for each pod.

Apparently, Bob Hermann, Pat Garrett or the former-Sheriff, Rob Gordon, never watched or read the story about the young Swiss girl, Heidi, who could barely walk. That is, until she was brought to the Swiss Alps and healed by the fresh mountain air.

Rather than being taking to the hospital, as she should have been, one day before she died, 26-year-old Madaline Pitkin was ironically moved into what I believe was the exact same cell in the isolation dungeon where I was first put by one of the indifferent Washington County deputy drones, “cell 21”.

Would Madaline be alive today if she had been able to get some fresh air and fresh water while she was withdrawing from heroin? I don’t know–

What I’m sure the county lawyers know now, is that during the last nine days of her life Madaline Pitkin needed to be put into a hospital, receiving fluids, intravenously, and not locked into the isolation dungeon, where they conveniently didn’t have to watch her die, or didn’t have to watch me being tortured.

The small enclosed yards are the only contact that many of the accused defendants will have with the outside world. While in these exercise areas, which are about ten-by-fifteen foot spaces, inmates often walk around the outside edge dozens and dozens and dozens of times, for exercise. While other inmates gather in the center of the small cemented area, talking and breathing deeply, staring at the sky and trying to catch a glimpse of the sun.

I was told the high walls and razer wire made this almost impossible, except for on the sunniest days when a radical ray of sunshine was able to slip past the dutiful deputies and find its way to one of the desperate, vitamin D depleted dangerous political prisoners.

Yet, curiously, the general medical unit provided no access to fresh air to those who needed it the most.

But here’s the real tragedy in Madaline’s death. In a federal decision from 1970 (Sinclair v. Henderson) the courts already decided this issue. In that case, Billy Wayne Sinclair, a jail house lawyer on death row in Louisiana, argued that prisoners on death row had a right to fresh air and an outdoor exercise area, like other inmates.

Sinclair was one of 409 inmates who had their death penalty vacated in 1972 by the Supreme Court, who ruled that the death penalty was unconstitutional. He killed a store clerk during a botched robbery in 1965. Unfortunately for Sinclair, he killed a popular former Louisiana high school football player, and the clerk’s teammates and family made sure Sinclair would spend the next forty years behind bars. Despite his complete remorse for the killing, and despite that he was considered to be one of the most reformed prisoners in the state, his parole was denied six times.

But what was a bigger problem for Sinclair was that, like me, he was a prolific whistleblower. In his autobiography, “A Life in the Balance”, Sinclair and his wife, Jody, tell how prison officials put a contract on him after he uncovered a “pay for parole” scandal that included the Louisiana governor, Edmond Edwards. Inmates had to pay $20,000 to be paroled. Twenty-two inmates took the offer, and only one didn’t.

As a result, the Pardons and Parole Board of Louisiana made sure Sinclair was not released until 2005. Sounds kind of like the Oregon Board of Pardons and Parole, doesn’t it?

So, why didn’t Washington County have to provide this same accommodation to people who were locked up in the Medical Unit, since the other inmates had an outdoor exercise area? If there were no outdoor area for anybody, then they could argue, “There isn’t enough space here at the Washington County Jail. But, if we ever build a new jail–”

This is because the Presiding Judge, Charlie Bailey, and most of the rest of the circuit judges from Washington County were recklessly indifferent to our suffering.

This included Circuit Judge Susan Upton, the wife of the Clackamas County DA, John Foote. And now maybe you’ll understand the conspiracy that took place in my persecution, and why. Judge Upton had to protect Clackamas County and Marylhurst University, and the Catholic Church, at all cost.

But we’ll talk about Mt. Angel and what was going on there in the next chapter, when I tell the reader about Libby Rascon and Kim Cooley.

The Isolation dungeon was worse than the general medical unit since the extra metal door made the air even more stale and harder to breathe. This was especially true during the colder months, when these particular cells, which were the most isolated, filled with a strong odor of chimney smoke from the neighborhood, causing most of the inmates to sleep with wool blankets pulled over their faces.

Unlike the general population, all of the inmates in the medical unit were almost always forced to eat in their cells, where there were no tables or chairs.

As a blind person, this made eating almost impossible. If you’re severely visually-impaired, you need both hands to eat. By holding the plastic spork with one hand we use the other hand, or a piece of bread if you have one, to guide the food into it. So rather than eating with your hands or just eating the food dropped on the floor, which was disgustingly dirty, often, i ended up laying on my stomach on the cement floor to eat.

This is when I realized the floor was covered with a layer of dirt and some sort of sticky stuff that I probably didn’t want to identify.

My request for cleaning materials was denied. I was told by Sergeant Brown that the Washington County Jail felt it wouldn’t be safe to let me clean my own cell, apparently because of my blindness.

Not surprisingly, no one else, including house keeping or any maid, ever came to clean it. Unless I wanted to use my only towel or the clothes I wore as cleaning rags, with a little water, I was forced to live under these unhealthy conditions for almost two weeks.

Then I found out a month later from my last cell mate that they always gave cleaning supplies to other inmates who asked, who weren’t blind. I was outraged by this blatant bigotry, but not surprised–

You see, I was encouraged as a boy from an early age to sit when I urinate, rather than spraying the bathroom with my urine, and marking my territory. So rather than having to constantly clean up the mess, as I was made to do, I decided long ago sitting down, like a girl, wasn’t so bad!

Since there were no toilet seats on the toilets that could be raised, its obvious the last inmate didn’t usually need to sit and probably cared nothing about missing the bowl, so my toilet was especially filthy…that is, until I agreed to take their coerced plea bargain to get out. Then suddenly, everything changed.

Truth is, I’ve never been the same after those first eleven or twelve days in Washington County’s isolation dungeon–

After about two or three days the continuous screaming and pounding coming from the cell next to mine and across the way began to make me feel like I was going crazy, just as they planned. I realize now, I was beginning to suffer from symptoms of PTSD, which before this I thought only soldiers exposed to battlefields ever got.

I know this, because after being released, I would jump at even the slightest loud noise, and would sometimes begin to shake or tremble for no reason. I found the medical marijuana has especially helped with this particular symptom of PTSD.

I have also discovered all sorts of little things, called triggers, would immediately get me into this fight or flight response, and I would sometimes go into a fit of rage over almost nothing. Of course, you only realize this after the fact.

Unfortunately, the treatment program I was forced to attend for almost two years was never intended to deal with any of these symptoms, which I realize now only made my condition worse.

So, by the end of the first week, I was starting to really lose it since I couldn’t ever sleep for more than a couple hours at a time, which made it impossible to think straight. What was happening was nothing like I had experienced before.

I had a couple “all-nighters” in college, working on a paper, but this was a whole different world — a world of intentionally induced, total madness.

I thought, one of the most basic rights in our American justice system is allowing every American to assist in their own defense, if at all possible. yet, as it seemed to be the intent of the Washington County Jail and the county prosecutors, I couldn’t think or focus any more on my situation, and how best to describe my side of the story. which was a very, very different story than Bob Hermann and Greg Olson were telling–

(See: “3 Americas, A pearl Necklace for Christmas”)
http://www.wolfeout.com

The only time in my life I had ever been in a jail, before this, was when I was nineteen. I remember, Tennessee John and me were leaving a minor league baseball game in Jacksonville, Florida, on a warm summer night. The team had won big, I remember that, so we were feeling pretty good.

I was holding on to John’s elbow because of my night blindness. Back then, I still had a little bit of what they called shadow vision, except at night, when I was completely blind.

When we got to the parking lot these two guys started heckling us, calling us “queers!” John, shook off my hand and headed toward one of them. He began yelling back at him, a moment later, the other guy, Scot something, who probably didn’t know I was blind, sucker-punched me square in the face!

