WADE FRAZIER : A Healed Planet

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

As I get to the many events of the day of the raid, I am going to skip to the end a little of what I learned in the year after the raid. What that year really was for me, above all else, was a lesson in anthropology. When that year was finished, the primary lesson of my journey, that personal integrity is the world’s scarcest commodity, was beaten into my head in no uncertain terms. I learned the same lessons that Alison did, for instance, or what the author of Moral Origins noted, that the human conscience is “flexible,” which means that people can justify anything, even eating their children. That universal justification of treating out-groups terribly is part of the same phenomenon.

Best,

Wade

[Justplain]

Thanks for the reply, Wade. I am afraid that when a FE device is revealed it will be an ultra-expensive, hi-tech gadget only a ptb corp can produce, and then they will parcel it out like nuclear reactors. In fact, i've seen that lockheed martin is developing a 'high beta fusion reactor' (i think its a plasma generator) for just that purpose:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/High...fusion_reactor

My guess is that the ptb have foreseen the rise in demand for clean hi volume overunity electrical generation, and want to keep it on the same 'pay at the meter/pump' model we are currently gagged with (and Tesla wanted to avoid). So here is the ptb generator that 'saves' us, and keeps the current paradigm in place.

The ptb will go to any lengths to ensure true FE doesnt emerge, as per your experience and others. One story i heard was a guy developed a free energy device in his garage and started to market it, next thing he knew a swat team was at his door telling him he's a threat to economic stability. In order to protect himself and his family he had to agree not to develop, sell or distribute this tech. Of course they ripped up everything he had developed. Now he runs a landscaping business.

That's what you are up against, Wade. God's love and luck be with you!

[Wade Frazier]

Hi Justplain:

I know all too well what I am up against.

I have written about that Lockheed reactor on this thread more than once, and yes, it is an attempt to keep all energy technologies of significance under the capitalist model.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

If you get Dennis’s The Alternative, exhibit 2B is Mr. Professor’s affidavit of watching the deputies remove that box from the building, hours before the official search began, and the discussions that Mr. Researcher and the machinist had about that box that day, which was confirmed the next morning, when Mr. Researcher discovered that his office had been stripped to the walls, and the search receipt on his desk said that the deputies only removed two sheets of paper.

Mr. Researcher later told me that what happened – the deputies blatantly stealing the documents and lying about it – was standard operating procedure in Ventura County, which I soon discovered had a well-deserved reputation as one of the most corrupt counties in the USA. A generation before the raid, one of Mr. Researcher’s friends was a “redneck” who knew many Ventura County sheriff’s deputies, and when visiting their homes, he noticed that those deputies often had furniture and appliances that far exceeded their station in life, being relatively low-paid cops, and his more forthcoming pals admitted that they stole the fancy furniture and high-end appliances in raids. They would just raid some rich person’s house on a pretext and steal everything of value in the home, like that Deep South “law enforcement” style. Those events paled next to what Gary Wean experienced in those days. The judges controlled the drug trade in Ventura County and had people murdered regularly, so taking us out was relatively low on their corruption scale.

Stealing those technical documents from Mr. Researcher’s office, and photographing the blueprints that were too big to smuggle out, was not an unusual practice, as I would eventually learn. So, whom did they steal it for? I doubt that it was for their own edification, to peruse while watching football games on their nice, stolen TV sets. Dennis said that it likely went to some kind of “private viewing” for Godzilla’s benefit, and he probably was right. Several months earlier, in Boston, Dennis rejected what we now know was Godzilla’s friendly buyout offer. As the rocket took off in Ventura, Godzilla took it to the next level, what I call Intervention Level 5, as Godzilla got out the big stick. Of course, those deputies did not know whom they stole it for, nor did they care, as long as they got their carrots, and plenty of carrots were handed out to everybody who got their hands dirty in taking us out, even the judge. How much money was paid to grease those eager palms? We will likely never know, but it was likely in the millions, which was a pittance for Godzilla.

But stealing all of the technical material in Mr. Researcher’s office, while definitely a great crime, was merely one aspect of the death blow that was aimed at us that day, and I’ll recite my involvement and what I saw.

When I returned to the office in my polo shirt and golf clubs, Alison asked me to lead the effort at the office. After they stole what they came for, Mr. Deputy returned to the premises after getting the warrant amended, which was likely a charade. He had already told Cab a big lie (which I did not know at the time, and they played the same game in Seattle), and he tried to play “good cop” with me. You can see a picture of him, here, and he looked just like an overgrown Boy Scout, and had the Boy Scout demeanor down pat, as the talented psychopath that he is. After they successfully stole what they came for, they became cooperative and allowed us to accompany them on their official search, and Alison assigned me to the first shift of supervising the raid, and you can see me supervising as they took the demo model that the money I raised had built. A big piece of my life was taken away that day, but it was just the initiation phase. In those images of me speaking with Cab during the raid, I can see the pain on my face, which would look like a raccoon’s in the coming months, with dark rings under my eyes, as the stress took its toll.

Those images taken during the raid were from the scoop of the career of a cameraman who was at that free energy conference that Dennis spoke at the previous week. He filmed that free energy conference and was at our office that morning, looking for work, when the raid happened, and he took out his camera and began filming. Dennis paid him $1,000 for the tape that he recorded that day, and Mr. Cameraman jumped on the gravy train and stole all of our camera equipment when he left after Dennis was arrested, like Mr. Machinist sold off the machine shop and pocketed the money when he left town.

In the research room, as they prepared to remove all of our demonstration models, Mr. Deputy took me aside, and in his most choir boy demeanor asked me if I was aware that Dennis had admitted to deceiving people in Seattle. He tried that on the wrong man. I really was an overgrown Boy Scout, and still had plenty of naïveté to lose, but I let him know that I was well aware of the “deception” that Dennis admitted to in Seattle: one person in the entire state of Washington innocently misunderstood one thing that Dennis said. When Mr. Deputy’s “Dennis deceived people” ploy fell flat with me, he stopped trying to convince me of Dennis’s “criminality.” I supervised the search for several hours. When the search got to my building, we sat in the lobby of the building, near my office, and I asked Mr. Deputy what warranted an armed raid of our facilities, and he answered the we seem to have violated a civil law, called the Seller’s Assisted Marketing Plan Act, which not one lawyer in a thousand had ever heard of, but I had.

As the rocket took off in late 1987, I received a notice from a Midwestern state, something like Iowa, Wisconsin, or nearby, and the notice warned us that we might be a selling a seller’s assisted marketing plan (SAMP), and if so, we might have to jump through some legal hoops in their state. The notice listed about a dozen traits of a SAMP, and if we met all of them, then we could fall under the law’s jurisdiction. We only met one or two of the dozen, so I promptly forgot about that law until a few months later, when Mr. Deputy mentioned it that fateful day. I replied that I knew what a SAMP was, and that we were not one of those. Mr. Deputy gave me a smile and said that it was a matter for lawyers and judges, not me or him. In the same conversation, I said that the Justice Department had investigated Dennis and called him “squeaky clean,” and Mr. Deputy gave me another grin and replied that he would not believe anything that the Justice Department had to say. Ed Meese was being embroiled in one of the many Reagan administration scandals at the time, but if Meese said that about Dennis, it sure was not because we had him in our hip pocket.

That evening, after several hours of supervising the raid, Mr. Stooge and André relieved me, as they searched my office, Victor Fischer’s, and Mr. Engineer’s (they broke his door down, as it was locked and he was not there). I went to Mr. Professor’s house, where Dennis tried to assuage Mr. Researcher’s concerns. The next morning, when I heard what they had done to Mr. Researcher’s office, was really the beginning of my loss of innocence, for all that I had already seen. Those police were gangsters, guns for hire, who performed their evil deeds for a price.

