August 8, 2004. At the last moment yesterday, I discovered a notice from the Orange County Peace Coalition in my email, mentioning that today there is going to be a meeting of the KPFK/IPC (Interim Programming Council) at the Unitarian/Universalist Church in Anaheim. So, after making it to the last hour of the extended breakfast meeting of Atheists United, I then cruise by the storage place mentioned on August 7th below. I don't see any of the gang, which is not surprising, considering that they almost invariably sleep during the day - not such a bad idea in the current heat wave.
However, I thought I had better alert the management of the impending threat to their business, not to mention to me personally. Sure enough, I immediately spot an office vacume cleaner of the kind that was constantly showing up on the concrete landing of Unit B. It's parked in front of the dumpster, which is heavily fortified against casual use, with a big sign threatening all kinds of penalties for unauthorized dumping. (What happened over the years is that people figured out that it was easier and cheaper just to dump at the local storage center than to pay for a dumpster or go to the dump itself. That didn't last.) In front of the entrance into where my storage unit is, is a big TV monitor that I believe I recognize from the Unit B moveout, together with some battered steal shelves that also look familiar.
So, the regular lady who runs the place is on vacation and a much less physically imposing and much younger young hispanic woman has been entrusted with keeping the vandals and goths and visigoths out... Too bad. However, I relate my concerns to her and describe the gang members and their vehicles as well as the tow truck and its possible role. She recognizes them from the descriptions and says she will make a note of everything and keep her eyes open. I tell her that if the gang runs true to form, then she will start seeing dead computer equipment all over the place, along with general office junk, all of which she will have to pick up. Then, as I'm leaving, I suddenly focus on the trailor parked by itself in one of the customer parking spaces.
Yipes! It's the gang's trailor, jammed full of used computers and sitting there blocking use of one of several customer only parking spaces. I run back in to tell the manager. She says that it is not supposed to be there and that it will be towed...
Towed. Right. And who will be called by the dispatch to do the towing? Now I'm starting to see how the gang gets away with parking their vehicles and dumping their trash whereever they happen to feel. Actually being towed to the City of Santa Ana official tow yard is an expensive proposition. The PD and the tow yard together make a killing of their little monopoly, with a whole lot of vehicles owned by low-income people ending up being simply abandoned, as the owners cannot both bail them out and also pay for food or rent.
But, if you've got a buddy that drives for the official tow yard, then you are home free - or at least at a considerable discount, perhaps payable in sex or drugs - who knows? I recall having a car towed by the PD in Long Beach once, in the early '80's. It was a nightmare. I had gone to a libertarian conference for the weekend, and they put up road work signs one day before actually commencing work, and when I returned, my Renault 8 was gone! What a sinking feeling that is. So, I locate it in Signal Hill, notorious for its corrupt police department (even more than Long Beach! Google on Ron Settles, Signal Hill). I discover that the Signal Hill tow operation is manned entirely by off-duty Long Beach cops, while the Long Beach tow operation is manned entirely by off-duty Signal Hill cops. Neat.
August 7, 2004. Yes, unbelievably still more to the nightmare. The evil jerks are finally out of Unit B. The bad news is that they have re-emerged at the storage place where I moved the two bikes. As I related, on July 31st, I first spotted this huge white tow truck parked almost completely blocking access to the storage unit entrance. Then, that same truck appeared at my office unit, and the driver was obviously involved in helping the gang in their forced move-out. It continued to appear until they were completely gone.
So, last night I carried a box of old LP albums over to the storage unit, and, as I entered the driveway, I immediately spotted the fat blond woman who rents Unit E and who apparently called the Santa Ana PD with some cock-and-bull complaint after her young hispanic friend forcably siezed my camera on the first night of their moveout, when I took pictures of their various license plates. She spotted me at the same instant, and yelled, "Oh, Sh.t!" She was standing at the railing of the entrance accross from the office of the hallway in which I also rent my unit. However, she was at the far end of that long hallway from where I am, and there are a couple of entrances much closer to where she was, which doesn't account for why the tow was down at my end on the 31st. I also spotted one of the two black pickups the gang uses.
Blondie - the younger rangy blond woman who was the primary resident of Unit B - was obviously also there, as I recognized her voice when I checked out my area - one of the flat, nasal Western female voices that make you think of a duck quacking. I decided to leave without going to my unit. When I got back to my offices, I arrived simultaneously with one of my neighbors, and mentioned the incident to him. He has watched this whole charade go down for the past year, and was there a lot more than I have been to observe it.