Because of my many years of wrestling, I recovered quickly. A few seconds later, this guy, who was about a foot taller than me, ended up laying flat on his face, where I was holding him down, when the police showed up.

They proceeded to arrest John and me. And as usual, never bothered to ask how the fight got started. Just took the word of the girlfriend, who was talking hysterically.

Tennessee John and me ended up only spending a few hours in the “drunk” tank before we were released. When I appeared in court, I was told by a Jacksonville Judge my record would be completely expunged if I stayed out of trouble for the next ninety days, which I did.

Yet, the Washington County Public Pretender allowed the persecutors, and the court, to use this “previous conviction” against me in determining the final sentencing, as ‘provided for in the state guidelines’, he explained.

I slowly learn that this, along with almost everything else “my attorney” told me was a lie.

Even the Measure 11 Offense they filed against me was willfully misconstrued, and applied inappropriately in my case based on the facts. As like in almost cases involving the poor and under-educated, this was done to get me to both take a plea bargain that would include a class C felony and to substantially increase the unreasonable bail they demanded — a quarter of a million dollars!

I didn’t fully understand until two years later, when they arrested me on an alleged PV violation just three days prior to my custody trial in Eugene, that cost me my son.

The entire prosecution was a well-arranged “modern lynching” — a theatrical performance for the dumb blind guy who had been seriously misled about our American justice system, not to mention the anxious vigilantes (Many of whom I would be lucky enough to soon meet since I was no longer eligible to live in any sort of subsidized housing for the severely disabled).

Despite my written request, Scot Emerson and the Oregon BAR wouldn’t even bother to take a few minutes to investigate my allegation of Scholl’s obvious complicity in what they did to me, and are still doing to me–

Scholl, Marley, Olson and Heard all played me like a complete blind sucker, ironically, much like the Chicago mobsters played Ray Charles. Despite the inconvenience, Ray out smarted them and began insisting that he be paid for all of his performances in one dollar bills!

It was about four or five days after I was locked up. I was sitting in my cell doing nothing, as I did every minute of every day. The small speaker in the corner beeped, and then I heard a guard said “Your lawyer’s here to see you.” Only problem with this claim, was that he wasn’t my lawyer since I had no money to pay a lawyer.

As I eventually did, by February of 2010, my interests from the beginning would have been far better served by representing myself.

Even though I was placed on probation until February 16th, 2010, a Washington County Assistant District Attorney (and a crooked circuit judge) put out a warrant for me in January of 2010 because of the $860 I still owed.

I was told specifically by more than one probation officer this fee did not have to be paid in full until the date I was scheduled to complete my probation, on February 16th. I was told, being completely released from probation may depend on how much of this “debt” had been paid, and whether or not I had made formal arrangements to pay the remainder.

I had every intentions of meeting my financial obligation in full by the February 16th, 2010 deadline, and not one second sooner.

But the special relationship between the state judiciary and the District Attorneys Office in Washington County, where NIKI and Intell have their corporate headquarters, is no secret.

In 2008, I found a pic on the district attorneys web site which showed a picture of the former-Chief Justice Paul DeMuniz and Bob Hermann shaking hands (or at least, that’s what the caption said). Apparently making a deal, of some sort, and creating the “appearance of imprepriety” among those who would be compelled to visit the district attorneys web site–

In 2015, I got a chance to ask DeMuniz about this when he appeared on City Commissioner Jo Ann Hardesty show on KBOO Community Radio, called “Voices From the Edge.”

Apparently, during the show he texted somebody. Probably the Washington County District Attorneys Office.

Because, a while later he said it had been posted at the district attorneys web site in 2001, but just for a short time, apparently while he was a justice on the Court. This is impossible, because it specifically said “The Chief Justice Paul DeMuniz shaking hands with the District Attorney for Washington County, Robert W. (scumbag) Hermann.”

It is true, he was a justice on the Court beginning in 2001. However, his fellow justices did not select him to be Chief Justice until 2006.

DeMuniz also claimed that he had no idea that it was there . This may be true, and Hermann may have done it without his knowledge or consent.

Then how did he know this “marketing scheme” was only there for a short time, I wondered. I would hardly call seven or eight years, “a short time.”

I can’t say whether or not the last thing he said is true, although I have my doubts, I do know the first thing he said was a big lie. The picture had been posted, apparently, from 2001 until 2008, and maybe even longer.

Hermann wanted to make sure everybody knew that Bob and Paul, the future-Chief Justice of the State Supreme Court and a Republican hopeful for governor (at the time), had a very cosy relationship (in case anyone thought about appealing their criminal “convictions”).

He stepped down from the court in 2012. In November 2014, DeMuniz was hired by a group of Chicago-area academics who had won a contract to monitor the settlement of the United States v. City of Portland case. The agreement had been spurred by the brutal murder of James Chasse Jr by three Portland Police, including Officer Chris Humphreys.

After stomping on Chasse, and breaking more than a dozen ribs, he was put into the back of Humphreys patrol car and drove around for ninety minutes until he died. Two years later, Humphreys shot a twelve-year-old African-American girl with a bean bag rifle. When he was suspended, 650 Portland Police Officers put on “I am Chris Humphreys” t-shirts and marched in the street in support of Humphreys, one of the most vicious officers in the history of Portland.

After I called another time to talk about how the police marched through Portland with these highly offensive t-shirts, in 2015, Jo Ann Hardesty said, in response to my call.

“To that caller who called earlier, those were “Daryl Turner t-shirts, not Chris Humphreys t-shirts.” It seemed like an effort on her part to further confuse the public about Humphreys identity.

About a year later a regular caller, who clearly had some mental health issues, also named Jo Ann, called her show. Hardesty hung up and said, “Why don’t you have another cup of coffee Jo Ann, and call me back next week.”

The following week Jo Ann called back in and expressed her anger over being humiliated over the public air waves like that, on the “community” radio station. hardesty’s denied it, and responded, “I never said that Jo Ann.”

But in fact, she did say it, and I heard it. and it made me wonder who City Commissioner Jo Ann Hardesty was really representing? Clearly not the disabled.

Jo Ann would often call in and say one or two sentences, and quickly hang up. Commissioner Hardesty was usually understanding, and thanked her for the call. Some times her comments had nothing to do with the topic at hand, but we, the listeners, understood. It was a kind of theropy for Jo Ann.

However, Jo Ann, the caller, never called the show again after that one time. I don’t listen to KBOO any more, but I always wondered what happened to Jo Ann.

So back to the cabal out of Chicago and their sleazy agreement. Why would the City of Portland want to hire anybody from Chicago, given the level of police violence in that city, to fix our policing problem? Maybe there was some gender-impaired, Jewish connection in Portland, that influenced this hiring? What ever it was, it was a big mistake.

Unfortunately, as far as the disabled community goes, the Chicago group was led by a gender-impaired professor named Dennis Rosenbaum. Over the next several years, with DeMuniz’s help, he would make sure the settlement agreement would be sabotaged, despite it’s original stated intent — to help the disabled deal with the police.

And with Bob Junedeph, with Disability Rights Oregon, in their back pocket, and only one person out there from the disability community raising serious questions about the agreement, well…

Maybe the gender confused community [the “LGBQT Community”] does not like to consider themselves disabled, and that’s why they especially don’t like people with disabilities, unless of course, they are already gender-impaired.

But, doesn’t it impair a person’s natural desire to reproduce, naturally?

We know nature, or probably god too, makes mistakes. Not to say that being gender-impaired is necessarily a mistake, but today it is way to common in America to be just happenstance–

Obviously, it’s some type of impairment. In most cases, it’s not mental, we definitely know that. Although it must be difficult, psychologically speaking, to be gay or transgender. Even under the best circumstances.