The next morning, I discovered that they had stripped my office to the walls. I doubt that there was even one piece of paper remaining in my office when I returned the next morning, other than their search receipt on my desk. I had all of our customer files in my office, as I captured all of the documentation that would allow me to construct the books one day, as I had done in Seattle. I was only planning to supervise my accountants, not perform the grunt work, and by that time, computers were making it into corporate America. We had some Apple Macintoshes and we were having a computer network built to track our leads and be the front-end to our accounting system, to handle the avalanche of sales. To anybody out there who is an accountant, businessperson, etc., imagine trying to run a business after the police seized all of your records.

While Mr. Deputy was being cordial on the day of the raid, he said that I could get copies of what they seized, which turned out to be one of his many Big Lies. You can see my affidavit on that situation in The Alternative, exhibit I. Mr. Deputy got his start at the FBI, for what it is worth. The FBI, like the CIA, does not give a damn about the public’s interest, but exists to serve the oligarchy, just like every regulatory agency. They were all captured long ago, or had an evil purpose from the outset. That is just how it works, in a world of scarcity and fear. That is why beseeching governments for help is suicidal. The best that can be hoped for is not being attacked by them.

One thing that might is helpful to understand is that not everybody is in on it. Of the dozens of sheriff’s deputies who were involved in the raid that day, only a handful were in on it, as far them being part of a hit team, to take us out. When they stole all of Mr. Researcher’s technical papers, only a handful of deputies were involved, and handpicked. The deputy who ran the occupation of the building (the one talking to Alison in that picture through our front door), was promoted to sergeant when Dennis was arrested, just as Mr. Deputy was promoted to lieutenant and given an award for the most difficult “investigation” in Ventura County’s history. That soon-to-be sergeant was in on it, as were the deputies who ransacked Mr. Researcher’s office and photographed the blueprints.

But later that day, as the search progressed, Mr. Professor was standing outside of our building and one of his former students was a sheriff’s deputy who was part of the search, brought in for the afternoon shift. He expressed his shock at Mr. Professor’s being involved with our criminal enterprise, and Mr. Professor replied that the sheriff’s deputies had illegally ransacked Mr. Researcher’s office that morning, and that former student looked at Mr. Professor like he was from another planet. That former student was not in on it. That kind of naïveté is exploited by the system, the same way that 18-year-old boys are sent off to war.

Mr. Stooge and André replaced me for supervising the raid, and they were kind of aggressive. When it came to Victor Fischer’s desk and computer, Mr. Stooge and André cautioned the sheriff’s deputy about what they would seize of Fischer’s, and the deputy said that he was not going to touch Fischer’s possessions without them being there, but that he was taking a meal break, so they could leave for a little while. When they returned, Fischer’s possessions had been ransacked. Big Lies were the order of the day for the deputies, and Mr. Stooge and André saw them doing it. The next day, nobody had any illusions that a death blow had been aimed at us.

I was not ready for the rocket when it took off in late 1987, anyway, and with all of my records seized, I began working 12-16 hour days just to try surviving the death blow. After about six weeks of that, I began going into a general physical collapse, which was “coincidentally” when I got together with my wife, which marked the beginning of the end of my days with Dennis.

As Gary Wean told me a year later, what we were experiencing was standard operating procedure in the USA, as the USA’s legal system is evil, from top to bottom. Dennis grew up as a migrant farmworker, which has everything to do with his fanatical Christianity, and staging our first Greatest Energy Show at the Old South Meeting House, openly borrowing from P.T. Barnum and banging the “patriot” drums, and selling business opportunities, pretty much sums up Dennis’s public persona, and most of it is genuine. He appealed to the primary population management ideologies in the USA, which are scarcity-and-fear-based, but you aren’t going to outmaneuver Godzilla with his own tools, IMO.

With that kind of message and persona being broadcasted like that, Dennis attracted many people with right-wing ideologies, of the Bible-banging, gun-toting variety, and a great deal of right-wing, conspiracist literature began piling up in our office, and I began reading it. It was the first “alternative” political literature that I ever encountered. During my LA days, I subscribed to the Christian Science Monitor, thinking that I was getting an alternative perspective. I had a lot to learn. I had a folder of that literature in my desk, labeled “seditious literature,” and, of course, the deputies seized that, too.

Dennis would often come off as a rube during his public appearances, and it was not all an act, but some was, as he seemingly tried to appear as hillbilly, not somebody who had played the Wall Street game. Of all the right-wing groups that got involved with us, the Constitutionalists seemed the most impressive. Their stance was that the U.S. Constitution was a document that was intended to limit the powers of government, but it had been almost entirely subverted since the late 1700s, to be little more than a faded relic by the late 1900s, as the government ran amuck. They usually were also fundamentalist Christians, so it was all right down Dennis’s alley, and in the wake of the raid, one of the right-wing groups organized an effort to call the sheriff’s office and complain about the raid.

A paralegal group in Montana came to Ventura and helped us prepare lawsuits against the sheriff’s deputies, for violating our civil rights in the raid (including the theft from Mr. Researcher’s office). Dennis does not take attacks like that lying down, and the sheriff’s department was buried in calls of protest. Of course, they were the ones committing the crimes (there was not one complaining customer of ours at the time of the raid, just like in Seattle), but our fighting back surely contributed to what they did later. Like the Attorney General in Washington and others like him, they never expect their victims to fight back. Dennis was hard to kill.

The head of that Montana group came to our office when we filed our lawsuits, and he told us of their travails. Members of their movement had been outright murdered by the police for “crimes” such as home-schooling their children, and their legal structure was a church (of course, of the fundamentalist type), and one Sunday, when everybody was at church, their facility was set on fire and bulldozed, and they returned from church to the ashes of their facility. That is how the American system works. The FBI’s murder of Fred Hampton and others was just how they do it in the USA, or the firebombing of MOVE, or the murder of the people at Waco. Those are all just days at the office for people like that. In Ventura County, murdering people was standard operating procedure by the judges and related gangsters. But we were too high profile to just murder (with me standing there, in my suit and tie as they drove up, armed to the teeth), and they were acting on orders from somewhere high up the food chain, so they tried to do it “legally.”

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Before I go much further, let me state that I have to greatly truncate the events of that year, to protect both the innocent and the guilty. So many people acted so dishonorably and even criminally that even the “no-names” version of events is not always enough “cover” for them, and a bunch more people have to die before I can really tell it all, if I will ever be able to.

There is so much to tell, to flesh out the events, that it would take me weeks in a room, telling about it all, and how they helped shape my views. I can only hit the “highlights.”

For instance, the SAMP Act was also known as the “worm farm” law, as many people invested in worm farms in the 1970s and lost their shirts, as there really was no market for worms. There was, however, for the world’s best heating system. Dennis ultimately spent two years behind bars for “violating” the “worm farm” law, and very ironically, my family had a worm-farm in our back yard. In about 1971-1972, my father desperately wanted out of his career working for the Department of Defense, and with his redneck roots, he got swept up in the worm farm craze, along with some of our redneck relatives in Bakersfield. The tax deduction for writing off my father’s little entrepreneurial disaster is what sent me to Europe. Using the worm farm law to wipe out my life’s work was ironic indeed. The year after the worm farm debacle, my father retired on a medical disability, and never had to work again.

The first job that I ever had was salvaging the lumber from a walnut farm that was being razed to make way for Ventura’s “progress.” Five years later, I got a job working on the very same land, but in one of the new buildings erected on that land. One of my best friends in my young adulthood was the son of an attorney who was the senior partner in the law firm that occupied much of that building erected on that walnut farm’s land, and my friend’s father also led the investment group that owned that building. I was that building’s janitor for a year, before I left home for the university. I actually tried to get my father that janitorial job when I left for the university, but it was given to a man from either Korea or Taiwan. That man became a home flipper during those boom years in Ventura real estate, became a millionaire a few years later, and he still cleaned the offices.

