Jeffrey Epstein and "Spygate": A Connection?

Patrick Byrne, founder and former CEO of Overstock, has inserted himself in the ongoing political scandal commonly known as "Spygate" with bizarre tales of top American intelligence officials luring him into ostensibly patriotic espionage activity against American presidential candidates. Spying on fellow Americans? In  America? Unbelievable.

I believe it. I am also eager to learn what Byrne told William Barr in his two April 2019 interviews with the Attorney General. And what was Byrne's impetus for resigning from Overstock on August 22 and going public with his involvement in a treasonous political conspiracy? Could there be a Jeffrey Epstein connection here?

Epstein was arrested on July 6, only weeks after Byrne went to the DOJ. He was being investigated by the Public Corruption Unit of the Southern District of New York. That's public corruption--not the sex crimes division. "Public corruption" are words that could certainly be used to describe "Spygate." If the feds were just revisiting Epstein's lurid past, double jeopardy issues would have arisen, due to his controversial 2008 plea deal. These issues may very well have protected Epstein from legal consequences.

Former Secretary of Labor Alex Acosta, who, as U.S. Attorney, approved that absurdly lenient plea deal, reportedly defended his actions by stating he was told to back off from prosecuting Epstein because the infamous international figure was being protected by the intelligence community. Sounds ridiculous, right? On the other hand, Epstein clearly had very many connections in very high places.

On August 10, Epstein severed his ties to political and intelligence elites by being found dead in his jail cell. Suicide, we are told.

Could this death have scared Byrne into believing he himself was in danger of committing an involuntary suicide? Did his close friend and mentor Warren Buffett tell Byrne to go public before the intelligence community could also silence him forever? The timing of Byrne's sudden tell-all seems too close to Epstein's death to be wholly coincidental.

According to Byrne, FBI agent Peter Strzok was the "errand boy" who orchestrated his involvement with Russian national Maria Butina, who was attempting to insinuate herself into high level Republican political circles. It seems her associations with Trump campaign figures was at least part of what the FISA courts accepted as justification for spying on American citizens. Was the putative "Russian interference in our elections" really all coming from our own side? And did Byrne come to realize that?

The feds had Butina arrested and held in isolation. For all Byrne knew, maybe this Russian would-be honeypot was headed for a "suicide," too. Butina wasn't the only attractive young woman involved in spying on Americans. Former Trump adviser George Papadopoulos went to jail on obviously trumped-up charges when he failed to respond as hoped to the inducements of other "honeypots" who were placed in his path.

Hmmm, honeypots. They represent a sordid abandonment of human decency used by corrupt practitioners of espionage. Who had a seemingly unending supply of potential "honeypots?" Jeffrey Epstein? And who fit the words "sordid abandonment of human decency" and "corrupt practitioner" better than the now mysteriously room-temperature Jeffrey Epstein?

Those of us who are intrigued by mysteries--and even write them ourselves--will pay close attention to the volcanic revelations about to erupt from the DOJ.

Is It a Crime Only If It's Sexual?

A woman nearly lost her life after being attacked in a UCLA parking lot.  We have evidence--in writing--that the University of California conspired to cover up that crime.  Two candidates for Governor, the Attorney General, our Senators, our Supervisors, and many other public officials were made aware of the University's destructive, immoral, and illegal treatment of that victim but...NOBODY CARED.

A call to Dianne Feinstein's San Francisco office elicited the contemptuous response, "You keep writing to us as if you expect us to do something."

A year after the devastating crime, after the University's second Workers' Comp provider tossed the case out without investigation, after Judge Patricia L. Collins tossed the case out of court, without hearing evidence beyond the University lawyer's plea of poverty, a woman in then-Assemblywoman Sheila Kuehl's office told us to stop complaining because the University had done all it could do for us.

TO us, actually.  And the proof?

She sent us the following police letter which explained all.  Except, it was all a lie.

I wrote to the Board of Regents, the University President, UCLA's Chancellor and every relevant public official, reiterating the truth to them--which they already know, but ignored.

Falsified medical records, along with this hateful, audacious letter, allowed the University to stonewall with impunity and evade responsibility for the campus police refusal to investigate reports of a violent crime, committed just yards from their station; it inflicted constant and continuing torment on a victim already suffering permanent impairment from the attack; and, it provided evidence of a conspiracy--from the campus police, to University presidents, including Janet Napolitano, and to California public officials.

The letter states, "UCLA Police Officers responded to the Emergency Room after being called to investigate an on-campus injury."

Why didn't they respond hours earlier to the nurse from Unit A West who reported a violent assault and an assailant in parking lot 8?

"The officers interviewed Ms. Lideks regarding the nature of her injury.  At that time she did not know how she sustained the injury and was only able to provide a general time and location."

How did they "interview" a semi-conscious patient in the few seconds they remained in the room?  And are they saying she was lucid enough for an "interview," but didn't know when she left work or where she had parked?

And why didn't they ask me when I was sitting next to the door?  And how, after my sister was hospitalized, was I able to go directly to the spot where a hose was washing away a large pool of blood?  And why was I allowed to spend an hour--looking suspicious, I'm sure--with a pen in my hand, and every hope of being able to use it as a weapon on the assailant?

And the "injury" was actually a concussion from three major wounds to the head.

"She indicated that no property was missing from her purse."

She didn't have a purse.  She had a backpack--which would have prevented her from injuring the back of her head in a fall.  And, she had lain for an hour face down.