And maybe it’s not entirely physical, but somewhere in between. Or, something else entirely. Just because you don’t know what causes a person’s impairment, doesn’t mean they are not disabled.

Like most disabilities, we really don’t know what causes this gender confusion, but it is becoming more and more prevalent. You can’t argue that. Although, the Gender-Impaired Community would argue that “People are just coming out of the closet.” I disagree, and the statistics would back me up.

The truth is, the gender-impaired community doesn’t want to be considered disabled, even though it’s true. And we’re supposed to believe, according to John Roberts and Neil Gorsuch, they are an entirely separate, new protected class of Americans, based on “gender” or “sex”, with more rights than other disabled people–

And all because of a preference, or a behavior, or choice they have made, willfully or not. Is that fair to other disabled Americans, Mr. Roberts?

Normally, in cases where the Americans with Disabilities act (ADA)is applied, there is a balancing of rights between the employer and employee. Since they didn’t apply the ADA, Mr. Roberts and Mr. Gorsuch must be arguing they, or it, is something different?.

I believe the truth is, that the gender-impaired Community is being used as a pawn by the wealthy class. That is, until they figure out they, like every one of us, have also been chemically altered by some of these corporations (and their products), and demand damages?

So, John Roberts and his corporate criminal friends have a lot to lose. And you can bet those damages will be in the tens, if not hundreds, of trillions of dollars, so the wealthy have much to lose. and maybe that’s why they don’t want to admit their products are responsible, so they get their corporate shill, John Roberts, to hide the truth about the cause of their impairment (and kiss their ass, until its too late and we’re all gender-impaired zombies).

With all due respect to Gretta Thunberg, I suspect, putting poisons in the body will kill us long before global warming ever does. It’s just another distraction from the rich and powerful, getting us (the goydumb) to chase our tails round and round, until we’re dead.

Despite the number of medical and technical advances, we are also seeing a rise in cancer, autism, and leukemia. What is the common thread?

As far as the ever-expanding Gender-Impaired Community, is it one or more of the vaccines that are doing this? According to a French study, the vaccines include mercury, aluminum, formaldehyde, and other dangerous byproducts. Along with being poisons these chemicals are all hormone disrupters. And what do you suppose that means? And what does it do to our bodies?

But they say, “It’s proprietary”, and Congress says it’s the corporations right to keep this information secret from us, the people.

At the same time, Congress has made it impossible to sue the pharmaceuticals directly for damages from almost all vaccines. The claim has to be filed with something called the “Vaccine Pool”, who rarely awards full compensation for the injuries they cause. So don’t be surprised if the coronavirus virus vaccine is going to be mandatory, if you want to eat.

Or maybe it’s something in the meat? We know it makes eight-year-old girls grow breast, which probably makes the wealthy pedophiles very happy. So maybe it also changes a person’s “gender preferences”.

Or, is it something else, like the micro-particles of plastic you find in every glass of water? The plastic acts like a magnet to any sort of toxin that is in the environment , and doesn’t release it until it is ingested by the organism, human or animal.

Fluoride is another toxin they are trying to put in our water. That’s why the toothpaste say, “WARNING: TOXIC, DO NOT SWALLOW!”

And that’s why many of us Portlanders stood up to keep this poison out of our water.

In 2012, the City Council voted 5-0 to put this horrible chemical in the water, at a cost of $500,000 per year. Normally, a company can spend up to five million dollars to dispose of this toxic waste.

Curiously, Intell was fined about a year later, for what? You’ll never guess. Dumping fluoride into the ground, and maybe that’s why the city needed to put it in the water, So no one would think it was a big deal when they learned about what Intell was doing..and what the City probably already knew–

However, the pressitutes did the job, and kept Intell’s “criminal activities” quiet…like they always do–

And it gets worse. A group of activists formed a committee to oppose the City, and began collecting signatures to put the measure on the spring ballot.

On a personal note, one day a friend of the Alpha Dopes’, “Kramer and Abrams Show”, began heckling me while I was collecting signatures at the Saturday Market, near the public fountain. Normally, I was collecting signatures down by the county courthouse, on 4th Street.

“Look at these losers, they have to get the blind to collect signatures for them!”

Despite the impossible odds of recalling or contesting anything they do, protected by rules that are made by the same dirty politicians, we got enough signatures to qualify for the ballot. In the spring of 2013, we, the people, would get to decide the issue.

However, the City’s highly corrupt Water Bureau began putting in the equipment to inject fluoride into the water, as if they were told the measure would fail, absolutely. It didn’t. The city voted overwhelmingly to reject fluoridated water. And today Portland is the only major city without this toxic chemical in the water.

But, If fluoride is also disrupting the hormonal balance in our bodies, you have to admit, it’s a great way to depopulate the world. That is, by reducing the desire to have heterosexual sex. Which will certainly reduce pregnancy, wanted or not.

The problem is that, most of the billionaires and trillionaires in this country are gender-impaired, or pedophile’s, or probably both. And maybe that’s why John Robets voted as he did, to promote their gender-fluid agenda, while also protecting their money. Essentially, he voted to make money equivalent to speech (in the Citizen United decision). This way, the rich can buy any election they want.

You may be surprised to know, but one of the wealthiest countries on earth is the Vatican. When Pope Benedict resigned, over financial discrepancies, he said it was a “homosexual cabal” that forced him out and took over the Catholic Church. As you can see, they have all but taken over America, thanks to Neil Gorsuch and John Roberts.

Make no mistake, it is the “want-to-be-rich” who are the most dangerous. There may not be many rich people, but they have a lot of “hired help” who will do absolutely anything, on both the left and right. Those who cause them a problem, end up dead like Jeff Epstein or Robert Maxwell, and we get some bullshit investigations.

You see, Jeff Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell’s real job was to get blackmail Evidence on our leaders for israel, who are almost all compromised. While the more trustworthy alternative media is ridiculed by the media for being “a seekerof the truth”, like Jesse Ventura. And we end up with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, and the Alpha Dopes’ Scot Robbins (tweedle dumber). And no good people want to run for office, so we get someone as corrupt as Ron Wyden defending the rights of homosexuals, as a separate protected class rather than Americans with disabilities, while taking away our First Amendment right to criticize Israel (who we all know did 9-11, although no one in the government or mainstream media will admit it, or they’ll lose their job, and maybe their life).

Here in third America, they give us these bullshit Consent Decrees, that mean nothing. And do absolutely nothing…except waste our precious time.

The question being asked by everyone at the time in Portland, why weren’t people of color included in the formal Consent Decree. Even if you wanted to help people with mental disabilities, having other groups, like people of color who are experienced in dealing with the deceitfulness of the police, would have made more sense.

There had already been at least two dozen suspicious killings in the last ten years by the police of unarmed citizens of color, not including those who were in custody at the time.

But this is happening everywhere to poor people, across America, being killed by the police, who are almost always found to have done nothing wrong. It’s a complete break down of our legal system, and it’s about time.

We need a separate state agency that does nothing except prosecute the police and correction officers for wrong doing. and this new state agency should be made up of lawyers who are criminal defense attorneys and public defenders, who have seen first-hand the level of corruption in our courts, with unlimited subpoena powers.

The horrific killing of Fouad Kaady, who was completely naked and obviously unarmed, when he was shot to death by Officer Willie Burgen of the Sandy Police Department and Clackamas County Deputy David Willard. Yet, these cops were never indicted for the crime, when the prima facie facts in the case prove it was nothing less than cold blooded murder.