During the year that I worked there, I became friendly with the lawyers there, especially the ones who worked late, and one had just come from the District Attorney’s (DA) office in Ventura. Back in those days, the law library dominated law office premises, and I was constantly throwing out obsolete books from their law library. That lawyer from the DA’s office had a spartan office, with a mostly empty bookshelf in it. One night, he asked me to save the nice looking books that I was throwing away, and to fill his bookcase with them. I still laugh when I think about it. It was all for show, like Jay Gatsby’s library full of books with “uncut pages” (meaning that they had never been read).

That very law firm later cleaned out one of our family’s close friends. He outlived two of his wives, and the second wife’s children, when goaded by her ex-husband, got the will overturned and cleaned out our friend. This was before 1987, and I heard about that kangaroo court action, led by one of the lawyers in that firm, who later became a partner. It was another warning to me, and again, Ventura County was the last place on Earth where I wanted to be, anyway. But there I was, because of the secret deal that Dennis had with Mr. Mentor.

When we hit town in the summer of 1987, I called the partner at that law firm who supervised me when I was the janitor, and I had some legal question to ask him. His advice to me was to “be careful” in doing business in Ventura, and when I worked there, I heard him tell people that compared to LA, Ventura County was hillbilly country, and I later found out how right he was.

After they stole that material from Mr. Researcher’s office and suddenly became the nice cops, they pointedly ignored Mr. Researcher’s office, and it was officially the last office that they searched in the raid, from which they only removed those two pieces of paper, wink, nudge. A year later, when sacrificing my life not only busted Dennis from jail but secured the services of the leading Constitutionalist attorney in the USA (who still is), I told him about that “last room searched” charade by the sheriff’s deputies, and Mr. Big Time Attorney laughed and made an observation of the stupid chicanery of what they did, ignoring the scene of the crime all day long.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

When I saw that Big Lie TV news segment on Dennis, a couple of weeks after I met him, I began to wake up to how the media really works. While I was standing in the parking lot, talking to Cab, with Mr. Cameraman taping, up walked the reporter from the local paper, which my mother worked at in the classified ad department for real estate. When the reporter heard a few words of our conversation – being raped by the police – she nearly ran away from us. I had awoken enough by that time to realize what the theme of the next day’s newspaper article would be, and I called my mother, to advise her to keep her head down at work the next day and not defend me to her employers. I did not need to be concerned. She attacked me on that phone call. A month later, I encountered her at a relative’s home and she would not acknowledge my presence, and we did not speak for several years after the day of the raid. She refused to even meet my wife, after she contacted my mother after we got married.

When it got back to me, when we lived in Ohio, that my mother had made a scrapbook of her employer’s libelous newspaper articles and campaigned against me to my friends, family, and investors, telling them the story of her son the criminal, it did not even hurt any more. She never even asked me for my side of the story. I still supported her financially in her last years and never even received one word of thanks. When I write that personal integrity is the world’s scarcest commodity, my family is certainly not exempt from that finding. What my mother did was a trifling nuisance, compared to what else I faced in Ventura. When I state that those attacks from that former girlfriend were only a gentle preview of what was ahead of me, I meant it, and I cannot even publicly write about the greatest betrayals by my friends and family, as they were so sickening and some was even criminal, and I won’t write much about their ignoble deeds until after they are dead.

When FE newcomers rush out to tell their social circles the “good news,” they labor under the delusion that their social circles are different, comprised of people with the right stuff. That is an egocentric conceit, but most people have to find out for themselves, and almost all of my best pupils did that, in the beginning, and they later came back to me with tales of ostracism. Careers have ended that way.

The morning after the raid, Mr. Researcher was white in the face, when he realized how thoroughly the police had not only raped him, but those who entrusted him with the technical specs for their inventions. I thought that he was literally going to keel over in the days after the raid, and he left the operation a few weeks later after he broke out in stress-related hives. In those days, getting Mr. Deputy alone in a room with a baseball bat sounded like a good idea. It was the first time in my adult life when I harbored violent thoughts, and it got worse, much worse, before the year ended, which was the lowest part of my life’s journey. In the end, I am kind of grateful for what happened, as I got a big wakeup call about how the world really works, not the fantasy version that our indoctrination and conditioning systems serve up, which nearly everybody unthinkingly swallows, because believing the lies fills their bellies and gives them egocentric strokes. People are not going to wake up with talk or impressive writings. I seek people who already woke up.

Best,

Wade

[Justplain]

Hi Wade,

I have not had the time to read your 300+ pages in this thread, but i believe i have caught a whiff of the depths of your suffering.

I grew up next to the US and was deeply distressed when my childhood assumptions were shattered when I discovered the secret space program, the 9/11 treason, the jfk assination treason, etc. Now that i have gotten over that, life goes on. I actually appreciate living more now.

Good luck in your pursuits and if you think a guy like me can help you getting FE out there let me know.

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Here are some pics from yesterday’s hike. It is one of the more spectacular “regulars” that I do (1, 2), and yesterday was no exception. The blueberries were still good, and people picked like crazy yesterday, while I laid in a meadow, taking a little snooze. Life does not get much better than that.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi Justplain:

I was just talking about some of that with a pupil yesterday. The choir will be for those go deep on the material I offer, develop comprehensive perspectives, and sing (and anybody is welcome to try). If we get there, the rest should be easy, and if we have to go all the way to making and giving away FE, 100,000 people will be needed, so you can choose what level that you want to participate in.

You post led me to post my next one, which I had been intending to do for some time.

There is plenty that is happening in space that is not available to the public, and 9/11 definitely has strange aspects that are highly suspicious, and the JFK hit really started it all in the USA. A large proportion of the American public does not believe anything that its government says, for good reason.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

The conspiratorial aspects of how our world works is a minor aspect of my work. It is real and influential, but vastly more influential is simply how each person lives his or her life. The masses are primarily responsible for how our world works, not elite machinations.

That said, because of my adventures pursuing FE, knowing some of the inside scoop on the JFK hit, knowing an astronaut who got far more than he bargained for when he snooped into UFOs, and the like, I am regularly roped into looking at “conspiratorial” aspects of events, and I have recently been reading Dead Wrong and Hidden History.

What I have found repeatedly throughout the years is that virtually every conspiracy theory about the JFK hit aligns nicely with Gary Wean’s testimony of the John Tower conversation. But almost none of the conspiracy theories around the JFK hit even mention Gary, as it was for those two books that I have been reading. What I have found is that such conspiracist efforts often credit sources far more dubious than Gary, to hang their theories on, and Tosh Plumlee, an alleged CIA contract agent, is a central figure in Dead Wrong’s account of the JFK hit.

I had a close relative who was a CIA contract agent, and have encountered quite a few people over the years who were part of covert operations, often around the American invasion of Southeast Asia, and I am well aware of the problems that any of them would have with coming forward with their testimony. Contract agents are disposable, which is why they are contract agents, and Bill the BPA Hit Man and Mr. Texas were both contract agent psychopaths who were sicced on us, while Mr. Deputy was on an official payroll.

Basically, no contract agent is going to be allowed to speak out publicly unless the “revelations” have been approved by their “superiors.” Otherwise, they can be silenced, and quickly and often fatally. So, when contract agents and other alleged insiders speak out about their involvement in covert activities, I take all such “revelations” with a huge grain of salt. I have always found the most credible Disclosure Project, JFK hit, and related witnesses to not be the alleged “insiders,” but outsiders who saw/heard something that they shouldn’t have, such as what John Tower told Gary.