"Detectives from this department conducted a follow-up interview with Ms. Lideks."

Why is the date of this "follow-up" not mentioned?  Why aren't the detectives named?  Could it be because this "follow-up" occurred more than a month later?--and only after numerous written complaints to administrators?  And could it be that the purpose of this "follow-up" was for Detective Tony L. Duenas to apologize for police handling of the "assault" and to promise to post "the crime" on the police website--as required by the federal Clery Act?

"The interview produced no new information that would lead us to conclude Ms. Lideks was the victim of a crime.  The investigators advised her that we would not likely determine the cause of her injury and there was no further information to follow-up on."

A month after a crime which was never investigated by police "new information" would be hard to come by.  But, Det. Duenas had concluded that Ms Lideks was the victim of a crime.

Also, the hospital's doctor, as well as outside doctors, determined that the severe injuries resulted from multiple blows to the head.  A cursory glance at the wounds made any other conclusion impossible.

We trusted our judgment and that of competent doctors to "determine the cause of her injury" and never thought to ask the police to do it.

"They concluded the interview by asking Ms. Lideks what else she would like the police department to do for her.  She said that she was afraid that another nurse would be injured in a similar manner.  (We do not have enough information to generate a credible safety bulletin.)"

So, my poor sister, true to her nature, was worried that others might be attacked in the parking lot, but...the official police policy was, according to the operations lieutenant, to disregard her fears.

"The detectives also spoke to Ms. Lideks' sister, Mara.  Mara Lideks was adamant that her sister was the victim of an assault.  She even offered two theories, one of which involved a conspiracy by Mr. Guha (father of NPI suicide victim Sujan Guha) and the second in which she believes the incident was related to a series of 'carport robberies' in the area."

It's true I was adamant--and furious.  I had more than two theories, but the University wouldn't have wanted to use them in their disseminated cover-up of crime on campus.

The first, and most likely at the time, was that one of my sister's psychiatric patients from NPI was the assailant.  Many patients were allowed to roam free, and one even accosted me and my sister outside the University.

Another theory involved the University itself.  It had harassed and fired one of my sister's colleagues.  She had sued and won a large settlement after the doctor who supposedly complained about her testified that UCLA lied.  My sister and that brave doctor were about the only ones willing to testify to the truth.  A vengeful University did not seem out of the question to me.

And, yes, I mentioned Mr. Guha.  It was yet another case of the University's failure to protect employees.  But "conspiracy" was never mentioned or considered.  Was that word added so that I could be maligned as a "conspiracy nut" if I went after the University for abusing my sister?

"...we are unable to determine if Ms. Lideks was the victim of assault or a simple accidental fall victim.  We are considering the incident closed."

And that inane, worthless conclusion is what has been used repeatedly over the years to block any investigation; to deny my sister and our family justice.

Director of Administrative Policies and Compliance, William H. Cormier, was the designated responder to our numerous complaints.

A typical response:  "I regret that you are dissatisfied with the responses you have received from the University concerning its investigation into the cause of the injuries for which you were treated at the UCLA Medical Center in 2001.  You maintain you were the victim of a criminal attack in Parking Structure 8.  However, the UCLA Police Department was unable to conclude that a criminal attack occurred."

These people have no shame.

"As you have been previously informed, the University denies having made any deliberate falsifications and engaged in a cover-up and has concluded that further investigation of your claims at this time is not warranted."

Outgoing University President Mark Yudof sang the same tune.  After my sister wrote a nine-page complaint, including complete exposition of the police letter lies, he thanked her for her letter "regarding the University's investigation into the cause of the injuries for which you are now treated..." but, "William H. Cormier has responded to you on this matter." William H. Cormier later responded in behalf of Janet Napolitano, too, and cc'd her on it.

The University of California has knowingly and repeatedly used this irrelevant police cover-up to inflict further pain on our family, especially at a time when my sister requires further surgery at UCLA to correct a problem with the surgery ten years ago. 

Our family needs a good faith response from the University.  Coming clean about falsified medical records would be a good start.

The Continued Crimes at UCLA

The following is a letter I wrote earlier this year to Janet Napolitano, the UC Board of Regents, Gene Block (UCLA Chancellor,) Gavin Newsom, Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti, CA Attorney General Xavier Becerra, and Supervisor Sheila Kuehl.  As has been the case throughout this now 17-year ordeal, no one has even bothered to reply, let alone address the damning evidence against UCLA that I have presented.

 

As my private appeals continue to be ignored, I am posting this so that the public at large can see how the corrupt UC system has treated my family.  Now that Ruta is facing yet another surgery, it is more imperative than ever that we get justice and financial compensation from UCLA:

Since August 18, 2001, the University of California has misused its might to crush any investigation of the violent attack which nearly ended my sister's life. She survived the massive bleeding and lying unconscious for an hour in UCLA's parking lot 8, but has never recovered from the brutal cover-up inflicted on her by the University.

Now she urgently needs another surgery to repair a complication arising from the literally life-saving 14-hour surgery she had ten years ago; that is, a metal clamp which held the jaw together is protruding through her skin.

Few head and neck surgeons understand the corrective procedure and are capable of performing it. The operation has to be done at UCLA by the doctor who did the original surgery, and who is the acknowledged expert in the field.

A return to UCLA--the scene of the crime--has reawakened overwhelming anxiety and rage in our whole family, but in Ruta it has also caused heart arrhythmias which resulted in a terrifying postponement of the surgery.