But make no mistake, they killed Kaady because he was a dark-skinned man, and naked, and they had to protect the women of Clackamas County from “the creep”. Although if she could, Charlotte Grahm would probably tell you that the men who work at the Clackamas County Sheriff Department are the ones women should fear the most.

It didn’t matter what the circumstances were, in their dirty little minds, “naked guy” (and his “enormous manhood”) had to be put down, immediately.

As a young, aspiring Arab-American, Kaady was enrolled in the local junior college with big plans for the future. His car had run out of gas, so he borrowed his mom’s car and was on his way back with a can of fuel, when he lit a cigarette. He carelessly ignited the gasoline and set the car on fire.

Half out of his mind, he ripped off his burning clothes and started walking, and eventually sat down on the side of the road. When Deputy Willard and Officer Burgen found him, they ordered him to lay down on the hot pavement. Kaady ignored them, and just continued to sit there. Witnesses said he looked like he was in a “deep trance”.

When the paramedics arrived, they were unable to get to Kaady and treat his injuries, as police continued to bark orders. Then, to the horror of witnesses, the police began tasering the injred man.

Imagining he was being attacked by monsters, which wasn’t far from the truth, Kaady suddenly got up and ran to the nearest vehicle and climbed on its roof for protection. Unfortunately, it happened to be a patrol car…which conveniently had a shotgun left on its hood.

As I said, Kaady climbed on the roof of the patrol car, but didn’t reach for the gun. According to witnesses, as the officers approached he began screaming, incoherently. Despite posing no immediate threat to the officers, for no clear reason Deputy Willard gave the verbal command, “FIRE!”

Willard and Burgen immediately put nine bullets into Kaady, instantly killing him. And later, claimed they thought he was going for the gun, which, as I said, they conveniently left on the hood of the patrol car, as if it were bait.

So in light of the Kaady killing, we have to ask, why didn’t this settlement, negotiated by the Department of Justice, include any wrong doing committed by the police or local corrections officers against any person who was a member of a protected class? Since many of these killings took place in the suburbs of Portland, shouldn’t it have also included any incident that occurred in the complete tri-county area? Why didn’t it, we should ask ourselves?

Here’s one reason. The killing of George Floyd was done by using a restraint maneuver that was taught to the Minneapolis Police, and most of the police departments in America, by the IDS (Israel Death Squads). So who is responsible for sending our American police to Israel to learn how to brutally kill us, and get away with it?

You guessed right, if you said the ADL, also sometimes known as the “Anti-Defecation League”. And Starbucks wants to hire these sick bastards to teach “sensitivity training”?

I wrote about this in great detail in another chapter, but it’s worth saying again in light of the George Floyd killing. The ADL was first founded in 1915 to sway public opinion and eventually overturn the 1914 conviction of Leo Frank, before his death sentence would be carried out.

Frank was the manager of a pencil factory who strangled a thirteen-year-old girl, then raped her dead body. A year earlier, Frank had raped another girl, a twelve-year-old employee, who was sent away to relatives to have the baby. Her family, with no wealth or power, were too embarrassed to pursue charges, because they knew Frank’s Jewish influential friends would try to blame their daughter, calling her a slut. Just as they would do to Mary Phagen, after her murder.

Frank’s Jewish lawyers, Rosser and Arnold, tried to blame, not just one black man, but eventually two different black men for the murder. And they weren’t even claiming that the two men were working together. But when one story didn’t work blaming a black man, they tried the other story, blaming the other black man. And a hundred years later, they’re still trying to blame one of these black men for what Leo Frank did!

When the governor of Georgia, Governor Slaton, granted a commutation days before his retirement, the community was outraged. They were outraged because the governor of Georgia took what was more or less a bride — he was offered a lucrative position with Rosser and Arnold. However, a group of prominent citizens promptly went to the jail and hung Frank, as the well-informed jury instructed. Not only did the jury, as well as grand jury, vote unanimous, but four of these anti-Semites were Jewish.

Another corrupt Jewish organization, the Southern Zionist Law Center fifty years later pulled a “eye witness” out of its ass and made the most outrageous claim. They claimed that Frank didn’t get due process because of this new witness, who was unable to recant his original testimony (and blame the black man). This meant Frank was unable to appeal the conviction, himself, and was denied “substantive due process”.

But did Mr. Floyd get any due process, when the officer was applying this Israeli restraint technique.

And as you can read, I never got any sort of due process, despite my disability, and a member of a protected class–

The fact is, the ADL and SPLC, who are both more or less domestic terrorist organizations, haven’t changed since they were created, doing this sort of lying and denying, while pretending to care about black and poor Americans–

And it’s not because they cared about Leo Frank. Like Epstein and Weinstein. They know all these characters are, or were, real sick fucks, but they don’t care–

It’s all about the brand name, and what it means being a “Jew”. Except, today we’re paying the price for allowing this arrogance to dominate our legal system, where the “chosen people” get away with everything, while we’re being locked up, tortured and murdered–

Across the nation, they’re passing unconstitutional laws that prohibit criticism of Israel, and its policies. And they are making it unlawful to say anything negative about the ADL or SPLC, which just happen to be run by people, who just happen to be Jewish. While, they’re calling every straight-white-man who questions their overwhelming dominance of America a “neo-Nazi”, or a “White Nationalist”, or a “White Supremacist”.

And before the reader calls me a Nazi or an anti-Semite, you should know I’m 1/8th to 1/4th Jewish. Maybe I’m what they call a “Self-Hating Jew”…or maybe, just maybe, I’m telling the reader the truth about America–

You see, there’s a disconnect here. Despite all the lip service we get, the truth is most of the people in charge don’t care about us, here in this third America. The Portland’s Consent Decree, which didn’t include people of color, proves it–

Why did the legislature pay to do a study of how many people of color were incarcerated in Multnomah County, but didn’t include people who are disabled?

first, they don’t know how many disabled people are incarcerated in Oregon, and don’t want to know. Remember, Oregon was the last state to end Eugenics in America. But more importantly, maybe it’s to keep us poor people divided, while the Wealthy and the elite, and the people at E-Bay, get away with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Like, buying their kid a scholarship into one of these elitist schools.

And maybe Amanda Marshall, the former-U.S. Attorney for Oregon, who made this bullshit agreement, was too busy chasing a married man around town, who worked in her office. According to the ex-lover’s complaint, “he said She has been stalking me, following me everywhere. In fact, his wife also worked in the same office, under Marshall.

Not surprisingly, no charges were ever filed. And she promptly resigned her position (as U.S. Attorney for Oregon), and another “medical marijuana bigot”, Billy Williams, took over.

So, the Jewish professor, Rosenbaum, and the Hispanic former-Justice, DeMuniz, knew the disabled people would be unable to mount any sort of objection to their findings, or the bullshit agreement itself.

I also was able to ask DeMuniz if he had seen “Alien Boy”, a documentary about James Chasse’s life, he answered no, and seemed to have no idea what I was talking about?

“Isn’t that the movie about that cute, little ET fella?” I imagined him thinking.

What it does mean, is that Rosenbaum and DeMuniz had no intentions of ever honestly investigating the crimes being committed in Oregon by the police and prosecutors against the disabled, like this–

When I showed up on February 6th, 2010, with a receipt, I was immediately arrested.

Even though I provided the deputy with this handwritten receipt, which showed I had paid this erroneous debt in full, written on a legal pad, including my confirmation number, which he could have easily checked, it didn’t matter. The receipt had been written the previous day by an administrative assistant of Erin Fitzgerald, a local private attorney, formally with the Multnomah County District Attorneys Office.