He related how Blondie had invited him into Unit B on several occasions, and had come on to him sexually, until one night when he dropped by and witnesses what he described as an obvious drug deal going down. At that point he said that he left in a hurry, realizing that only trouble could result from any further contact with her or the gang. He went on to relate his own experiences when he had lived in the high desert area with his brother. He described a class of women who he claimed were common there - typically in their thirties or older - who made a profession of preying on lonely guys. He related how a friend had gotten sucked into a relationship with one of them. The friend had a home, a sizeable bank account, a couple of nice cars and a good job. After two months, he had lost everything he owned and was in jail.
I have seen enough similar stuff myself. In the early '80's, I was reading Nathanial Branden's "The Psychology of Romantic Love" at the cafeterai of Long Beach City College, when this very attractive black woman approached me and said that she had noticed what I was reading and wanted to say hello. One thing lead to another, and the next thing I know, I'm driving her around and then she's suddenly without a place to stay and then I start finding out things about her. Like how she's actually not into men at all, but has spent all the money she saved from several years in the Air Force on buying drugs for her lesbian lovers, how she was sexually used by an older man when she was a teen, and then I spot this pimp who is shadowing her, and then my pickup is broken into and my tools stolen while she's trying to seduce me... Been there, done that.
So, my neighbor's take on the gang: He related how it wasn't just me that they tried to suck into some kind of reaction that would get me into trouble and leave me vulnerable to blackmail, etc. They also went after other tenants, blocking their cars or their parking spaces, or otherwise interfering with their business, always prodding for a reaction, something they could use against them. What a bunch of hateful creeps! He told me that he thought that this was their essential scam. Screw around with someone, suck them in if possible with sex or drugs, or, if that didn't work, then try to anger or intimidate them until they finally reacted. Then their little network of lookouts with the cell phones would come into play, and suddenly their victim would be faced with the possibility of prosecution.
I recalled the several times over the past year in which I had discussed what I had observed with some other tenant, and suddenly we would discover one of the gang lurking around the corner, cellphone in hand, or hiding behind some truck, taking in everything. I wonder if this is a new course of study in our crime universities - otherwise known as prisons. There's also the question of official involvement. I'm convinced that the network of police informants, in connection with the seizure industry and and "War on Drugs," has blossomed into the beginnings of a new, hi-tech criminal empire, encompassing cops and crooks, as if there is a necessary distinction, and developing new forms of collaberation based on info-savvy.
I recall noticing hints of this sort of thing first several years ago. It took me a while to figure out, but eventually I realized that the participants were teenage street racers. They were running races out of one of the 55 Fwy on-ramps - at Baker St. in Costa Mesa. The Chippies patrol that stretch really heavilly, but these guys were up for it. I'm guessing that they had all the highway patrol cars under surveillance. I noticed them first as a little crowd of shadowy guys in trench coats, standing in the little median area between two exits off the 55S and 405E fwys onto Paularino/Baker St.
I couldn't imagine what all these guys were doing, just standing out there with cellphones in hand in the middle of the night. Then, one night I almost got run down on my motorcycle by the racers, and, about the same time, the news was breaking about the crackdowns on street racing locally, after a number of fatalities. This was ad-hok, small-time stuff, though. Just restless hormone-pumped guys looking for thrills. What I'm suggesting is that what has been happening in my little world is part of a general phenomynon, an evolution of crime and sociopathology that bears further watching.
August 3, 2004. Sure enough, this morning at 6:55AM the old man and one of the women from Unit E who have allied themselves with the gang in recent months were out there with the black pickup, loading from the huge pile of trash they left sitting between sidewalk and curb. They filled the bed and then some and then left - leaving about half behind. I wonder if they replaced the wind turbine on the roof of their unit, and, if so, did they reseat it and seal it again so that it won't leak? Somehow I doubt it.
I am still mystified as to how and why a group of people who obviously all worked well together - at least I never saw any dissension in the group - and worked very hard all hours of the night at whatever ragtag variety of opportunistic jobs they were apparently accessing, could be so incredibly stupid as to so thoroughly trash the area and completely ignore the impact on their neighbors as to end up being evicted... Just amazing. These were not kids. Virtually all of them were in their thirties or later. These were people with skills and energy and cooperation among the group, and they completely blew it. Unreal. My guess is that this is a pattern, and they probably won't learn any more from this experience than any prior ones.