UCLA is, after all, the place where campus police ignored reports of a violent assault in parking lot 8. It is the place where Ruta's medical records were falsified to make three major head wounds "a laceration" and an hour of face down, bloody unconsciousness "an unconscious episode." It was the place where police wrote a maliciously deceitful letter to malign Ruta as a malingerer--her medical records, after all, show only "a laceration"--and me as a "conspiracy nut." The letter claims detectives (unnamed) "conducted a follow-up interview." This was an obvious, demonstrable lie and administrators knew it. They knew this "follow-up interview" with Det. Duenas occurred on September 20, more than a month after the attack, and only after numerous written complaints to officials, including one I hand-delivered to then-Chancellor Carnesale's office concerning UCLA's failures to protect Ruta.

The police letter was false from beginning to end, but University administrators knowingly used it to obstruct all of our efforts to pursue justice.

The letter concluded that police "are unable to determine" if Ruta" was the victim of assault or a simple accidental fall victim. We are considering the incident closed."

It was "closed" from the beginning. But some variation of those ridiculously inane lines was used repeatedly to dismiss our complaints about the abusive treatment Ruta received.

Director of Administrative Policies and Compliance, William H. Cormier, often answered for other officials, including the Regents, with, "I regret that you are dissatisfied with the responses you have received from the University concerning its investigation into the cause of the injuries for which you were treated at the UCLA Medical Center in 2001. You maintain you were the victim of a criminal attack in Parking Structure 8. However, the UCLA Police Department was unable to conclude that a criminal attack occurred."

Of course they couldn't "conclude that a criminal attack occurred," because they refused to investigate. However, the doctor who treated Ruta for three days in the hospital concluded that an assault had put her there. Her outside doctor concluded that only an assault could have caused her injuries and faxed UCLA, "Mugged in parking lot..." And, in fact, Det. Tony Duenas concluded that an assault had occurred, but the police letter's account of his conclusions covered up that fact.

When Ruta summoned the strength to write a long complaint detailing the many abuses the University had perpetrated, including avoiding accountability and the payment of compensation by firing its Workers' Comp provider after the Third Party Administrator spent months trying--unsuccessfully--to gain access to campus police records, outgoing University President Mark Yudof joined in on the cover-up. He thanked Ruta for the letter "regarding the University's investigation into the cause of the injuries for which you were treated." Then, "William H. Cormier has responded to you on this matter." Finally, "I hope you understand, the Regents and I have nothing further to add to what he has already said."

Which was nothing.

A year after the attack, the duplicitous police letter came to us via Assemblywoman Sheila Kuehl's office. It was sent--quite contemptuously--to prove that UCLA had done everything right. We sent copies of the letter back to Sheila Kuehl, and to every official we had previously contacted, with the true account of our meeting with Det. Duenas. But nobody listened.

The falsified medical records did not come to light until Ruta was in the ICU after the 14-hour surgery. A nurse overheard me talking to a visitor about the attack and was shocked that the medical records suggested only a mild fainting spell. I e-mailed administrators to invite them to the ICU to see what they had done to my sister. Nobody listened.

Somebody must have the decency to listen now. My sister has suffered enough. And UCLA must take responsibility for what it has done.

Enclosed below is the letter my sister wrote which elicited the callous response from Mark Yudof. Janet Napolitano had William Cormier "respond" for her.

August 16, 2013

Gene Block
UCLA Chancellor’s Office:
Box 951405, 2147 Murphy Hall
Los Angeles, CA 90095-1405

Dear Chancellor Block:

On Saturday morning, August 18, 2001, I entered parking lot 8 after working a double shift as a psychiatric nurse at UCLA’s Neuropsychiatric Institute. It was a job I had held for thirty years.
I was eager to return home because my family and I had planned what was to be an enjoyable outing. My health was excellent, I was in good spirits, and I had handled the double shift without a problem.:

The next thing I was aware of was regaining consciousness with my face in a large pool of blood which extended well beyond my head. Looking at my watch I realized an hour had passed. I found my car and drove home to West Hills, dazed and covered with blood.

In the past my sister and I have written to University administrators and Regents demanding answers to our questions: Why did campus police refuse to investigate the report of a violent crime in parking lot 8? After years of complaints from nurses on my unit at NPI that parking lot 8 was unsafe, why did the University do nothing about security? Why was I allowed to lie unconscious and bleeding for an hour in parking lot 8 when the campus police station was only a few yards away, and the parking officials’ offices were just a few feet away? Why did the emergency room personnel who admitted me decide immediately that I had “just fallen,” even though my sister insisted to them that “a madman is running loose in parking lot 8?” They even commented that parking lot 8 “is always deserted on Saturday mornings.”

Why did the University violate the Clery Act by failing to report that a female employee was beaten, raped, and left for dead in the Jules Stein parking lot about a week earlier? I heard about it only when her husband called me to say the University was claiming that he had done it.

About a year later, my family obtained a letter from State Senator Sheila Kuehl’s office, written by Manny Garza, Operations Lieutenant with the campus police. It was a total fabrication and an offense to logic. It admits that on August 18, 2001, “UCLA Police Officers responded to the Emergency Room after being called to investigate an on-campus injury.” That begs the question: Why didn’t they respond an hour earlier when Ginny, the nurse from my unit, reported a violent crime in parking lot 8? Why didn’t the women who admitted me to the Emergency Room report a violent crime in parking lot 8 when that is what was reported to them by me and my sister?