When Aaron told me that Washington County had put a warrant out for my rest, because of what I owed the county and Gregory Troll’s office, I immediately made arrangements to pay it in full. Her assistant took the information down for me, and I brought it with me to the Sheriff’s office early the next morning, thinking I would be able to straighten it out.

When I arrived, I was first arrested. Then I was forced to strip naked,receive a rectal examination (another rape), and made to wear a set of orange jumpers until I went before the judge, late that afternoon.

As Anthony Graves pointed out in his autobiography, “Infinite Hope”, they likely knew that the judge was more likely to look down upon me, if he saw me dressed in orange. In other words, the dirty Washington County Deputies wanted to visually prejudice the court against me, before I ever said a word. In fact, they probably thought the “public pretender” wouldn’t show up, and I would never get to say a word, and the case would be postponed. This way, they could get me back into their jail, even if it were only a few days…

but this was pre-meditated rape. From the moment they decided to dress me in orange, they knew I would also get a rectal exam. And I’m sure, they thought it was real funny.
If someone intentionally came into your home, and with the threat of a gun made you get naked, and spread your butt cheeks for them, wouldn’t this be second or third degree rape. Even if it was only intended to embarrass you, and presumably, there was no actual intent to commit a sexual assault.

But because the “rape” is done under “the color of law”, like everything they do, the judges seem to always give deference to law enforcement, especially if the person is poor, disabled, or a person of color–

I had seen enough treachery from the public pretender’s office. I told the intake deputy I was going to be a pro se litigant, and represent myself, this time. He seem confused, and maybe a little angry, by my choice.

This way, for the first time I was able to explain my case in my own words. Legally, and more importantly, by taking this action Gregory Scholl had been formally dismissed as being my “attorney of record”.

When I went before the judge that afternoon I told him that I had showed the deputy my handwritten receipt from Ms. Fitzgerald’s assistant proving that my debt had been completely paid off, even though it wasn’t due for ten days.

I angrily tried to explained to the judge, and said something like, ‘I paid them everything I owed. But I was forced to strip naked anyway and put on this orange jump suit, and I feel it wasn’t right what they did to me, searching my rectum! Intentionally raping me!’

In what seemed like a gesture of agreement, the judge immediately released me from probation one week early and told me to go home and rest. He must have realized, Among the six defendants standing before him, I was the only one there who had paid their debt in full, yet I was the only one dressed in an orange jump suit.

In other words, the judge knew none of the others had paid off their debts, yet none of them, except me, were stripped and butt searched.

It’s right there for everyone to see. They were all dressed in street clothes, except the “cripple” guy! But this is what Bob Hermann has always been doing to people with disabilities or who appear “defective” in Washington County… That is, if the deputies don’t kill them first, like Jordan Case.

Funny thing, I’m pretty sure it was the same female Washington County Deputy who put me in with a murderer in 2005, who arranged to have me stripped and butt searched that day. I know she was there that day when I brought in my receipt, and I know it was the exact same lady guard who walked me from a cell in the Medical Observation Unit in 2005 and put me back into the isolation dungeon…and put me in a cell with a convicted murderer with hepatitis–

And it was the same lady-deputy who told my cell mate I wasn’t blind, only faking it to get out.

At first, hearing that my lawyer was here to see me made me immediately feel a lot better. It was one of the very few bright moments I spent in Bob Hermann’s isolation dungeon, like my son’s, Abraham’s, two brief visits. Visits that the jail quickly ended, with once again, no due process, knowing this would further stress me out, as it did.

But it soon became obvious that Gregory Scholl, or “Gregory Troll” as I began calling him, cared nothing about his clients. I was brought into a room and was seated by a guard, facing a glass window. Even though I told the lawyer several times that I could barely hear him through the thick glass, he just kept on talking, as though it didn’t really matter.

He was right. I learned later, he was gunning for, and eventually got to be the director of the county’s “public pretender office”. As far as the county is concerned, his only job is to get every indigent client to sign a plea bargain, and nothing else matters.

That first visit, Scholl brought two people with him. A woman, and a man named Bernard Moore.

Scholl also said he had a private investigator working with him, who I curiously never met, and said his “team” would make sure I got a fair trial.

Almost immediately, I began telling him what was happening to me in the jail and ‘I sure needed some legal help right away’. I told him how they wouldn’t let me even have a paper cup for water in my cell, and wouldn’t let me have anything to read, or let my son come and visit me any more. Scholl claimed we would get together later and go over all of this…but we never did.

Other than reducing my bail from $250,000 to $75,000, which made little difference, my lawyer did absolutely nothing to change the conditions of my confinement.

So during one of my short breaks out of the cell, I got another inmate, who could barely write, to write a letter to the court labeled “Motion for Habeas Corpus”. I then had a guard help me mail it to what I realize now was the persecutors’ hand-picked judge, Washington County Circuit Judge Donald Letourneau. And maybe why they waited until the last day, December 30th, to present their case to the grand jury.

In case you don’t know, the jail has a system of rotating circuit judges in and out of the jail every thirty days. The same way grand juries are rotated, every thirty days.

Presumably, these judges oversee most of the procedural hearings and some of the simple motions being filed with the court. As a matter of due process, the more serious matters (like allegations of having tortured a blind man for eleven days) are usually handled through the main court.

So why wasn’t my habeas corpus complaint sent over to the main court?

The way my habeas corpus claim was mishandled should be the first sign, other than the ridiculous Measure 11 indictment against me, that proves Washington County and its County Jail regularly conspire with some of the judges at the circuit court in criminal cases being adjudicated through its county on behalf of the State of Oregon.

As this chapter documents, I was clearly being intentionally tortured by Rob Gordon and his staff. This disappointedly includes an African-American man named Sergeant Brown, who supervised the Medical Observation Unit, and may have been ultimately responsible for Madaline Pitkin’s murder.

Why would any jail put a completely blind man, who was partially deaf, in solitary confinement (in what they intentionally call the “Isolation Bubble”) for eleven days, even though he broke no rules?

Did they want to make sure he couldn’t sleep…or have anything to read or listen to, except the inmates who were screaming and pounding all day and night?

Were they intentionally trying to make him go crazy, in order to win their case?

After reading my writings, do you really think the community was in danger by not placing an ankle bracelet on me and allowing me access to my talking computer, or was that the real problem with them letting me go home, and await trial?

So rather than moving my habeas corpus hearing to the circuit court, across the street, where this motion should have been heard, Judge Letourneau and my lawyer, Greg Scholl, and Greg Olson, allowed this hearing to be held in the privacy and secrecy of the jail.

Was it because it was very unlikely that the media or any credible observer would hear something odd about this case and become suspicious…about why Washington County was treating a completely blind man — an accused indigent defendant, in such a dirty, despicable way?

Given my own history of abuse as a young, near-sighted boy growing up in Lansing, Michigan, and what I know about how these wealthy predators operate, it is more than curious that my case went before Judge Letourneau.

If you don’t remember, Judge Donald Letourneau is the same judge who once ruled that Oregon’s most notable missing child, Kyron Horman, should be placed in with his mother, who the court very likely knew had a serious pharmaceutical addiction problem, rather than his dad, who worked for Intell and had a steady income and home available.

So, why did Bob Hermann and Dennis Marley wait until December 30th, 2004, to bring this case before the grand jury and indict me that same day — the last day of the year? Did they want to make sure Judge Letourneau would be the one “handling” my case, since his “turn” would began on January 2, 2005? Did they feel confident I would take their plea deal before February 1st, when another judge would be rotated in?

Anyway, the habeas corpus petition I filed with Judge Letourneau was really brief, because of the “help” they provided, quickly describing the horrific conditions I was being held under, as a severely disabled person.