All such subjects are minefields of disinformation, false leads, and the like. The alleged “insiders” are a primary source of the murkiness, and many are spinning tales of disinformation, either as part of their “jobs,” they have been unwittingly fed disinformation, are part of some “limited hangout operation, they are posing as “insiders” for self-serving reasons, etc. If alleged insiders are telling the truth, you have to wonder why they are being allowed to do so, and what the motivation of their superiors is. I doubt that many of them are driven by a burning desire to expose the truth.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

I am taking a little Ventura break today, and this is a post on what we know and how. When you have direct personal experience, especially of the spectacular kind, you know. The Onion, as usual, has pithy things to say under the rubric of satire, such as a conspiracy theorist convincing Neil Armstrong that he never walked on the Moon. I have yet to see any evidence that the conspiracy theorists on the faked moon landings have presented that held up under scrutiny, and most of their “evidence” was embarrassingly bad. But imagine how Neil Armstrong must have felt with that blizzard of conspiracy theorizing that he never really walked on the Moon. What did he think about it? I never walked on the Moon, and was not there when Neil went there, but I have as little doubt as it is possible to have that he walked on the Moon.

Three weeks after the JFK assassination, Gary Wean knew that Oswald was not the lone nut assassin of JFK. I imagine that Gary thought similarly to Bobby Kennedy, that the Warren Report was rubbish.

I am nearly finished reading Life on the Edge, which is about the effects of quantum mechanics in biology. But several times in their book, the authors dismiss the paranormal as “pseudoscientific” and with other name calling. They were stumping for materialism, in what seems to be an effort to have quantum effects be the explanation for seemingly paranormal events (or dismissing them on flimsy grounds). When I was 16, I had my mystical awakening, in spectacular fashion, and I know that materialism is a false faith. Brian O had his mystical awakening five years later while performing the same exercise. Like me, and others like us, we all know that materialism is a religion based on a false foundation, and when I see all sorts of materialistic bromides issuing forth from scientists, what is perhaps the most amazing is how irrational the attacks and dismissals are, from such supposedly intelligent people. It does not matter how involved and sophisticated their materialist explanations are, I know that they are all wrong. It only takes one event like I experienced to falsify materialism, and I had many such events.

Similarly, my pal has to laugh at scientists who say that FE is “contrary to the laws of physics.” My friend knows, while those scientists can only regurgitate their textbooks, and the efforts that TPTB did not silence, sequester, etc.

Likewise, all the people out there who tell Big Lies (1, 2) in order to establish Dennis’s criminality” are actually criminals themselves, but they tell Big Lies that benefit the Establishment, so they get a free pass, while Dennis nearly loses his life because he failed (actually, I failed) to file a form, and those liars endlessly gull the naïve and gullible. Can you imagine how obscene such “theorizing” about Dennis’s “criminality” is to me? There is nobody else like him on Earth, he has had Godzilla’s full attention many times, but the greatest damage to his efforts was committed by his “allies,” and the gossip-sphere is full of disinformation that people lap up, which literally drove me out of a forum recently. I know, and they have no idea.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

After the raid, it began going downhill rapidly for me, working 14-to-16 hour days with no records, knowing that a deathblow had been aimed at us, seeing Mr. Researcher looking white in the face. We had a database of our customers on our computers, and once the deputies copied all of the data from our computers, they did not take them. When Mr. Deputy told me that I would not get any copies of the records that they seized, he told me that we were lucky that they didn’t take our computers, too, so that we would have no business records left at all, all because I failed to file a form.

We contacted our customers, asking them to send us any documentation that they had, and we soon began hearing from our customers. We did not have any complaining customers at the time of the raid, just like there were not any complaining customers in Seattle when the open attacks began. All of the attacks were to “protect the consumer.” Protecting the consumer is arguably the biggest protection racket on Earth, maybe after the USA’s fraudulent global policeman racket, which only deluded Americans actually believe is legitimate.

Soon after the raid, we began hearing from our customers. They were being called by the sheriff’s department, even by the sheriff himself. The sheriff’s department was fishing for “victims.” Their calls were a litany of leading questions, intended to elicit some kind of statement of dissatisfaction from our customers. As I recently wrote, our customers were significantly comprised of politically active people, often from the right-wing perspective, and they were not fooled for an instant by the sheriff’s department’s fishing expedition, and many told the deputies where they could stick their “investigation.” The sheriff’s deputies then threatened “uncooperative” customers, calling them Dennis’s accomplices, not victims. To call it Orwellian is an understatement.

After campaigning to our customers for several months, the sheriff’s department finally assembled nine “victims” for their legal farce. They were the unlikeliest “victims” that one could imagine. One actually stole his kit from us, while another received a refund, after he was contacted by the sheriff’s deputies and asked to sue us. Another actually set up a competing network and tried to steal our company (he was the man whom our Seattle salesman from Boston installed a system for), and announced on the witness stand that he was close to making free energy himself. Another “victim” received a visit to his home by Mr. Deputy (the “victim” lived in Los Angeles County, so was easily visited). When Mr. Deputy began asking his leading questions, the man became offended, told Mr. Deputy to get off of his property (LA County not being in Mr. Deputy’s jurisdiction), and when he was on the witness stand, when asked why he was accusing Dennis of victimizing him, the man replied in shock. He said that not only was he not a “victim,” but he thought that Dennis was the finest person that he ever met. He really did not understand why he was on the witness stand, but was there because he was subpoenaed. That was the nature of the “case” against us, which won Mr. Deputy a promotion and an award for the most difficult “investigation” in department history.

The only “victim” who acted like one was likely a plant, who received a refund months earlier, after he made an ass of himself in public as he literally parroted Mr. Deputy. When actual criminals operated in the vicinity, the authorities went out of their way to look the other way.

About six weeks after the raid, I began going into a general physical collapse, looking like a raccoon, with dark circles under my eyes, and that is when I got together with the woman who became my wife. That event really marked the beginning of the end of my days with Dennis, and I can tell that my “friends” once again orchestrated the event. Again, being “chosen” this way has been a very mixed blessing, but meeting my wife during that mayhem was part of my “compensation.”

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

There were some compensations during that first half of 1988. Mr. Professor was not only the most beloved teacher at the college, he grew up on a North Dakota farm and hunted and fished from a young age, and was a patriarch in the hunting crowd. I am a vegetarian pacifist, but Mr. Professor took me out to a hunting preserve on Santa Cruz Island. We took a helicopter out and hovered above migrating whales, which were followed by dolphins. The weekend was spectacular, and I hiked across the island’s magnificence in the spring (it looked like Ireland at its best), with my only company being the wild sheep.

Around the same time, I flew with Mr. Researcher to a meeting in the Midwest of our network. It was a kind of “rally the troops” meeting, in the wake of the raid, and when I spoke, Mr. Stooge led a standing ovation. I have seen many standing ovations for Dennis over the years, beginning with the day that I met him. That Mr. Stooge helped steal the company a few months later puts an exclamation point on how worthless such displays are. They are meaningless ego strokes. A few months earlier, when remarking on the many plays to steal our companies and other criminal actions, I asked how they slept at night, and Mr. Stooge said that they slept just fine. I sometimes wonder if he sleeps fine.

By April, Mr. Researcher was long gone, I had gone three months, operating in that insane environment, and was reaching my breaking point. After the raid, I no longer walked between our buildings, but ran. It was not really “voluntary,” but I just did not have the time to walk. It was all like a bad dream to me today.

I looked like a raccoon, with dark circles under my eyes, and asked Dennis if I could have the summer off to try to recover. He granted it, telling me that had already saved his bacon enough times to have a lifetime pass for whatever he could do for me. Between April and June, I began to ease out of my job, and Dennis hired another accountant. I also said that I wanted to sell out my investing company, so my people could get their money back, and Dennis began putting out feelers. I think with our situation, with the sheriff’s department breathing down our necks, it was folly, but it turned out that there was an interested party.

As with Dennis’s Boston investor who was going to put up $1 million, and the deal that Mr. Mentor and Dennis had to move the company to Ventura, I did not hear about Dennis’s encounter with the “interested party” until later, much later. For the situations with the Boston investor and Mr. Mentor, I found out by reading about them in Dennis’s books, and I found out about the interested party when I heard Dennis speak publicly about it in 1996. During my days as his partner, Dennis frankly told me that he was keeping things from me, and while I can tell that some was to protect me, his secrecy really ended up costing me. Dennis still plays cloak-and-dagger games, and I have no interest in them. Seeing how those secrecy games played out has informed my efforts since then, such as having no anonymity in my forum. Secrecy is antithetical to an effort like mine. My effort has to happen in broad daylight on the world stage, not in some dark corner.