Recently I attended an author's presentation by Barbara Seranella, who is local in Laguna Beach and writes these amazing hard-core, down-and-dirty crime novels starring a character based on herself - Munch Mancini, a low-life female auto-mechanic/biker-chick who she mentions as having given five bikers the clap in one of the series of novels about her adventures (just to give the flavor). Barbara also mentioned that she knew all these people from her previous life who just went from one self-made disaster to the next, in and out of jail, making life hell for everyone around them, never having the slightest clue that there might be something about their basic approach that was causing their problems.
I confess that I was very much less than enthused about reading about low-lifes after the past year of dealing with them on a daily basis, but her take on them certainly rang true, and when I checked out one of her novels from the library yesterday, I was immediately struck by not only the quality of writing but also the clarity of thought and the depth of basic philosophical understanding. I'm sort of looking forward to the TV series based on the novels that will be out shortly.
The French, however, have this fine phrase that means "Love of the mud." It refers to all those upper-class intellectuals who are taken with books like George Orwell's "Down and Out in Paris and London." Orwell's book is certainly down in the lumpen prolettarian mud - muck might be a better word, actually, and it does make a good read, but after a while I really get tired of the implicit glorification of despair, filth, stupidity, starvation, injustice, etc. I'm sorry. Just try living that way for a while - not as a little vacation from your protected yuppie existence, to which you can return at will - but without any alternatives.
Try living day to day scheming how to screw over your neighbors, who are busy doing the same, how to con someone out of ten dollars, or a dollar, with a toothache that you can't afford to fix, never more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, lousy food that makes you feel slightly nauseated all the time and seriously ill all too often, constant intimidations and insults that you can't afford to answer. A lot of people in this world of ours live that way and much, much worse. However, to see people who have all the advantages, who are living in the OC, fer God's sake! - and watch them screw themselves out of shear wanton perverse stupidity. That's disgusting! And not entertaining at all.
August 2, 2004. Dragged myself to work, running on ephedra and caffiene, of course, and thinking how peaceful a nice cell in solitary confinement sounded. After work, cruised by my offices and there's the old man and friends, loading up a van in front of my unit. I figure they'll be there for days more.
August 1, 2004. So, late Saturday I went to see "the Manchurian Candidate," which is a grim tale, and all too real - in spirit, anyway. I'll probably do a separate review of it, as this is up my alley of expertise. Coming back around 1AM, I drive almost to my office units and there's the SAME tow truck, parked in the container company lot accross the street, with its yellow flashers going, but no one around at all. I notice that blondie's van in which she used to sleep and do lookout duty for the gang is still parked on the street, right accross from the tow, and there is also a run-down '60's drug car - Camero or Firebird - parked right next to the tow. The gang frequently works on that car all hours of the night, and it has been sitting there for months, as far as I can tell.
So, I freak and leave and drive to a pay phone in the nearby minimall and call the Santa Ana PD, once again. By then, it's 1:20, and hardly anyone is around. Dispatch tells me to wait for the officer's to show, so I wait. At 1:23, a big, new grey van driven by a hispanic cruises into the lot and s l o w l y drives past me, then on through the lot and out the other end. Likely nothing, but I'm sure that the gang has scanners. At 1:55, the PD shows - 2 B&W's - and asks me what's up. I give them the short version - seeing the same tow three times now, etc. - and they ask what I want them to do. "Just escort me over to my offices and check out the tow guy if you can." Fine. We do it.
When we arrive, the flashers are off on the tow and I can see someone in the cab. One cop asks me if that's the one. Then he informs me that there can't be a problem, because it's a Police Tow Truck. Great. Now I know of one way the guy could have gotten into the storage area - assuming he isn't a regular. He would know that my gate code is my driver's license, as that's how they do it there. How would he know my driver's license? Hey, did I just mention he's a Police Tow? So all he has to do is take my tag number from my bike - himself or from one of the gang who has had plenty of opportunity. Is this paranoia or just being safe? What are the odds of this guy parking right accross the entrance - of twenty or more in the storage facility - leading into my little unit? And then going directly to my office unit? And then, as he informed the PD now, of just happening to decide to sleep (with his flashers on?) right accross the street.