I wasn’t too specific, thinking I would have a chance to explain myself better at the hearing, so I only asked for any sort of relief the court would offer from these circumstances. I wondered, why wouldn’t they put an ankle bracelet on me, so then I would have access to my talking computer and printer, and my talking books, and my telephone, and a private bathroom and shower, and access to a cup for water when I got thirsty? And most importantly, I would be able to visit my son?

But Judge Letourneau never gave me a formal hearing in response to my ‘motion for habeas corpus’.

Wouldn’t you think a competent circuit judge would direct my lawyer to arrange for an expert to testify about how a blind and deaf person might be effected by this sort of undeserved isolation and abuse?

But Judge Letourneau only let Troll mumble a few words that made no sense at all, and never allowed me to speak on my own behalf.

He quickly dismissed my habeas corpus petition. And in retaliation for filing my motion, Sergeant Brown and Sheriff Gordon decided a couple days later had a female deputy, who I believe had arrange to have me “raped” by another Washington County deputy in February of 2010, put me back into the isolation dungeon, with a convicted murderer who had Hepatitis.

PART THREE:
This “inmate” couldn’t wait to tell me that he had once murdered his cell mate and had to spend another ten years in prison! He went on to say he was a disciple of Aleister Crowley, although I didn’t know for sure back then what this meant…

It soon became obvious that while I was in the jail I had no rights at all, other than what they decided. During the first month Gregory Scholl cancelled several of my hearings, hearings over both the habeas corpus motion I had to file on my own behalf and the motion to reduce my bail, which he had filed.

After getting ready and waiting for several hours, eventually I was told by the guards that ‘Your lawyer cancelled the hearings because he’s sick ((again)’, which I realize now was partly true. Greg Scholl is a real sick bastard and helped my wife take away my son!

But here’s the ‘smoking gun’ that proves Scholl’s complicity in helping the DDA obtain a coerced plea bargain.

Apparently, according to Scholl, a ‘post release evaluation report’ had to be done before the bail hearing could be held. This was the law, he said.

I remember, I waited all day for this so-called expert to interview me before they wrote the report. Despite that I was never interviewed by anyone, apparently Greg Olson, Greg Scholl and this other person conspired to submit a falsified post release evaluation report to the Court. One only needs to read this report and compare it to my own writings to know they never actually spoke to me, as I suspect the report claims.

Although this would not be Greg Olson’s last time to abuse his power. In 2006, he was suspended by the BAR for the exact same sort of behavior. Fortunately, this accused defendant had a private attorney, unlike me, who was looking out for his best interests.

Troll made sure not one day of the 42 days I served counted toward any future re-sentencing if “they” decided to revoke my probation, because I started talking about my case; like if I happen to come up with some new evidence, like the hidden letter my wife sent to Detective Marley in October of 2004, admitting that she had brought her ten-year-old daughter into the bed with her naked boyfriend.

After about three weeks of enduring this abuse, I agreed to take the plea bargain, things finally started getting better…at least, for a little while.

Besides a lady deputy named Olsen, the only other decent deputy I met in the jail, along with one of the nurses, came into my cell to see if I was okay. They found me with toilet paper stuffed in both ears and tears running down my face. I begged them to please get me out of here, away from these messed up people.

I overheard them say something to each other about how horrible “this” was — putting a blind guy in a tiny cement room where people were screaming and pounding all day and night.

They quickly had me grab my meager belongings and moved me from the crazy-making, Isolation dungeon into the general medical observation unit, and I was put in with a half-Mexican fellow from Sacramento named Chris.

It was unbelievable. It was almost like I had been set free! We talked for hours and read the bible together until he was transferred into the general population a few days later.

Apparently, he was withdrawing from meth. I wondered why he wasn’t also put into the isolation dungeon, since someone had told me that it was designed for anyone withdrawing from hard drugs. And since there was space available in the general medical unit, I wondered why they hadn’t put me out there instead…a little closer to freedom–

After Chris was transferred out I was told I had also been cleared to move into the general population by the medical staff, but the jailers refused to move me, and wouldn’t explain why.

After a couple of weeks in the jail I began to desperately crave the taste of fresh air and the Medical Unit had no outside area; the so-called “medical unit” seemed more like an underground tomb.

I never stopped asking to be transferred into the general population. Finally, I got one of the deputies to say, ‘Sergeant Brown thinks it’s for your own safety that you be kept here in the Medical Observation Unit’.

Fact is, I was being kept in there solely because I am blind, with no regard to the effect on my physical or mental health. And with no regard to my rights as an accused defendant trying to prepare myself for trial.

I think their reasons for keeping me in the isolation dungeon were far more nefarious. If they wanted to use conventional or subtle forms of torture as coercive persuasion, especially to someone who was blind and partially deaf and would already be naturally disoriented, then the Isolation Bubble of the Medical Observation Unit was the perfect place to carry out such a plan. Especially, if the objective was to force the individual to comply, and get them to sign some blank pieces of paper and waive their right to a speedy trial, or their right to have any trial at all! Then disorientating them and placing them in a state of confusion and fear then this remote area of the jail would likely work with most disabled inmates. It did with me, after about thirty-five days.

The medical explanation is that, common techniques used in classical brainwashing have been found to work by causing a cortical inhibition of the higher cerebral function which are key elements of coercive persuasion: physical exhaustion; denial of food; isolation; debilitation; degradation; discipline; and fear.

All of these techniques, when directed to a person being held in captivity, are described by the C.I.A., Amnesty International, and under international Law and the Geneva Convention, as being “forms of torture”.

The Washington County Sheriff, Rob Gordon and the District Attorney, Bob Hermann, had all of these techniques used against me by their county deputies.

Naomi Klein’s international best-seller, “The Shock Doctrine” describes specifically the first technique of torture used against me. She described how the University of Chicago published a study in which they referred to this willful practice as being the ‘twin torture technique’, in which the captor is subjected to extreme sensory depravation, followed by, or corresponding with, sensory overload. “The screaming and pounding never stopped, in the Isolation Bubble–”

A few days later, after my cell mate Chris was transferred, the same female deputy, who I suspect was gay, began targeting me with verbal abuse. She forced me back into the Isolation Bubble with the tireless screamers.

I quickly realized, this cell was different than the last time I was put into the isolation dungeon since it had two bunks.

I soon learned that the fellow in the other bed, which was nothing more than a raised cement slab that resembled a crypt, said he had spent nine years in prison for once murdering a cell mate.

He explained, this time he was re-arrested after hurting his feet while running from the police a few days earlier. He told me he had used a shotgun to blast his way out of a Scapoose motel room when he was cornered by the police for violating his parole. He said he had run into the woods where he was able to hide for several days, where he injured his feet, before being caught.

Coincidentally, the assistant prosecutor, Greg Olson, had practiced law in Scapoose, Oregon before he joined the district attorneys office.

The murderer, who I began referring to as “Java the Hut” whenever I would speak to Christel or my parents, was really anxious to tell me that he had already spent eighteen years in prison. And most of that time was for murdering this one cell mate who he said had “pissed him off”.

He never told me exactly what it was that had pissed him off so much that made him kill the guy. But I couldn’t help but wonder why…

Perhaps, to provoke a physical confrontation with me, he would yell, “WAKE UP WOLFE!” every time I would start to fall asleep. Once I privately complained to Sergeant Brown, but that was a mistake, because then after I fell asleep he started smacking the floor next to me with something like a spoon or pencil.

The first two weeks in the jail I knew I was intentionally subjected to serious sleep deprivation. Then for the last five or six days I had been able to get a complete night of sleep while I was bunking with Chris from California.

So this new effort to deprive me of sleep was extremely upsetting; Somehow, I found myself back in Washington County’s “sleep deprivation chamber”.