In May, Dennis was contacted by some bankers in Chicago, who wanted to talk. Dennis went out there to meet with them, and he was feted by a witty and urbane CIA man. He told Dennis that he represented “European interests,” and he made an offer on their behalf: they would write a check and would put a one on it, and Dennis could write the zeroes. I am virtually certain that Dennis was merely experiencing Intervention Level 6, which is Godzilla’s “final offer” before he really begins to play rough. What we experienced in Boston was the initial friendly buyout offer, which usually works, and like I saw with my Justice Department pal, those organized suppression pockets are so deep that they can just add a couple of zeroes to their initial offer, which meant that they were offering $1 billion, or maybe more, for Dennis to fold his tents and go away. A decade later, Steven Greer was offered $2 billion to go away (I have heard of other $1 billion offers), so Godzilla seems to be adjusting for inflation, so he may be offering $3 billion or more today, for efforts that get to that level, but almost none ever do.

Dennis made a counteroffer to the CIA man. They could write the check and put a one on it, Dennis would put on the zeroes, and it would go back into their pocket and be earmarked for bringing free energy to the world. The CIA man nearly choked on his soup. I doubt that Godzilla ever received a counteroffer like that before.

Of course, the CIA man said that he would have to consult with his superiors. Dennis went back to Ventura, and a couple of weeks later, the CIA man called Dennis and said that he would be in town and would like to have dinner again. They met, but the CIA man never brought up the offer again. I am pretty sure that his trip to Ventura was to help arrange for Dennis’s subsequent treatment. He likely disbursed a tiny fraction of that $1 billion earmarked for us to grease the eager palms in Ventura, to go to Intervention Level 7. A few weeks later, Dennis was arrested with a $1 million bail. Then my nightmare truly began.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

By June of 1988, I no longer worked at the company, as I was taking the summer off to try to recover. In early June, I was seeing friends who were scattered across Southern California, and my relationship with my future wife endured some agonies in those days. If our relationship could survive 1988, it could survive just about anything. The county courts dismissed our civil rights lawsuits against the deputies, and the next week, Mr. Deputy struck. It was a few weeks after Dennis received his visit from the CIA man.

When I lived with Dennis and his family in Ventura, we lived about a five-minute walk from the county center, where Dennis was jailed. If they wanted to arrest Dennis, they could have walked over and done it in a few minutes, on any night of the week. But that did not fit in with the plans of Mr. Deputy and friends. They arrested Dennis in Los Angeles, a few minutes before he was to lead a salesman’s training class at a hotel.

It was the first arrest in the history of the “worm farm” law, which was a civil law, not a criminal law. They were going to try to put Dennis away for life, and using a civil law to do it was going to be a stretch, which was why they were campaigning to our network for several months, so that they could find some “victims” to make the fraud charges stick. From the day of the raid, when they stole all of our technical materials, it was all carefully orchestrated. A day or two after the raid, a childhood friend who lived in LA called me. Mr. Deputy and friends made a video to accompany Dennis’s arrest, which was played across Southern California on the TV news shows, obviously concocted to make it look like Mr. Deputy had captured the criminal of the century.

The bail schedule for the crime that Dennis committed – failing to file a form – called for a $5,000 bail. Obviously, that was not enough to accomplish the goal of wiping us out, so Mr. Deputy swore out an affidavit to raise Dennis’s bail to $1 million, which was far higher than anybody’s in the county jail at the time, including inmates who were jailed on murder charges. Mr. Big Time Attorney later told me that what initially attracted him to Dennis’s case was the astronomical bail. Mr. Big Time Attorney said, “Was the SAMP filing a deadly weapon, which Dennis was hitting people over the head with?”

Mr. Deputy’s affidavit was consistent with the entire affair, full of non-sequiturs and bogus “logic.” One of Mr. Deputy’s rationales in his affidavit was that Dennis’s customers were a bunch of “revolutionaries,” and that Dennis could disappear into their network of backwoods farms and the like, and elude capture when he skipped bail. As with their campaign of intimidation when they fished for “victims,” Mr. Deputy called Dennis’s customers his accomplices. So, who was being protected?

Not only was Mr. Deputy using extremely strained “logic” in his affidavit, but he asked the judge who rubber-stamped his affidavit to rely on his sterling credentials as a fraud investigator. According to his affidavit, Mr. Deputy had been involved with hundreds of cases with fraud elements in them, and Dennis’s case was such a clear-cut case of fraud that the judge should heavily rely on Mr. Deputy’s expert opinion. When the tables turned more than a year later, and Mr. Deputy was on the hot seat on the witness stand, during the prosecutorial misconduct hearings, Mr. Big Time Attorney asked Mr. Deputy to regale the court with his deep understanding of fraud. Mr. Deputy replied that he did not memorize lawyerly things such as what constituted fraud. Mr. Attorney then asked Mr. Deputy to recite merely one of the elements of the crime known as fraud. Mr. Deputy was unable to recall any of them. On that “expertise,” the judge rubber-stamped the million dollar bail request, and that was just the beginning.

I was literally getting ready to go to Washington and hike the summer away, to try to recover, when Alison called me and told me that Dennis had been arrested. I attended the first hearing after he had been arrested, when Dennis made the first of eight bail appeals. It was the first time that I saw Ms. Prosecutor. I never met Betsy, to see her lie out of both sides of her mouth, but I was about to see Ms. Pinch Hitter do so, repeatedly over the years, and not only did Ms. Prosecutor exceed their lies, but she did so in open court. At that initial hearing, she stood up, when arguing that Dennis deserved the million dollar bail, and uttered a string of so many Big Lies in about a minute that I was dumbstruck. It was mindboggling to watch somebody lie like that. It was really my first time in witnessing how they could simply make it up as they go, and the bigger the lie, the better.

Ms. Prosecutor’s many big lies told in the courtroom that day was just my initiation to the legal “process” in Ventura County. When Dennis was jailed, Ms. Prosecutor also filed a motion to deny Dennis’s release, even if we raised their astronomical bail. It was a motion to examine sources of bail. Once again, they used legal stratagems that not one lawyer in a thousand had heard of. The motion was based on a precedent on the East Coast, when a heroin dealer sold heroin to raise his bail. Equating a SAMP with heroin, the motion made the case that any money placed for bail that originated from our business, or any of our business associates, would be declared invalid. Such a ruling would ensure that not even Bill Gates could raise bail to be released from jail.

A couple of weeks after Dennis’s arrest, it was promotion time at the Sheriff’s department. The big news that year was Mr. Deputy’s meteoric career. He was promoted to lieutenant, one of the youngest, if not the youngest, to ever be promoted to that position, and he was given a special award, for the most difficult “investigation” in department history, and furthermore, he had a very strange promotion, from a sergeant-investigator to becoming a lieutenant and being placed in charge of the jail. That promotion made no sense, unless one realized that Mr. Deputy got to see to the comfort of his career-making catch, who had the highest bail, by far, in the county jail.

I am sorry if this seems like some cartoonish parody of evil, but it is what happened.