So, I go on in and crash out for a bit. But I need to catch the morning lineup from KPFK on Sunday, as they usually have the best news touch on what's really happening, after you factor out the left-progressive manic craziness. However, I'm so beat from sleep deprivation and ongoing stress from the idiots that I'm not absorbing much. I do some more ephedra and go to the gym after accomplishing little or nothing all day. When I get back, blondie has a flat bed trailor completely blocking the East entrance to the sidewalk, so I manuever thru the street work on the other end. Then I decide to get groceries. When I return, she has managed to get the heavy trailor in front of her unit B, leaving just barely enough space in front of my unit to get the bike up the ramp and in.
Almost immediately after I get everything inside and turn on my monitor, I see the tow truck arrive outside, where it stays, with it's huge V8 shuddering the whole place, for the next two hours or so, as the driver and blondie load up the trailor. Eventually the tow leaves for a while, but the crashing and banging lasts all night, and I feel more like living death than ever by the time I drag myself to work Monday. The tow finally leaves about 7AM, and there are big tire tracks all through the schrubbery, etc., all the way from Unit B to Unit H at the end, where the sidewalk runs into the rear parking lot entranceway. However, when I leave at about 8AM for my day job, I see blondie in the black pickup at the end of the sidewalk, and she shortly appears, and I can see that there is still a long ways to go in moving out.
I have studiously avoided even looking into unit B when their door was open, but I couldn't avoid noticing that they had turned it into a two story unit, building heavy racks and supports all over to double their floor space to about 1,000 ft., which was totally full of stuff. I had a whole lot of things that I desperately needed to do this past weekend that didn't get done, and I figure another couple days now before they are finally out and I can resume my life.
So, the tow? What's up with that? Well, that might just provide a tentative hypothesis for why the gang has been able to park their vehicles, often with expired tags, all over the place without fear of getting towed. I don't pretend to understand the full nature of their little games, but one thing that I did observe early on was that blondie was making friends - close friends, so to speak - with every available male in the area. She even tried to come on to me a couple of times, in spite of the old man's vendetta, and a couple of days back, as I parked across the street, I observed one of the locals running out of Unit B as though the devil were behind him. Seconds later, blondie appears in a bathing suit or underwear and tries to call him back.
(In the deep South, there is this thing called the "Queen Bee" phenomynon. Women, often older women who would never catch a second look normally, build up a following of guys based on sexual favors. They then use these guys for money, of course, but mainly for favors in their endless power trips, such as beating up someone who slighted them - or killing them - or simply spreading damning rumours about them. I recall now being approached several times by guys who work in the larger units opeing onto the parking lot behind my unit about cars or vans being towed. Each time, they were somehow convinced that I was somehow responsible, or at least that was the gist of their questions. So, things start to add up now. A tow driver with official credentials and access, blondie, the old man's vendetta...)
July 31, 2004. For the past several days, there has been no sign of the gang that got evicted - I believe - from Unit B of the complex in which I rent a couple of adjoining units. Then, early this afternoon, after going to the Tustin Library "buck a bag" book sale and more than filling a banana box with books, cds and videos, I stopped by my storage unit, to which I pushed two Honda 650 motorcycles a couple weeks back. See my other article "Yin Yang..." for the gory details.
Almost blocking the entranceway leading to the unit was a big tow truck, with the emblem "JR Towing" painted on it. I thought of complaining, but then forgot when I went to pay the month's rent. Before I left, I saw the tow leaving anyway. So, then I drive back to my units and - there's that same tow - parked right in front of the black pickup belonging to one of the gang members, which is pulled up illegally half onto the shrubbery, half on the street in a "No Stopping" zone, and is loaded with various stuff, including a couple of large computer monitors. I suddenly realize that the tow driver looks very like the guy I only saw in passing on the 26th. So, what is this friend of blondie doing in front of my storage unit and then again in front of my office units with a tow? I have a bad feeling that I will find out... Is this ever going to end?
At the library, skimming the OC Register, I came across a story on a new video art museum, the Orange Lounge. So, after a couple of false starts - the South Coast Plaza Mall is huge! - I found the place. Not very exciting, unfortunately. There was no interactivity, to start. After years of covering state-of-the-art digital art at SIGGRAPH, CyberArts, Meckler, E3 and Digital Hollywood, from the mid-'80's thru the mid-'90's, it was sad to see the meager collection of avante-garde, mostly low-res computer video clips that were the main course at the Lounge. They were ok, but, frankly, I did better stuff in my free time in the '80's on my Amiga.