I understand now. But while I was in there it didn’t make any sense. Why WOULD they let any inmate abuse someone who was severely disabled by letting him wake me up every time I would START TO fall asleep?

Thanks to Doctor Joey “Frankenstein” Matarazzo and five other shrinks from OHSU, making an accused defendant feel sleep deprived isn’t considered to be torture, as long as there is no organ failure.

According to a report these monsters wrote, who have been directly link to the CIA’s two torture freaks from Washington State, Mitchell and Jessen, the agents of the government can ethically and legally presumably keep someone awake for years, and years.

These experts say, even though it will eventually kill the prisoner, and make them very, very sick in the mean time, it’s not unconstitutional if they think the person is guilty of something. Innocent until proven guilty no longer applies in America, or at least, it doesn’t apply in Oregon if you’re poor or disabled.

And this is exactly what they have been doing to me for the last nine or ten years, from 2009-2020. And apparently, it’s all part of the process of breaking the accused (or coerced) defendant down on behalf of the police and the prosecutors from the moment the indigent suspect is arrested. This is especially true in cases they can’t afford to lose, like mine.

The next time when the guard brought the commissary order sheet they told this new cell mate to help me fill it out. After the deputy left, ‘Java the Hut’ told me I would have to give him half my order if I wanted his help in filling out yet another inaccessible government form.

I said “forget it”, and pressed the “assistance” button and asked one of the deputies for some help filling out the commissary form when they get time.

But before the deputy came back, the convicted murderer warned me that the next time I left the cell, he would make sure I caught his Hepatitis. Taking the bait, I asked how he planned to do this since I figured he would have to rape me, or cut me with something to infect me. And that wasn’t going to happen.

“over my dead body, fucker!” I thought.

“I only need to rub your toothbrush against my gums a few times.”

I thought about feeling my toothbrush being wet that same morning when I came back from the shower, and wondered if he already had–

I agreed to do what he wanted and let him fill out the form. But it was two years until I found the courage to discover if he actually had infected me; I’ve was really not wanting to go back to the Richmond Clinic and find out the results of the comprehensive STD blood test my doctor took in the spring of 2006, and that was, thankfully, all negative.

I retook tests in 2008, and again in 2011, which were also both negative. So, I finally knew for sure he hadn’t infected me with anything.

I wasn’t sure how he knew so much about the embellished charges that had been leveled against me by the District Attorneys office and Detective Marley, but he did seem to know a lot more than I told anybody in the jail, including my own lawyer.

He began telling me that he was really looking forward to seeing me at the State Pen down in Salem, and then laughed really weird.

He would ask me if I knew what they do to people like me down there, and went on to say something like, ‘probably before they kill you, which they would definitely do to someone like you. With the help of the guards, they would hold you down and–‘

I sat up on my slab and interrupted him, yelling “Shut the fuck up ashole!” Which made him laugh even louder.

Coincidentally, just as I was put in with this convicted murderer by Washington County in 2005, who I believe was told to intentionally intimidate me (and maybe kill me), I read about a similar story involving this Portland man, Michael Hagen, and the Oregon Department of Corrections. Hagen was also intentionally put into a cell with what appears to be another dangerous “Zionist-controlled” psychopath (also posing as a white supremacist ) at the Snake River Correctional Institute.

This inmate had already threaten to kill Hagen, yet that’s exactly who the State of Oregon put Hagen in with after removing him from solitary confinement (against his wishes)– Isn’t this what is called “pre-meditated murder”?

Just so you know, Hagen wasn’t a nice man, and probably deserved to be roughed up. For no reason, he beat up a young, innocent female clerk with a club and badly injured her, while under the influence of meth. This is as senseless as it gets and I’m not defending what he did by including this hauntingly similar situation, set up by the same “correction creeps” from Oregon who intentionally put me in with a convicted murderer.

Was that the plan? Was I supposed to also be murdered by a cell mate, who bragged about having already killed a previous cell mate? Why would Washington County put a completely blind man in a cell with a convicted murderer?

In my case, it was obviously “pre-meditated”, even if it was only done to intimidate me. It could have just as easily also led to my death.

I believe the lesbian deputy responsible, and her supervisors, Sheriff Gordon and Sergeant Brown, should have been prosecuted by the same DA, Bob Hermann, who was helping my wife and her lovers frame me! Of course, that’s a joke–

Unlike me, I believe Hagen was exactly where he was supposed to be, serving his time, for a very long time, and probably, not long enough.

But just like me and Madaline Pitkin, who died in the Washington County Jail at the hands of these same ruthless deputies who did this to me, he deserved to be protected by the state.

And actually, what they did to him wasn’t near as grossly negligent as what they did to me — putting a blind, partially-deaf man, who was still innocent (until proven guilty), in with a convicted murderer and encouraging the murderer to threaten and intimidate the blind inmate (to get Bob another easy plea bargain).

Can you imagine how easily this arrangement could have gone very wrong, and how easy it would have been for this man to kill me?

Even though Hagen told guards he felt this other inmate was intending to harm him, and despite a promise from the Correction Department to transfer him to another prison, Hagen was moved directly from solitary confinement into a cell with the inmate who had threatened to kill him. How much more grossly negligent does it get than this–

As he predicted would happen, the inmate killed Hagen a day later.

According to Hagen’s wife, it’s even worse than that. She told one of the local papers, prison guards ignored her husband’s screams for help, just as they had ignored both Madaline Pitkin and me.

Did you know, when I was being persecuted, unlike 48 other states, the persecutors in Oregon only needed to manipulate ten of the twelve jurors to convict an innocent defendant. This way, with a little help from the public pretender and a crooked judge, getting a convictions of any uneducated or disabled person the state wants to target was fairly easy.

I remember, my own fake lawyer, Gregory Troll, assured me I would probably spend the next year in jail awaiting trial if I didn’t agree to take the persecutor’s dirty plea bargain.

The sad fact is, across America men with disabilities, like black, Hispanic, Native-American and poor defendants, are often targeted by unscrupulous cops and narrow-minded persecutors, like Bob Hermann and Cy Vance, rather than the actual wrongdoers, for many reasons. It’s all about going after the low hanging fruit rather then climbing to the top of the tree and going after the Wall Street banksters or some CEO, which takes a lot more time, energy, and money.

Seeking out the truth also takes some courage, because sometimes you don’t find the answer you expected, or maybe wanted, especially when there’s a paycheck or a hot young lady involved–

After about a week or two of being terrorized every day by this creep, along with a few of the deputies, I called my useless lawyer and left a message, telling him I would do anything to get out of here! I also called Christel that evening and tearfully also told her I had called Scholl and was going to take a plea bargain.

I said, I had enough and would agree to any kind of deal as long as I didn’t have to go to prison. I knew they monitored all of our telephone calls and was warned about being careful what I said, but I just didn’t care anymore. I just wanted to get out, and would say what ever they wanted.

I began convincing myself, even prison, if they isolated me from the really dangerous inmates, would be a lot better than this. In prison you can have a radio and a guitar, and a cell with a somewhat private toilet to use, privately…

(See my work of “fiction”:
“The Prison Poop Porn Channel”
http://www.wolfeout.com

By now, I was starting to go a crazy from being so isolated from anything familiar. And it seemed like the Murderer was just waiting for an excuse to jump on me, and to probably kill me in what he would say was self-defense. That’s what they would say, I’m sure.

In an open space, maybe I could defend myself, but not in there- I could tell that he was well over six feet tall and sounded pretty big, and really stunk! I’m barely five-eight, and was about a hundred and eighty-five pounds, back then.