I was in no shape to try to sailing the hurricane-strength winds that were blowing, and Alison said that I could still take the summer off. I immediately drove to Seattle and started backpacking with my cousin, who I had the hiking year of my life with, in 1986, which was my life’s happiest year, and 1988 would be the worst year of my life, by far.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

After the raid, as we scrambled to avoid the next deathblow, Dennis made a few moves. One was to revive United Community Services (UCS). He put the company under Alison’s name as the sole owner, while Dennis was only an employee. He offered the Conserve Financial Services kit owners to convert to UCS dealers. Dennis also had a “Cure Tour.” Dennis eventually went to prison for failing to file a form for a law that nobody had heard of. The law provided for a “cure” of inadvertent violations of the law, which was making some disclosures and even offering a refund to customers. The Cure Tour offered all of that to the customers. Where that likely plant made an ass of himself in public was at Dennis’s LA Cure Tour meeting, the only of which that I attended. All of those moves made no difference to Mr. Deputy and friends. It did not matter if there were no complaining customers when we were raided, that all of our customers were offered refunds, or that Dennis was no longer an owner of the effort. Dennis was the kingpin that Godzilla was greasing palms to take down, and Mr. Deputy and his psychopathic cronies earned their graft, I’ll grant them that.

Another stratagem was to make ten regions of the company’s efforts, with each region having its director. We had a meeting near the LA airport, for people to make their presentations to be regional directors, and that is perhaps the first time that I saw Ken Hodgell. Ken looked just like Mr. Rogers and acted like him, and he gave the most impressive presentation, talking about his childhood dreams and how this gave him a chance to realize them. Alison started a round of applause when Ken finished his presentation. I don’t know what all of the particulars are, but Dennis is certain that Ken was hired just like Bill the BPA Hit Man was, to help take us down from the inside, when the attacks from the outside escalated.

I left Ventura a few days after Dennis was arrested. That picture of me with Dennis was taken about a week before his arrest, as I began growing my summer beard. After a couple of months of recovery, I no longer looked like a raccoon. That was one of my first long-armed “selfies,” as my future wife bought me my first camera that I had as an adult, a couple of weeks earlier, for my 30^th birthday. That same day, I asked Alison to pay off my American Express credit card that I had loaned them for business expenses. It was supposed to be paid off every month, but Alison was stretching it out (as they regularly did with all of their creditors), and there were about $17,000 of overdue charges on my card. I began taking a $1,000 per month salary around the time of the raid, which was about a third of what the market would pay me.

Here is an appropriate place to discuss Dennis’s earliest and most persistent delusion, and probably the biggest reason why I am not with him anymore. From that fateful moment in that bank lobby, Dennis began to wake up, but he always believed in The People. He believed in innate human goodness and people’s desire to do the honorable thing. He was dead wrong, but he honestly believed it. Those right wing groups that he got involved with talked a good game, and Dennis truly believed that when he was arrested, there would be picket lines outside the jail, demanding his release. He only received an eerie silence, and worse, much worse.

When I stepped down at the company in the spring of 1988, Mr. Stooge asked Dennis if he could replace me as Dennis’s protégé. Dennis replied that Mr. Stooge did not have the right stuff for that role, and Mr. Stooge soon proved Dennis right.

The first month that Dennis was in jail, he fasted and gave his meals to the biggest, meanest guys in his cellblock. The jail starved the inmates (as the jailors made money on what was not spent to feed the inmates, for one of many examples of Ventura’s legendary corruption), who were always hungry, and Dennis saw it as a way to lose weight, as he weighed nearly 300 pounds when he was arrested. Dennis made friends fast, and single-handedly turned his cellblock from a place of fear into a dormitory atmosphere. But Mr. Deputy ran the jail and did not want Dennis feeling too comfortable in there, so after a month, Dennis was suddenly moved to a new cellblock. Dennis constantly received “special treatment” when he was in jail.

Meanwhile, I was hiking in the Cascades, trying to recover. I called my future wife regularly, and heard from Alison, as well as American Express, demanding their money. I was willing to work it out with them, enslaving myself at some corporate gig to pay it off (it would have taken years to do so). The charges eventually reached about $27K on my card, all of which was my being stuck with business charges, some of which at the end were kind of fraudulent, as far as anybody signing for them, but if I challenged and rejected them, they would only go on Dennis’s and Alison’s tab, so I did not challenge them. I was very willing to work it out with American Express, but they were not interested. I could either come up with the money, or they would force me into bankruptcy. Other than my student loans that were just about all paid off at the time, and the loan to buy my Pinto, which I paid off during my LA days, I never had any debt. After about the third time that the collectors for American Express threatened me with involuntary bankruptcy, I replied that it sounded like a fine idea, if they would not give me any other options, so I began preparing to file bankruptcy, which I did before the year ended. It was a trifling concern, compared to what else was happening. Everybody who financed Dennis in a big way had their lives ruined, usually including bankruptcy, including John Spickard, Mr. Professor, and me. None of us blamed Dennis, as we saw him in action and knew what we were up against. Having our lives ruined just came with the territory.

Alison was desperately trying to raise Dennis’s astronomical bail. My future wife put up her home as collateral for a bail bond, as did Mr. Professor, but while I was hiking, Ken Hodgell made his move. At a meeting of the ten regional directors, Ken took over, and with Mr. Stooge as his henchman, and a regional director who lived in Oregon, they got themselves deputized to go to Ventura and try to save the effort. They became known as the trio. Mr. Stooge and the Oregon director were there to help steal it, but Ken was there to destroy it. They went to Ventura and Ken made his play. They had a call with Dennis at the jail, from Mr. Professor’s home, and Ken unmasked himself to Dennis during the call, as he fabricated a conversation with Dennis.

Ken then moved into high gear, coaxing his dupes and threatening others. Within a couple of weeks, he had wreaked mayhem, and worked closely with Mr. Deputy as he did so. They both were working for the same interests, as comrades in arms. Unlike Bill the BPA Hit Man’s moves in Seattle, Dennis was locked up and could not make any moves to save the effort. I knew none of what was happening in Ventura, other than Dennis’s being in jail. After about a month of hiking, my future wife said that she missed me, and to please come back to Ventura. I rented a trailer and cleaned out the room in my grandmother’s basement, of my few meager possessions that I stored when I chased Dennis out to Boston, and towing that trailer behind my Pinto, I rolled into Ventura just about one month after Dennis was arrested. Once again, my “friends” were orchestrating my life’s events, and I decided to drop by the office on the way home, and had one of the big awakening moments of my journey.

As I pulled up to our parking lot, there were almost no cars there, and our offices were closed. I had not heard about that, but as I pulled up, Mr. Engineer was talking with Ken and Mr. Stooge, and they all walked over to my car and enthusiastically greeted me, although Ken looked a little sheepish as he shook my hand. I had no idea what was happening, but Mr. Engineer told me that he and Mr. Researcher were going to work for Ken and Mr. Stooge. I instantly smelled a rat. I had seen that movie before, and so had Mr. Engineer. I did my best to not visibly react to Mr. Engineer’s statement, and after chatting for a minute, I left to unload my trailer, etc. Mr. Researcher had not been involved with the operation for months, but was friends with Mr. Engineer, them being two elderly engineers. Mr. Engineer was going to work for anybody who paid him, but I could not initially believe that Mr. Researcher would go to work for them, in what I already knew to be a power play to steal the business.

I dropped off the trailer at home and went to see Mr. Professor. That day was one of my life’s saddest, and began the sixth-month period of my radicalization. Everything in my life before then was just the warmup.

I did not know it when I drove up to our offices, but it was literally within a half-hour of when Ken walked through our offices, announcing that he had just come from a meeting with Mr. Deputy, and that any employees that kept working at our company would be charged as Dennis’s accomplices. Virtually all of them were only there for a paycheck, so they ran out the doors, shrieking, and they stole everything that they could on the way out, and that will take some telling.

I met a visibly shaken Mr. Professor at his home, and he began our conversation with, “Do you think that Dennis is a good guy?” It broke my heart to hear that. For the next hour, I told Mr. Professor what I thought was happening, and I turned out to be right on all counts. After I told him what I thought the situation was, Mr. Professor thanked me for my perspective, and informed me that he had already decided to support Dennis, but wanted to hear what I thought.