The infamous letter goes on to say that the officers “interviewed” me but I was unable to say how I sustained the injury. I was “only able to provide a general time and location.” Is Manny Garza saying I was lucid enough to be interviewed, but couldn’t say where I had parked, or what time I left work? It also says I told the officers nothing was missing from my “purse,” and that’s why, “based on the limited amount of information…and no indication that a crime occurred,” the officers decided to document it as an “injury investigation.” That was a lie. I didn’t have a purse. It was a backpack. There was nothing of value in it so my sister hadn’t even checked if something was missing.

She was sitting outside my room when the officers arrived, and stayed, according to her, less than a minute. I was only semi-conscious by then, but I don’t believe they ever looked at my head wounds. If they had, they would have seen what my sister and niece saw instantly when I drove myself home after the assault: It would be physically impossible to sustain multiple injuries around the top of the head from a fall. Also, I had two plastic herb-tea containers in my backpack which would have cushioned my “fall” and protected any part of my head from ever hitting the ground.

As the officers abruptly left, they asked my sister nothing. Nothing! She challenged one of the admitting room women when she heard her tell someone I “just fell.” She said my wounds were not consistent with a fall. The woman responded, they were “entirely consistent.” She hadn’t even seen them! When my sister asked the emergency room doctor about me, he said I had fallen because I was dehydrated. She called that ridiculous because I drank so much herb tea. His response was, “The more you drink, the more you go.”

The horror and absurdity of what was happening made my sister feel that not only were UCLA officials covering up the crime—in violation of the Clery Act—but that they were somehow responsible for it. She had reasons to be suspicious. I was involved in two lawsuits the University had lost. An exceptionally good nurse on my unit had been harassed and then fired on falsified grounds. I was one of few witnesses signed up to testify in her behalf. Others admitted to being afraid of UCLA’s reprisals. The doctor, who was supposedly claiming an offense against Natalia, testified first, saying she had done everything right and was one of the best nurses he had ever seen. After a three year ordeal, Natalia received a large settlement from UCLA and a severe reprimand of the University from the judge.

The other lawsuit was the Sujon Guha suicide. Sujon’s father, Arun, believed UCLA had murdered him. He said so to the media, and on his website, where he accused me of lying to cover up UCLA’s crime. For nearly eight years my family and I were traumatized both by Mr. Guha’s efforts to “break me” and force me to implicate UCLA in murder, and the University’s failure to mount a competent defense. I wrote many letters asking University officials to have me withdrawn from the lawsuit and to counter-sue Mr. Guha for slander and libel; they refused. Although UCLA was guilty of failing to install breakaway bars to prevent patients from hanging themselves, which nurses had long requested, Mr. Guha was charging murder. He couldn’t accept the fact that his son killed himself after sending his father out to get him a dinner. His own father detected no suicidal tendencies; I wasn’t working that day, and should not have been dragged through the courts for years, charged with murder.

Manny Garza’s deceptive letter says my sister “even offered two theories, one of which involved a conspiracy by Mr. Guha.” Again, Manny Garza lied. My sister offered more than two theories. She didn’t mention “a conspiracy,” although a conspiracy by the University was preying on her mind. And the fear that Mr. Guha, a wealthy, powerful, and misguidedly obsessed man, was out to get me is still a reality for my family. Since police never pursued an assailant or investigated the possibility, how can I ever feel sure? Another possibility my sister offered was that a patient did it. When she took me to pick up my MRI’s, a patient accosted us outside the Medical Center and behaved inappropriately. My sister made a point of mentioning this to Detective Duenas. Many patients, even on the intensive care psychiatric unit where I worked, are allowed to spend time outside. But Manny Garza ignored this possible theory. Manny Garza never named Det. Tony L. Duenas in the letter the University has used as its only “defense” ever since. That might be because the letter was never meant for his eyes. Or ours. It was written to Gerald S. Levey as an obvious attempt to excuse police malfeasance.

 Under oath, both Manny Garza and Det. Duenas would have to testify that the letter is a lie. It says, “Detectives from this department conducted a follow-up interview with Ms. Lideks.” There was no first interview; therefore, no “follow-up.” Campus police can’t say they “interviewed” me and yet admit they got no real information. The information was there to be obtained. But there was no investigation to obtain it. They can’t have it both ways. The interview with Det. Duenas and another detective occurred more than a month after the attack on me. On the month anniversary of the attack I was seeking help from UCLA social worker, Nan Levine. It was she who discovered that the police had done no investigation and filed away the case under “injury.” After that, my sister became even more furious and suspicious of UCLA. My health had begun a downward spiral because of the pain, dizziness, nightmares, and the stress of fearing an assailant who was out there and still wanted me dead. I was spending most of my time in bed. And yet, UCLA harassed my doctor, Dr. Hartenbrauer, to get me back to work. They tried to get him to write that I had suffered only a “laceration.”

 He told them I was lucky to be alive, and, “Mugged in UCLA parking area...unconscious—hospitalized—dizzy…Neck injury.”

My sister began a campaign to demand answers from UCLA as to why no investigation had ever been done, and why there was a cover-up of what happened to me. Finally, Det. Duenas called us and arranged a meeting. This was not, as he would have to tell you under oath, “a follow-up interview.” It was well over a month after the attack. Det. Duenas apologized for the way the case had been handled, and said that, so long after the crime, it was unlikely they could find the assailant. But, he promised to post the attack on the police website, as required by law. He never did this. He also said that UCLA was too big to be adequately protected. Certainly an admission against interest that the University worked very hard to later suppress.