One exhibit featured a flashing text message that just kept flashing on an ancient Atari game machine. I recall that Atari actually did make an interesting game machine late in their gaming days. It had an interactive program that generated these amazing hi-resolution abstract art things, with flowing fountains of riotous colors. I don't recall details seven or so years later, but I recall being blown away with the complexity of the effects, many of which were really pretty.
I suggested to one of the managment that they find a videoplace system, such as an old Amiga Mandala and/or Invision set-up that would allow them to point a camera out into the mall concourse and have people directly interact with it via their video-captured images. That would really draw attention. This is privately funded, BTW. I asked how many of the people who had come today were there because of the Register story, and was told that about half of them had mentioned it.
Compared to what I've been used to at other venues, even twenty years ago, the Orange Lounge stuff is pretty mild. Why would I watch most of it, I'm asking myself? Wouldn't I rather just go to a movie? A little, fractional screen, fuzzy image of something made to prove an esoteric artistic point is not what real art is about, it it? Neither is a huge, surround screen of blurry images of flowers. Now if it were an interactive surround screen of flowers that morphed based on the movements of the people in the room (you're surrounded by old video projectors with the red, green, blue 5" lenses, so that your shadow appears everywhere if you stand in the center.), or something else that carried you somewhere, then it could be interesting.
Of course, I'm spoiled. Virtually any random 1% of any of the three CyberArts festivals of '90,'91 and '92 had more interesting and more artistic stuff going on. But, that was then, before the Borg took over. And, it wasn't in the OC, where it's important to draw up the PC (Politically Corrent) guidelines as to what art can be exhibited, first priority. Be artistic - don't offend.
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Friday, July 30th, 2004. Unit A has the usual piles of junk out front, but no sign of life now for a couple days. Glory be! Peace at last! I hope.
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Thursday, July 29th, 2004. Have the jerks finally gone? Still junk out front of their units, but nobody around. I go to watch a BBC video about Emma Goldman's life, shown by some local "progressives." Worth it for the occasional useful info and nice imagery, but really lacking in nitty-gritty political philosophy. Very few quotes from Emma herself, and the essential political issues were glossed over or simplified to the point of meaninglessness. It was a good place to hang out. I've been needing some downtime.
Wednesday, July 28th, 2004. Went to
Orange County Science Fiction Club. No guest this time, so we spent the time arguing various issues, such as the implications and validity of
Harlan Ellison's recent settlement of the lawsuit he filed over alleged failure of AOL to properly block bigtime copyright violators. Not as boring as it sounds.
Last night, July 26, 2004. Went to the gym to work out. So tired that I couldn't do my usual super workout - altho I made a scout's attempt at it. Figured I could get in and out and home - to my offices/storage units, anyway, which have been more home to me than my residence address of late - and to bed by 10-ish. No such luck. Everything was just taking too long, due to fatigue.
So, I finally crash about 11:50P.M. Then, starting about 3AM and I suppose, all night long, there is crashing and banging from the idiots next door as they continue their forced move-out. However, I was so totally bushed that I would wake up, take bleary note, and fall right back into a deep sleep, regardless of the racket. I got up at the usual 6:55AM and struggled each moment with the unabated bone weariness to get my act together to make it to work.
Monday had been rough, as I kept trying to nod off as I edited the 900-page corporate website that I do for a day-job. This morning was about as bad, but I've stockpiled thermogenic mixes containing ephedra, now that it's no longer legal to sell it. So, a low-dose of that kept me going, altho I was on edge enough to almost get in a fight at McDonald's when a crew of y-geners decided to break in line ahead of me. I just stepped forward and in front of them, which totally amazed them, but something about my demeanor must have warned them off, as they didn't press the issue.
I was feeling ready for mayhem, to tell the truth - or, if not
ready - as my whole body felt more ready to be traded in on a Yugo (I
hurt) - then more than willing to wreak bloody vengence upon the nearest willing volunteer. Being the recipient of a solid year of daily intimidations and general nastiness clearly intended to provoke a reaction will do that to you. I'll have to watch myself... Please be nice to me. I promise I'll let you live...
By late afternoon, I had hit some kind of groove and had figured out how to do a tiled background for some of the site that might even pass muster with the management, in as much as I borrowed the basic look from the background imagery of their printed catalog. That abstract had been created by an official
GRAPHIC ARTISTE!!!, right out of art school with credentials, I'll bet, and so anything she does back in Taiwan at headquarters must be good, no matter how ugly, whereas anything that
I do must be a fluke, since I only have 23 years of computer graphic experience. Odd how I've been able to duplicate her look and feel in no time at all...