That day, I also paid a visit to Mr. Researcher, asking if I heard correctly that he was going to work for Ken and friends. He said that he was, and I did my best to warn him. He scoffed at my words, in disbelief, oblivious to the cutthroats that he was getting into bed with. I really could not believe that he and Mr. Engineer could be that naïve, nay, stupid, as to support their attempt to steal the business, but I later heard him scoffing to Mr. Deputy (!) about my warnings to him. It was mind-boggling to listen to that tape.

Mr. Researcher saw what Mr. Deputy’s minions had done to his office, and he was on his knees in Mr. Deputy’s interrogation room, begging for his mercy. Again, I really can’t get to into too many details of those events in those days until more people die, but going bankrupt was a mere nuisance compared to the rest of what I lived through during the next several months.

I then went over to see Alison, who was desperately trying to hold it together in the face of the hurricane. She asked me to babysit her children while she ran some desperate errands. For the previous month, Dennis’s daughters were told by Alison that Dennis was on a business trip. As I babysat them, I answered the phone. I can’t remember who called, but I told them what had been happening, completely forgetting about the lie being told the daughters. When I got off the phone, Dennis’s daughters walked into the room, with their eyes as big as saucers, saying to me, “Dad is in jail?” I felt about one-inch tall at that moment. When Alison returned, I told her what happened, and she diplomatically replied that it was about time that her daughters were told the truth of their father’s “business trip.”

There is much more to tell about that seminal day, but it is off to work.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Yesterday was a gorgeous autumn hiking day at Mount Rainier. A pal and I hiked to the Palisades Lakes. This year was a good wildlife year for me, with bear cubs, an owl, plenty of deer, and yesterday we saw grouse. They are like chickens, and when we came upon them, they just milled around for a few minutes, until some of the rare hikers that we encountered yesterday came through. Then one flew away and the others crept into the bushes. Here is a movie of the grouse (beware - 60 megabytes).

The season is ending. I worked too much this year to really get in a great season, but it has been a good one.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Now that I think about it, that phone call that I answered while babysitting Alison’s daughters may have been from a veteran activist. He asked what was happening, and I told him (which is how Dennis’s daughters learned that he was in jail), and the activist’s immediate reply was that Ventura County was the most corrupt county in the USA. He furthermore said that “hellraisers” like Dennis were safest if they did it someplace like in downtown Manhattan. Dennis has done plenty of that kind of “hellraising,” and the results have been decidedly mixed. The sitting American president can be in your camp and it really does not matter, not when Godzilla and friends get involved.

That day was a mind-boggler in ways, and the most agonizing to me was Mr. Engineer and Mr. Researcher’s going to work for Ken Hodgell and friends. I smelled Ken’s play instantly, but Mr. Engineer and Mr. Researcher were duped like children lured into a pedophile’s car with a candy bar dangled from the car window. To his credit, soon before he died, Mr. Engineer admitted what “saps” that he and Mr. Researcher were. I cannot discuss much of those events publicly, but in ways, it was the beginning of the wrecking of my life, and again, it was not so much what Godzilla’s minions did, but what our allies did, as I soon witnessed people I had known for most of my life acting dishonorably and even criminally. What that old girlfriend did was only a gentle preview. When I heard, years later, that my mother, who would not speak to me since the raid, had made a scrapbook of her employer’s libelous articles about us and took it on tour to my friends, family, and investors, telling the story of her son the criminal, it did not even hurt anymore.

Victor Fischer never was tempted to support Hodgell’s play, saying that Dennis made things happen, and without Dennis’s leading the effort, Fischer was not interested. I always gave Fischer worldliness and savviness points for that, not integrity points. He had seen those power plays before, and he also smelled Hodgell’s play a mile away. But Fischer pulled a discord-sowing stunt about a month after the raid, and Dennis then paid him to stay away from our operation, while he lived in LA. But while Fischer did not support Hodgell’s play, he also did not help, and quickly disappeared from the scene. Mr. Professor never forgave Fischer for that, and when Dennis teamed back up with Fischer in 1997, we were distinctly unimpressed, although Dennis somehow expected us to be. I’ll give Dennis that he was in jail and did not see what happened when Hodgell made his play, but Fischer’s not signing up with Hodgell was not a great act of integrity, but just recognizing cutthroats when they make their plays, and knowing that it is only a matter of time before they slit yours.

Of course, Mr. Installer went to work for Hodgell, as he hated Dennis and would work for whoever could pay him. But what Fischer and Mr. Installer did paled next to nearly everybody else. Mr. Cameraman stole our professional recording equipment, which we played $6,000 for a few months before, and disappeared. The machinist sold off our machine shop for $5,000, pocketed the money, and went back to Boston. And they were far from alone. When the employees fled the premises after Hodgell’s announcement, they stole everything that was not nailed down, even equipment that we did not own, but were renting. I witnessed an installer trainee steal Alison’s keys from her car, which he ransomed for the few days of wages that he was owed.

Perhaps the most egregious was a woman and her boyfriend (she left the company in 1987, and we welcomed her back, along with her new boyfriend, who was made in charge of customer service, and who was given the keys to our building), who not only stole all of our computers, but they stole all of our customer service files and presented them to Mr. Deputy. Instead of returning the many stolen documents to us, and prosecute the thieves, the deputies happily used the stolen documents as evidence against us. What the deputies did – encourage felonious acts and abet them – was exactly what Mr. Big Time Attorney wrecked the careers of IRS agents for, that same year. Those were just some of the many outright felonies committed by Mr. Deputy and friends, but when you have the guns, badges, jails, judges, and Godzilla on your side, you get promoted instead of going to prison. Mr. Deputy’s sidekick on the investigation was promoted to sergeant, to take Mr. Deputy’s illustrious place, when Mr. Deputy was promoted to lieutenant.

Mr. Professor was a pillar of the community, and one of his pals was very close to many sheriff’s deputies. While he socialized with them, they openly gossiped about cases. He asked them about the Dennis Lee affair one day, and all that he received in reply was a tight-lipped silence.

Soon after we hit Ventura in the summer of 1987, one of Mr Professor’s pals knew people high on the inside of the local electric company, which is one of the USA’s largest. Mr. Professor’s pal said that the electric company’s chairman of the board was highly aware of us when we arrived in Ventura, but he had not yet decided what to do about us. Mr. Big Time Attorney’s investigation led to his suspicion that the electric company’s chairman of the board ordered the hit on us, but if he gave the order, it was very likely done with a little help from his CIA pal.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Last night, I finished Life on the Edge, and while the authors stick with quantum mechanics, their book is a good one, but they try to play God (or Dr. Frankenstein) by the book’s end, and discuss creating artificial life through understanding quantum physics, in completely materialistic fashion. That said, my essay update will venture into quantum mechanics a little more, especially its role in biology. The problem with quantum mechanics is that it is largely a math exercise and does not make sense. Einstein and Schroedinger were unhappy with quantum physics, even though they were fathers of it.

That stated, quantum physics is about the most battle tested theory in physics. It is valid, insofar as it makes accurate predictions, but Einstein and Schroedinger, among others, believed that quantum physics is an incomplete theory that does not describe what is really happening. The so-called unified field theory may resolve the paradoxes of quantum physics, as it unites with relativity in some way.

I have this feeling that the technologies that my friend witnessed are only going to be explainable by something like the unified field, which will turn today’s physics textbooks into doorstops.

It really is easy to have direct personal experiences that falsify materialism, and it really is mystifying at times that such seemingly smart people dismiss evidence that is easily acquired and can’t be denied. When you have experience, you know.

On a related note, I get emails from Steven Greer’s organization almost daily, and I was looking this past weekend at the videos that he sells. I bought the original Sirius video, but not sure if I will ever buy the others. Greer is damaged goods from his journey, understandably, and is really not the man to lead the populist movement that he is attempting to form (and a populist movement would not work for this if Jesus led it), but I’ll say this for what he has to say about the global power structure: it largely aligns with what my fellow travelers and I discovered on our adventures. We had multiple encounters with the Rockefellers and Rothschilds but they are not at the top of the global food chain, and sitting American presidents are lower still. In that regard, Greer’s work is valid, but there is not enough personal integrity in the masses for a mass movement approach to work, and Greer is not a man of the people like Dennis is and Brian was, and they did not have a prayer, either.