My sister made a point of telling Det. Duenas that Dr. Meserve, (she even spelled her name and he wrote it in his yellow pad,) had concluded that I had been attacked. Dr. Meserve had even urged my sister to go back to the campus police to spur them to find the assailant because she used parking lot 8 and now feared for her own safety. My sister went there and was told (falsely) that police were still investigating. Det. Duenas asked my sister if she would recognize the women who misinformed her. She told Det. Duenas that one of them was working there at that time. All of this was taken down in Det. Duenas’ yellow pad, and none of it was accurately reflected in Manny Garza’s mendacious letter.

Notwithstanding its mendaciousness, the letter has been used repeatedly throughout my years of suffering, to obstruct justice, to stonewall me and my sister, and to lie to elected officials such as State Senator Sheila Kuehl, from whom we obtained the letter, and Congressman Henry Waxman. Henry Waxman was also deceived when the University General Counsel, Joe Mandel, told him they could not comment on the case because of “a pending lawsuit,” even though a judge had long before—and wrongly—dismissed the case. (UCLA’s attorney had claimed financial hardship.)

Henry Waxman also “contacted Nancy Greenstein, the Director of Community Service for the UCLA Police (UCPD,) and was assured that the UCPD investigated the incident and took a report. The UCLA authorities feel they have done everything possible to respond to your concerns.” This was a lie based on the Manny Garza letter which would be repeated by Nancy Greenstein, William H. Cormier, Kim Kovacs Savage, and others who responded disingenuously in behalf of University administrators.

In behalf of Chancellor Abrams, Nancy Greenstein wrote to my sister, “As was indicated in correspondence to you from that time period…” There was no correspondence from “that time period.” Ms. Greenstein apparently did not realize that the Manny Garza letter was not meant to be seen by us. It was written to Gerald Levey. The University sent it to Senator Kuehl’s office to deter an inquiry by misrepresenting the facts to Senator Kuehl. “…it could not be determined whether your sister was the victim of an assault or a simple accidental fall. A great deal of effort went into the original follow-up investigation and it is unfortunate that the results could not be more conclusive.”

It is unfortunate that the nearly verbatim repetition of Manny Garza’s irrelevant misrepresentations has allowed UCLA to avoid responsibility for its negligent security and abusive treatment of crime victims on campus.

After my sister and I met with Det. Duenas at the end of September, a putative investigation was begun by Human Resources administrator Cynthia Cohen. After months of “investigating” Ms. Cohen told me she’d be finished when she reviewed the tape of the Det. Duenas interview. I never heard from Ms. Cohen again. She didn’t take, or return, my calls. In early January 2002 I received a letter from Milan Botica of Octagon Risk Services, Inc., the claims administrator for the University.

The letter states that a claim came to them “through the University of California, Office of the President, and through the Office of Risk Management." The letter states, “The information provided indicates that the incident started with an assault in the UCLA parking structure #8.”

Milan Botica also investigated for many months but wasn’t able to complete the investigation until he got access to the campus police records. Then, in early August—days away from the one-year anniversary of the assault—my sister called Octagon and got a recorded message that Sedgwick, the Third-Party Administrator for the Regents of the University of California, was now in charge. She made frantic calls—by this time my weight had plummeted, I was tense, fatigued, unable to sleep, my face and body swelled, and I was literally unable to speak for myself.

On August 9, 2002, my sister reached Sedgwick Claims Examiner Cheryl Fontana, who said she hadn’t even looked at my file. Seeing that the statute of limitations would end my ability to seek compensation, she said she’d deny the claim—without investigation—while there was time (barely over a week) for legal recourse. Cheryl Fontana wrote a letter dated that day in which she denied my claim. Again, without any investigation. Under oath, Cynthia Cohen and Milan Botica would undoubtedly have to say that campus police obstructed and prevented their investigations. Cheryl Fontana would have to say that time constraints caused by University obstructionism, prevented an investigation.

The University has always been aware that no investigation has ever taken place. I have never asked the University to determine if I was “the victim of an assault or a simple accidental fall.” That’s not now and never was the issue. It’s beyond question that I was the victim of an assault. The issues are, the University’s negligence, it’s lack of security which allowed the attack, and then allowed me to lie unattended for an hour; and, perhaps even more terrifyingly, the subsequent conspiracy by the University to cover up the crime. My sister, who had been taking care of me as well as trying to get justice for me, began losing sleep, feeling extreme stress, and suffering severe heart arrhythmias.

Somehow, we managed to file a lawsuit. We couldn’t find an attorney in a week, so we had to do it ourselves. The complaint we overlooked at the time, which became more relevant as the years went on, was the intentional infliction of emotional distress. It was at this point Senator Sheila Kuehl’s office sent us a copy of the Manny Garza letter. We filed a motion for a delay, based on this new evidence and on our need for time to find an attorney. UCLA’s attorney, who told us he had no objection to a delay, showed up in court and unashamedly told the judge that a delay would be “a financial hardship” for the University. The judge denied the delay and dismissed the case. This, after thirty years as a psychiatric nurse at UCLA’s NPI, after losing my ability to work, after being forced to quit because of UCLA’s harassment—this was how the University treated me: It denied me my day in court by pleading “financial hardship.” Then the University lied about “a pending lawsuit” which had already been dismissed.