So, I even work right through afternoon break. Then, it's back again to my "home," where the gang is waiting, as always. This time there is someone new, a big, greasy-brown-long-haired, bar-fighter-looking tough. I spot him carrying something to one of their vehicles as they continue their supposed eviction departure. I park across the street, but in a straight shot to my surveillance camera pointing out my front window. After I'm in and with the door closed, I turn off my voice recorder that I always carry now, and check my voice mail, grab some clothes for the gym and am about to head out again when I hear the new guy.
"Oh, you say he just came in? And he's there now?" He's shouting.
I'm considering putting the PD on the line, as this guy, who I've never seen before, and obviously has never seen me, is already angry and aggressive, judging from content and voice. I see him suddenly on the monitor, peering at my door. Then he spots the camera and ducks back quickly. I don't know what it is about these people and cameras, but the old man and every other member of the gang will walk way out onto the street in order to avoid being seen by my camera. I haven't been keeping tapes or anything of them, but maybe I should have been. Maybe a lot of people would like to know where they are, and if it got onto the net, then who knows what liens, warrants, etc., might find their way to Unit B or whatever unfortunate spot they are moving all that junk to?
So, I set up a 2nd old VHS video cam pointing at the door from the inside, turn on my voice recorder again, check my pepper spray, etc., and am out the door. No further problem. I head for the Fountain Valley disaster. I mentioned in several other of my blogs my long association with
Anthony Hargis and Co., a free-market trust specializing in providing financial services, such as accounts denominated in gold or silver. In mid-March of 2004, a federal judge ordered Hargis to turn over his customer records.
He refused and has been in federal jail since then.
Here's what has gone down. Under the new federal law passed in December of 2003, the feds can now, without a warrant, or a judge's order, or a grand jury, or any of the things that we, as Americans, thought were inalienable rights, merely on
suspicion of evil doing, they can now demand that any business owner turn over his records to them. (This is to protect us. ... from terrorists.)
So, Hargis has had running legal battles with the IRS, et al, for decades now, and pretty much consistently defeats them in court. The feds apparently believe that customers of his are using his services to hide their financial transactions, for evil purposes such as tax avoidance. This may well be true, as Hargis himself makes no bones about considering the income tax, in particular, to be illegal, and has said as much in print and on the web more times than I could record here.
However, that doesn't justify a fishing expedition. The
feds have not implied or suggested that anyone using ALH&Co. services is a terrorist, and, reported to me by one of Anthony's long-term customers who has been attending the court hearings, they admitted to the judge at the most recent hearing that they don't know if they're looking for 6 perps or 600. I.e., it's a
fishing expedition, and Hargis is totally within his rights to refuse to provide that personal customer info to them.
Nevertheless, he sits in jail. And the feds have apparently realized that they screwed up big time, themselves, laying themselves open to all kinds of major lawsuits by ALH&Co. or his customers, such as myself. So now they can't afford to let him go, as that would be an admission of that kind of major screw-up, right? Meanwhile, even under the most draconian reading of their new powers, my understanding of the federal guidelines is that you can only keep someone locked up for informational purposes, which is their stated cause, so long as there is reason to think that that cause will actually be served, which is no longer the case, as it has always been ALH&Co. policy to store only limited customer transaction data, and to periodically purge it, which had supposedly happened if the employees have followed standard policy.
So, there is no data anymore, if there ever was any to begin with. Yet Anthony is still in jail, months past that point, in fact. So - big courtroom trouble for the feds coming.... I plan to be part of it, if only to try to recoup my personal losses to date from their stupid and illegal actions.
I haven't been doing anything illegal, BTW. I maintained accounts with ALH&Co. for several reasons. First, I don't trust the banking system enough to keep all my eggs in that basket. Even if they never collapse, they have this nasty habit of turning over both records and assets to any authority that demands them. Since I'm a political activist of long duration, and am on a LOT of lists, it would be really stupid of me to risk everything and then find myself forced to plead to something I had never done in order to get my meager life savings back from some
siezure. This sort of thing happens - a lot - in fact, to the tune of billions of dollars stolen by the police from citizens.