So, if you want to gain some understanding of how the world’s power structure works, Greer’s work is a good primer, but deep understanding is not needed for my approach. It is enough to know that they are there, are vigilant, cannot be snuck past or negotiated with, and killing people like Dennis, Brian, and Greer is a common enough strategy of theirs, when necessary. But my effort is likely low enough on the radar so that I do not have to worry about fending off murder attempts and the other outrages that accompanied the journeys of great men like them. The people who join my choir will face much greater threats from their social circles and themselves than from Godzilla’s minions.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Not long after Ken Hodgell’s play completed the death blow that Mr. Deputy and friends initiated, Hodgell began screwing over all of the low-integrity idiots who supported his power play. One of the first was Mr. Engineer. Hodgell used Mr. Engineer’s connections to make a panel order, and Mr. Engineer moved to Texas to work for Hodgell. Mr. Engineer had approval stickers from the Seattle factory days, which were actually worthless, but they were treated like some sort of Holy Grail that Mr. Engineer possessed. Ken used Mr. Stooge to winkle those stickers from Mr. Engineer, and within minutes of prying them away from Mr. Engineer, they fired him, and he was left to try getting back home to Ellensburg from Texas, penniless. Mr. Engineer was relatively fortunate, getting his throat slit early on. Those who got deeply into bed with Hodgell mightily regretted it. I never heard exactly how Ken and Mr. Stooge parted, but it was definitely not in a “friends-for-life” way.

One fundamentalist minister (a regional dealer) from Missouri gave Hodgell some pretty big money for system orders, from his dealers, and Hodgell simply pocketed the money, never intended to deliver, and the minister fled into hiding and vowed to kill Hodgell if he ever saw him again. The Oregon member of the trio was also backstabbed by Hodgell. Any fools who signed on with Hodgell had their throats slit in the end. When I heard what had happened, I wondered if Ken was supposed to improve on what Bill the BPA Hit Man achieved. Bill slunk away after Dennis was taken out, leaving his dupes holding the bag, but Ken was likely supposed to help destroy the effort so thoroughly that nothing would ever arise from its ashes.

After a couple of weeks in Ventura, and the effort was completely destroyed, I went back to Seattle to hike for a few more weeks, which included my life’s best backpacking experience (alone, for five days, on a juice fast), and then back to Ventura to begin picking up the pieces of my shattered life.

Mr. Deputy had his finest hour in those weeks after Dennis’s arrest, with a stream of frightened ex-employees on their knees in his office, begging for his mercy, as he held court as King Rat. People, including family members, advised me to get on my knees in Mr. Deputy’s office and beg for his mercy. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. It was like I was raised around a bunch of cowards. I can still hardly believe how cowardly and lacking in integrity those around me were. However, there were thankfully a few exceptions, and Mr. Professor shined like a beacon in the darkness.

Within days of having the doors shut, the operation ran out of money, and Alison and her daughters soon moved in with Mr. Professor, and that was their home for more than the next year. About when I came back to Ventura to begin picking up the pieces in early September, we loaded a trailer behind Mr. Professor’s van, to tow Alison, her daughters, and the remaining company assets to a dealer in Tennessee, who at least had not yet betrayed the effort (but I heard that he later did, and his invitation was like the spider to the fly). Dennis asked Alison to move away with the children and start a new life away from California, as Dennis was already expecting to spend the next 20 years behind bars. The van overheated in the California desert only a hundred miles away or so, and they returned to Ventura, which actually became critical to our rescuing Dennis from jail. I can tell that my “friends” were still orchestrating events, no matter how horrific they were.

A few other people in Ventura acted with integrity, but it was only a few, and David the Ventura salesman, who had been a minister and was one of the only Christians that I ever met who had the right stuff, I believe was the only employee who testified for Dennis at the preliminary hearing a few months later. All the others had either helped out Mr. Deputy, begged for his mercy, attacked us, or disappeared. By October, in Ventura, only Mr. Professor and I were helping, as we stood up against the forces of darkness. A regional dealer from Ohio, about the only black man in Dennis’s network, also testified at the preliminary hearing, and that was literally about it, from all of the hundreds of people who were involved only a few months earlier. Dennis’s fantasized picket line would have only been a handful of us. A lynch mob was more likely.

Best,

Wade

[Wade Frazier]

Hi:

Of all of the reactions to those days that I witnessed, Mr. Researcher’s were the most poignant for me, from watching the deputies ransack his office to going to work for Ken Hodgell with Mr. Engineer, to getting on his knees in Mr. Deputy’s office, begging for his mercy, to fleeing into hiding rather than testifying, to eventually testifying to what Mr. Deputy and friends did. There were plenty of other reactions like his, as people would act dishonorably or cowardly, then find their conscience when it became convenient, and Mr. Engineer got some points for admitting what “saps” he and Mr. Researcher were, and Mr. Engineer also testified at the misconduct hearing, but that comes later.

If you read The Alternative, you will see that plenty of affidavits were written by people not long after Dennis was released from jail (on April 1, 1989), such as Cab’s. Once we had the criminals and cowards at the sheriff’s department on the run, with Mr. Deputy eventually hiding in his house for months to avoid testifying regarding his innumerable crimes, his victims began finding the courage to come forward.

There was such a wide array of reactions to those events that it comprised my great anthropology lesson, when I had my life’s greatest lesson beaten into my head in no uncertain terms. Another “interesting” reaction came from Mr. Stooge’s pal André. André had witnessed what the deputies did on the day of the raid. He knew that they were gangsters. Dennis later told me that, like me, Mr. Stooge had allowed his credit card to be used for business expenses, so when Mr. Stooge helped steal the company, he was sacked with expenses that he signed for on his credit card. Dennis surmised that when they stole the company and began ripping people off, Mr. Stooge may have about broken even on the effort. I never knew what happened with Mr. Stooge, but I saw a letter that André sent to his credit card company, soon after Hodgell and Mr. Stooge stole the company. André wrote the letter to reverse charges that he put on his card. They were charges associated with our company. The letter said that our company was obviously a criminal enterprise, so that his charges should have been reversed, and he gave his credit card company Mr. Deputy’s contact information so that if the credit card company had any doubts about the fraudulent nature of the charges on his credit card (which he signed for), that Mr. Deputy could set them straight. That was one of many instances in which I saw people demonstrate outright chutzpa. André was involved with stealing our company, and used Mr. Deputy to establish his credibility.

There were so many bizarre ironies for me in those days. I had twice left Southern California, vowing to never live there again (1, 2), and there I was, living my life’s nightmare there. When I came back to Ventura in late summer, I began looking for work. I went to one employment agency, and as I sat there with the interviewer, one of our former employees walked right past me, who felt wronged by us, and who now worked at that agency. The interviewer then proceeded to challenge my credentials, but she did not even know what a Big Eight accounting firm was. Ventura was the backwoods in more than one way, and I quickly realized that not only was my name mud in my hometown, but Ventura was going to be too backwoods for me, so I began looking for work in LA, ironies of ironies. Before the year was out, I took a job with a medical lab in LA, and the feds began trying to wipe it out literally a week or so after I began working there. Once again, my “friends” were hard at work, orchestrating my life’s events. Even though the feds and LA’s power structure tried to wipe the lab out, and it soon sold out to a conglomerate and nearly everybody lost their jobs, the environment possessed a pastoral calm to me, compared to what I survived in Ventura.

When their misadventure in the desert was over and Alison retuned to Ventura, it was the long wait for trial, and I worked as temp around the San Fernando Valley and began preparing my bankruptcy filing.

Best,

Wade