My sister continued to fight for justice as my health and my life deteriorated. My financial hardship” forced me to take equity out of my house, which fell into disrepair, and to stop seeing doctors I couldn’t afford and who couldn’t explain my weight loss or my swelling. Finally, in 2008, my sister took me to the West Hills Emergency Room. Doctors said I would die without surgery. My face and entire body had swollen to grotesque proportions. Doctors drained some of the swelling around my lungs, but couldn’t figure out what to do with me. They transferred me to UCLA. The doctor who gave me pulmonary clearance prior to surgery realized that my cell walls weren’t holding and were leaking cellular fluid in my body. He put me on a high protein, high fat diet, which, after the surgery, is what saved my life.

I was in the ICU for eight days, during which time two significant facts came to light. One was that my medical records after the assault did not reflect Dr. Hartenbrauer or Dr. Meserve’s conclusions. My records acknowledged I had been unconscious for an hour, but said I suffered only “a laceration” due to this “unconscious episode.” The nurses in ICU were shocked, and they should have been. They, and everyone else who treated me then was given a false medical history. Football players who are suing the NFL because of fears of future damage from past concussions have proof of their concussions. My records showed only “a laceration” rather than the severe concussion I had. How could any doctor ever accurately assess my problems if he had a false medical history? And how could anyone do an accurate investigation when they were given false information?

One evening in ICU a former co-worker witnessed a near-death experience I suffered from a clot and an allergic reaction. For thirty to forty-five minutes I was unable to breathe as tubes and scopes were inserted and water poured into a new tracheotomy. During this unimaginably horrifying experience, I felt that UCLA was literally trying to kill me. That terror stayed with me the next day when I wrote on my notepad that I had to get away from UCLA because I feared I would be murdered there. It was an unconscious replay of my feelings at the Medical Center in 2001. I trusted my surgeon and his team and was grateful for their expertise. But the torture inflicted by the University after the attack in the parking lot created physical and psychological wounds that still cannot heal.

I left ICU weighing seventy pounds instead of my normal one hundred twenty. My focus was on regaining strength and learning to live with the permanent physical and emotional damage I had suffered. It has been difficult. The impediment to recovery continued to be the University’s inexplicably devastating cruelty in response to my career-ending, life-altering injuries. There could never have been a fair investigation into my case because the information provided by the University was all false. Even Cynthia Cohen and Milan Botica, whose investigations were aborted at the campus police station, could not have come to a fair and accurate conclusion because my medical records were falsified. My multiple injuries were reduced to “a laceration,” and the attack became “an unconscious episode.”

Earlier this year William H. Cormier spoke for Chancellor Block, U.C. President Yudof, and the Office of the Regents, in response to my demand for answers—not concerning the cause of my injuries—I never asked the University for that—but the cause of the University’s abusive treatment of me. Mr. Cormier once again resorted to a cover-up and continued the University’s conspiracy to abuse me. He regrets that I remain “dissatisfied with the University’s investigation into the cause of the injuries for which you were treated at the UCLA Medical Center in 2001.” Once again I will reiterate: That was never the issue. I never asked the University to investigate the “cause of my injuries.” My issue is with the injuries inflicted by the University. The “investigation” into the “cause of the injuries for which you were treated at the UCLA Medical Center in 2001” was done by Dr. Meserve, Dr. Hartenbrauer and others who looked at my multiple wounds. Their conclusion was that I was attacked. The police obviously couldn’t conclude that—as the University continues to maintain—because the police never investigated the cause of my injuries. Never even looked at my injuries.

 The cause of my injuries was investigated during three days of tests in the hospital. Nothing was found wrong with me--except an assault, which was the cause of my "unconscious episode."

William H. Cormier says, “However, your recent message raises no new issues that have not already been addressed by the University, and I must refer you to my previous letters…” The University never addressed the old issues. It never addressed any of my issues. Ever. Mr. Cormier’s previous letters, to which he refers me, are merely reiterations of Manny Garza’s discredited lies and misrepresentations of our meeting with Det. Duenas a month after the attack. If this isn’t a continuing conspiracy to cover up what was done to me by the University, what could it be called?

It is a torment to write this and a torment to receive unresponsive replies which insult my intelligence and are an affront to even rudimentary logic and reason. It is worse, however, to suffer the permanent physical disabilities, the pain, the financial worries, and the ongoing emotional stress which disrupts my sleep with hideous nightmares of being tortured by UCLA. All of these injuries have been caused by the University’s blatant and unbearably cruel cover-up of a crime. That crime was reported—by my sister to my unit; by Ginny, the nurse on my unit, to campus police. She later said they didn’t seem interested. They weren’t, but it was incumbent on them to respond and go to the scene, parking lot 8, which she reported to them to investigate a crime. Instead, they did nothing. My sister and I reported time and location of an attack to emergency room personnel. It was incumbent on them to relay their information to campus police. Manny Garza’s letter admits that police responded only to the emergency room. The letter suggests this constituted an “investigation.” But spending a few brief moments with a badly injured, semi-conscious woman does not constitute an investigation. Reporting that nothing was missing from my “purse”—when I had a backpack, not a purse—and a backpack which neither my sister nor I had checked—becomes a big and obvious police lie. And William H. Cormier’s repetition of that big lie does not make it true. It makes it an ongoing University conspiracy to cover up a crime.