Before I ever had a chance to speak to my attorney, just like magic, everything instantly changed! Right away, good things started happening.

The following week, one of the guards offered to help me fill out a commissary request form. They also helped me fill out a request form that allowed Christel to bring me a deck of Braille cards and a Braille book from home, that still had its staples in it!

This was very strange, since when I had asked Sergeant Brown directly about getting something in Braille to read or getting my Braille cards he made it clear that it was firm jail policy that all publications or materials, such as books or playing cards, must come straight from the publisher or manufacturer.

He added, “It’s for public safety reasons that we do this-” Later I thought about the staples in the book they forgot to remove.

The best thing that happened that week, after I let Scholl know I would take the plea bargain, was that they moved ‘Java’ out and moved a friendly, petty-criminal fellow named Thornburg in with me.

We talked about all kinds of stuff. I learned a lot about the jail from Thornburg, stuff I should have been told the first day they took me into custody.

I told Thornburg about the time this female deputy screamed at me over the little speaker. “READ YOUR MANUAL!” She yelled.

I made the mistake of asking her a question about one of the jail’s policies. After she reprimanded me, I said I was blind, and asked if they had a Braille copy of the manual. but like everyone else, she didn’t believe I was blind…

One evening, the lady-deputy who put me in with the murderer, came into the cell where Thornburg and me were talking. She told Thornburg in front of me that I was faking my blindness to get out of jail.

For the record, Dr. Richard A. Lewis, from the University of Michigan Medical Center wrote a report when I was eleven or twelve-years-old which said that my older brother and I had a degenerative eye condition called Retinitus Pigmentosa.

He went on to say that our prognosis was to both be completely blind within the next ten or fifteen years. Even though my brother had fairly good vision at the time, and even legally drove for a couple years, I was already legally blind by that time and lost the rest of my useable vision at eighteen. My older brother was lucky enough to not go legally blind until his early twenties.

The one thing I learned about most “law enforcement” people while in the jail is that they have these amazingly huge egos, and take everything personal.

Thornburg and me began talking about opening a place called “Thornyburgers” and I came up with a jingle, and we both started writing a menu for Thornyburgers! I’m sure Thornburg knew it was really just about keeping our minds busy with something, but went along with it anyway.

Sergeant Brown even let Thornburg clean our cell, including the toilet.

Having to use the toilet in the presence of female guards was surely the most humiliating experience of all since the toilet was in plain view of the door and the guards would presumably come around every fifteen minutes to check on us.

I noticed, some of the real sick deputies would come around when ever they saw me sitting on the toilet and say nothing, but tap on the glass, to humiliate me.

It wasn’t clear when they were watching, since I couldn’t hear much of anything through the glass cell door. But it was truly degrading to have someone you didn’t know, especially someone of the opposite gender, watching while using the bathroom, or worse, never really knowing when they were or weren’t watching–

(See my work of “fiction”:
“The Prison Poop Porn Channel”
http://www.wolfeout.com

I learned later, the Washington County Jail’s Medical Observation Unit and the Special Needs Pod both have a cell with a private shower and a somewhat more secluded toilet that would have effectively accommodated someone in my circumstances and provided some degree of privacy, had it been there intentions to allow me to await trial with some small degree of dignity and comfort.

For that matter, putting me on home arrest, where I could use my toilet, computer and telephone would have been the just and compassionate thing for Judge Letourneau to do, given my unusual circumstances.

The State violated my most basic Constitutional right, to be considered innocent until proven guilty.

Many of those in the legal community and local media, many of whom apparently sleep together, have continued to punish me for speaking out about Oregon’s injustice system. Sharing my own experience with Johneen, and other former-political prisoners, only outraged them more, as I would learn.

Shortly after Thornburg was moved into my cell, I met privately with the Washington County’s assigned Public pretender, Gregory Scholl, who had me sign a bunch of papers, that he said needed to be signed if I wanted out.

By this point — after thirty-five days in the dungeon, I wasn’t able to focus on what he said or what he said was on the papers he wanted me to sign, if anything. Since I couldn’t read them and wasn’t given a copy to go over later, and there was no witness, they may have all been blank pages as far as I know.

He claimed one of them was an agreement to waive my right to a speedy trial. This is a right provided to all Americans under the U.S. Constitution to be brought before a jury of your peers within ninety days of your arrest. However, the courts in recent years have been denying this right to Americans with disabilities as an “accommodation” to the government.

As I thought about why Scholl wanted me to sign this one document, it didn’t really make sense. Waiving my right to a speedy trial wouldn’t matter until ninety days had passed. And Scholl promised me I would be released within a few days, which was true, since I was let out about a week later.

But like I said, I have no idea what I really signed that afternoon. Wouldn’t you think an Oregon lawyer with a client who was completely blind would be required by the Oregon BAR to have a witness or two present when the client was signing their life away?

The Oregon BAR seems to be more corrupt than the lawyers they pretend to “supervise”. And the fact that Scholl didn’t bother to give me copies of what I signed, and Scot Emerson from the BAR didn’t feel it was necessary to investigate this complaint, ought to raise some questions in the mind of any reasonable person about what I actually did sign, or signed away–

Because of what has been happening over the last ten years whether I am home or away — being shocked or traumatized every day with some sort of psychotronic [electro magnetic high energy] weapon that can itch you, shock you, burn you, anger you, or just make you disorientated, I now wonder if I had been tricked into signing something by Scholl to give them the right to experiment on me, again, now that I was a “criminal” under the “law”?

Normally, as everyone who knows me knows, I wasn’t shy about demanding my rights! But I guess, as I believe was their real intent all along, I just didn’t care about my rights anymore. I just wanted to go home–

I do remember that the county pretender said that the District Attorneys, Bob Hermann and Greg Olson, were insisting that I say these exact seven words in court before they would release me. I told him that this statement was untruthful and extremely misleading about how it really was:

When I suggested we needed to clarify what really happened, he made one thing perfectly clear. Mr. Gregory Scholl assured me that I would spend the next year in jail waiting for trial, and who really knew how that might turn out, if I didn’t say exactly what ‘Hermann Monster’ wanted, and agree to accept this “great deal” from the persecutors — agree to become a lifetime felon and a lifetime registered sex offender, and lose access to my son, ABRAHAM, forever!

And lose the right to ever be considered credible, as an advocate for people with disabilities, as I’ve done all my life.

And forever lose the right to live in subsidized housing or anywhere else, other than a trailer park, or under a bridge somewhere.

And lose the right to ever get any sort of decent job, that pays more than $2.50 per hour, even if I was fully qualified for something better.

And every year pay the state an extortion fee of $70, while they hand out my personal information to any vigilante that walks through the door, with an axe to grind.

In other words, completely give up my right to ever exist, except in this third world in our ‘Third America’–

So on February 16, 2005 I was released from the Washington County Jail at about 4:30 in the afternoon. After boarding the train, I heard a man sitting behind me and across the way who I know now was the assistant persecutor, Gregory Olson. Him and his friends were laughing and having a good time, apparently feeling pleased over having abused me and my rights and having gotten away with it.

As I mentioned, a year later Olson wasn’t so lucky and was suspended for six months by the BAR for doing the exact thing he did to me, and got away with-

And that night I left my door open, as Christel had asked me to do (even though she had a key). Some time after I fell asleep, I was awoken by her, and felt her slip her naked body into the bed and snuggle up to me.

I thought she had cleaned my sheets and made the bed for us, since we had begun to plan for this reunion when I told her I would agree to except a plea bargain and wouldn’t be going to court. A few weeks Later a neighbor told me that they had saw Christel and another man going into my apartment in Lake Oswego on Valentine’s Day…while I sat in jail, waiting to get out–