(To understand the "seizure" laws, you must somehow wrap your mind around the concept that a car can commit a crime. So can a house, a business building, a book, or anything else, in principle. Believe me, this
IS the law. And I'm not bringing this up just to increase or encourage any reader's general contempt for the law or law officers, no matter how much they may richly deserve it.
Now, it's understandable that if someone is using a car for the purpose of committing a crime such as attempted vehicular homicide, then of course you take the car away from that person, just as you would take a knife or a gun. This was extended to say that if you drove to a drug pickup, then the car is a party to the crime. So, the car is a criminal, but since it is not a person, it has
no legal rights! You might naively think that somehow if a car can be a criminal, then it might somehow also magically acquire other attributes of personhood, like that silly TV series, "My Mother the Car," right? But NOOOooo.
Silly you. Cars can't have rights. So, no rights means no Miranda, no Habeus Corpus, no Grand Jury, no trial by peers (honk once for guilty, twice for innocent...). I.e., no rights means that the police don't gotta prove zip, nada, zero! Capishe? So, they decide all on their lonesome, "Hey, don't this car look guilty to you, homie? Sure looks guilty to me. I think we need to teach this car a lesson. Hey, CAR! Let's move it. We're going for a little ride. OK?"
So, the police pull you over and don't have enough of anything but suspicion to charge you with, but that's because YOU GOT RIGHTS! BUT... Your accomplice doesn't. Your evil accomplice car gets hauled away, even though you aren't charged with any crime. Yes, this is real, kiddies. And, if you can't PROVE YOUR CAR IS INNOCENT to a judge whose pay comes from the same fund as the proceeds from the sale of your car are going to go into, then it's goodbye car. Yes, this is real...
So, according to the Orange County Register a few years back, over 50% of the budget for the OC police was coming from these seizures. Nationwide, people are getting burned without any recourse and typically without being arrested or convicted of any crime to the tune of many billions of dollars. So, how do you feel about going to that political protest now? Suppose you step outside the permitted "free speech zone." Hey, did you get there in your CAR??? Goodbye car.
A common tactic is to go after someone and then sieze all the assets he could use to pay an attorney to defend himself. Then he has to plead to something in order to get anything back, and the police and the paid informer (17,000 of them in Los Angeles County, according to the L.A. Times) who made up the original charges split the fines and other proceeds.)
Second, I like the idea of balancing my assets around the fulcrum of the dollar. If it goes down, I make money on my gold-denomiated accounts. If it goes up, my stocks will also go up, most likely. Either way, I'm more or less covered from catastophic loss. At least, I hoped so.
( If I had time, I would look for leveraged investments so that I would profit in either direction, but I just don't have the time of late.)
I also liked ALH&Co's alleged philosophy of investing the customer deposits in productive enterprises. This is what any FDIC bank also allegedly does, but with mixed success, as with the hundreds of billions of dollars that went down the drain as they poured their depositor's assets into the Swiss bank coffers of vicious tin-pot 3rd-world dictators throughout the '60's, the '70's, the '80's, the '90's, and presumeably the 2000's. I used to get the bulletin from the Foreign Commerce Bank of Switzerland when I tried - too late - to cash in on silver in the early '80's, and the Swiss were just amazed at the sinkholes that American banks were pouring dollars into. Anyway, I hoped that Anthony might do better.
So, I had a considerable sum - by my meager standards - in a gold-denominated accound, and it was doing very nicely as gold recently shot up relative to the dollar. However, I was beginning to feel that Anthony's luck might be running out around the turn of the year, so I began asking for the actual gold, and managed to get about half of it before he was arrested and before a run on his accounts forced the company to shut down access until assets could be liquidated. Even then, I will probably get only about 35 cents on the dollar, as Anthony not being available resulted in other business crashes of investments of his, wiping out about two thirds of many people's investments. I understand that several dozen elderly people had most of their retirement money there, so I was relatively lucky.
Now, however, failing to get anything from Anthony and not having a clue as to what perp might have done what, the feds have now, as of late last week, siezed most of the remainder of ALH&Co assets from various FDIC banks, so that means that my hopes have gone to nil in that direction, and ALH&Co is apparently getting ready to close their doors, after nearly three decades of unblemished service to their customers.
Some questions to my reader(s)(?) Do you feel safer now? Do you feel that the assets siezed on the ground that some unnamed persons might be using them in the course of committing a crime will be more productively used by the feds than by the people who worked their whole lives to earn them? Can you name a safe place to put your assets today?"