I am long overdue for a check-up by my surgeon, but I cannot bring myself to go near UCLA. Although these doctors indisputably saved my life, flashbacks of the pain intentionally inflicted on me by the University—including the lies in my medical records from 2001—haunt me and prevent me from moving on. I don’t need any more lies and cover-up from the University; I need closure and compensation for my losses. I have been lied to and lied about, conspired against by the police and various other UCLA administrators. I never recovered from the attack on me and it resulted in me sustaining a permanent injury in the form of a jaw removal and replacement by the fibula from my left leg.

I am no longer afraid of the machinations of campus police, University officials, or the assailant who left me for dead. I’ve lived too long with fear. I simply cannot tolerate this sleazy cover up and its detrimental effects on me and my family. I will pursue justice and fair compensation, however long it takes and wherever the pursuit takes me. It is encouraging that other victims of abuse, such as those caught in the administration cover up at Penn State, will be receiving some justice when the administrators go to trial.

UCLA Abused Women...And?..."So What?!"

It's all about having "conversations" now, and I want to have one about the University of California, which, to my knowledge, has a history of abusing women.

In the past, campus police and administrators have conspired to cover up violent crimes and deny victims and survivors justice and compensation.  They maliciously lied--in writing, by the way--to elected officials who responded to pleas for help from a psychiatric nurse who was attacked in a parking lot and lay unconscious for an hour, bleeding profusely from multiple wounds on her head.  The crime was reported, but police never investigated, even though the location was just yards from the campus police station.  They argued in the emergency room that she had "just fallen."  They falsified her medical records to transform those wounds into "a laceration" during "an unconscious episode." The campus police lied in a letter for administrators to use--repeatedly--for the purpose of obstructing justice.  They falsely claimed that police had investigated, and concluded, "we are unable to determine" if the nurse "was the victim of assault or a simple accidental fall victim."

Dr. Meserve did three days of tests on the victim and concluded that the injuries were sustained in an attack.  The victim's outside doctor gave her a fax he sent to UCLA, saying she had been "mugged" and was "lucky to be alive."  But, since the police never investigated, determinations were hard to come by.

They malevolently changed Workers' Comp providers without informing the nurse just weeks before the statute of limitations would deny her legal recourse.  Maybe the Third Party Administrator who investigated the case for months without being allowed access to police records was making administrators nervous.  When the nurse and her family took UCLA on in court, the mighty university sent a lawyer to plead poverty, convincing the judge to toss out the lawsuit before it became to financially burdensome for the behemoth.

The nurse had been left permanently impaired, lost her ability to work, lost her insurance, eventually endured a fourteen-hour, life-threatening, disfiguring surgery, but it was UCLA with its claims of financial hardship that aroused the judge's sympathy.  She did not feel that the victim, the survivor, deserved her day in court.

The California Nurses' Association also lacked sympathy for the victim, even though she had for years paid them company dues, presumably to protect her from the abuse of corrupt employees.

The CNA had previously hired attorneys for another psychiatric nurse whom the UCLA Neuropsychiatric Institute had fired on fabricated grounds.  Other nurses were fearful and refused to testify on her behalf--except for the nurse who would later be attacked.  UCLA "lost" documents and delayed legal proceedings--no claims of poverty from the University this time--but when the hearing finally began, the doctor who supposedly had complained about the nurse testified that she was one of the finest workers he had ever known.  Case closed.  That nurse left NPI with a major settlement from the morally bankrupt and contemptible institution.

Another employee was raped and brutally beaten in a UCLA parking lot about a week before the first nurse was attacked.  Instead of issuing alerts and posting the crime on their website as required by law, police and administrators accused the rape victim's husband of being the perpetrator.  When the terrified man, who barely spoke English and was easily intimidated by oppressive authority figures, heard about the second parking lot incident, he called the nurse to warn her that the people in charge could be vicious with her, as they had been with him and his devastated wife.

Yes, they were vicious.  "Monsters," as some women have characterized their abusers.

The victim never had a chance.  The University had two insurance policies--falsified medical records and the totally misleading, mendacious police letter which the victim was never intended to see.  But, it came into her possession a year after the assault, when her Assemblywoman's office contemptuously brushed her off by saying that UCLA "had taken care of the matter."

The monsters answered every inquiry by labeling the nurse a lying malingerer who had only "a laceration."  In a typical echo of the police letter, Nancy Greenstein explained--i.e. lied--to the victim's Congressman that "the UCPD fully investigated the incident and took a report."  Later, she would write, "it could not be determined whether" the nurse "was the victim of an assault or a simple accidental fall."

William H. Cormier, Director of Administrative Policies and Compliance, was the designated stonewaller who answered every complaint with the very useful, "it could not be determined whether..." and "UCLA considers the matter closed."

But didn't the University bear some responsibility in a failure to protect an employee who had lain unconscious in their parking lot--yards from the police station, and feet from the parking administrator's office--and who suffers to this day?

The nurse thought so, and wrote a nine-page plea for help to the University and Regents.  The outgoing president, Mark Yudof, thanked her for the letter "regarding the University's investigation into the cause of the injuries for which you were treated."  Irrelevant, of course.  She knew the cause.

"William H. Cormier has responded to you on this matter."  Only with the lies from the infamous police letter.  "I hope you understand, The Regents and I have nothing further to add to what he has already said."

She understands.  So do I.  That's why I call them "MONSTERS."

Everyone Knew; Nobody Cared. But, That Was Then

There's been a major outbreak of revulsion in the country.  It started with ugly allegations involving the repulsive Hollywood mogul and Democrat party donor, Harvey Weinstein.  This epidemic of outrage, accusations, apologies, and expiation reached Black Plague proportions with devastating revelations exposing our power elite in show business and government as disgusting predatory misogynists.

My question is, why now?  Why not decades ago when some of the offensive sexual misconduct was allegedly occurring.  How many women, I wonder, suffered over those decades because no one came forward to protect innocent victims from the established and accepted culture of abuse?

At first I thought Harvey Weinstein's downfall was a signal from the Left that Harvey's friend Hillary was now a loser and no longer welcome at the trough.  But the scandal has exploded and is taking down alleged abusers faster than Gloria Allred can say, "Gotcha."

There must be another answer to the question, "why now?"

Could it be that the careers of some early accusers were on life support and slimy cruds like Weinstein weren't exactly preying on aging divas anymore?

Oh, of course not.  That would make these brave anti-harassment warriors hypocrites, wouldn't it?

And yet, the host of the Oscars once told best actress nominees that they had made it and could not stop pretending to be attracted to Harvey Weinstein.  An inside joke, perhaps, that was never very funny, but was probably very true.

I did my time in show business and what I witnessed left me with definite impressions and attitudes about sexual harassment.  When Harvey Weinstein vehemently denies non-consensual sex, I almost think he believes it. 

Garry Marshall got me into the business, almost through no fault of my own.  A UC Berkely friend got a summer job in Tom Pollock and Jake Bloom's law office.  An urgent long distance phone call that first night had me writing a script over the weekend.  The silly thing was passed from Jake to Tom to other prominent writers and producers until Harvey Miller read it and gave it to Garry, who called and invited me to fly down for a lunch meeting.  He had loved the script and had a "plan" to make me "rich and famous."

Before my momentous lunch with the successful producer/director/writer, I met Jake and Tom, who warned me about the rampant sexuality at Paramount.

Harvey Miller, the writer and producer, also wanted to meet me.  He greeted me with, "You're a very pretty girl," and cornered me on the couch in his office.  He wanted to say how much he liked the script and did I "have a boyfriend?"

At the time, no one considered sitting too close on a couch sexual misconduct or harassment.  It was called "flirting."  Coming from Harvey, it almost seemed like a joke.  If he had touched me inappropriately, I would have slugged him.  Garry later called Harvey the funniest man in America, and based on that first awkward interaction with an insecure, socially inept, grumpy young man, I would have agreed.

When I began working at Paramount, secretaries who stoically endured indignities like producer Jerry Davis lifting their skirts with his prop walking stick, loved talking about the problems their bosses had with women.  Harvey Miller, they told me, went out with high school cheerleaders who expected to get acting parts in return.  One morning after one of these "dates," Harvey came to Paramount and bragged about his "helluva night."  I confronted him and asked if he wasn't embarrassed, using his prominence in television to take advantage of young girls.  He flapped his arms and sputtered contemptuously, "You don't know what you're talking about."  When he got into television, Harvey explained after calming down, he "felt like a kid in a candy store."  Women pursued him, he said, and it made them happy to get close to show business insiders.  Harvey invited me to go out with him once.  It was to his group therapy session, where, "They'd rip your head apart."  I respectfully declined.

I couldn't dislike Harvey.  He was like a sad little boy, who sought attention and affection, and finally found a way to feel important.  A female producer once said to me, "Show business is for guys who couldn't get a date in high school."  That may have been true of Harvey.

Garry was different; he turned insecurity into advantage with his humble, self-mocking sense of humor.  As we waited at the bar for a table at our first lunch, he told me to have whatever I wanted, but said, "I only order sissy drinks."  He often seemed sweet and vulnerable...and innocent.  Women adored him, and he used them, I believe, to combat the insecurities that plagued him.

Matt Lauer, it was said, had a button under his desk which locked his office door.  Garry had one too.  One day during my first week at Paramount he asked me to work late.  After everyone had left, I was called into his office.  He was too tired to work, but since I didn't have a car he would drive me home, he said.  When he stopped his Cadillac in front of my apartment, I thanked him and said good night.  The next morning his secretary told me he complained that I was "the most naïve person" he had ever met.

I started to catch on pretty fast.  The atmosphere was sexually-charged, as Tom Pollock had warned, and it became increasingly uncomfortable.  The secretaries made me aware of women who were frequent visitors to producers' offices, including Garry's.  When they entered, that door lock clicked quite audibly in the reception area.  The visitors whom I saw enter seemed genuinely pleased to interact with Garry--who was an easygoing, attractive man--and pleased to be enhancing their career prospects.

With me, Garry's behavior was always avuncular and overprotective.  He didn't want me in story meetings with certain writers because "they talk smut."  At Christmas he told me to take extra time off because he didn't want me "flying home with servicemen" because they always fly during the holidays and he knew "how they are around young girls."

Eventually, I was asked again to work late in his office.  When I sat down I heard the door lock click.  He told me that when we met, I was a "sweet young thing," but I "had grown into a sexy lady."  Well, I wasn't all that naïve anymore, but "sexy?"  No--and definitely not interested in sordid workplace endeavors.  I stood up and said, "I'm going home now, Garry."  The lock clicked, I opened the door and left without hearing a word from him.

I can't imagine any of Garry's visitors calling themselves "victims" or filing sexual misconduct complaints against him, although one of them later became a Bill Cosby accuser.  Garry didn't harass, coerce, or put knock-out drops in a "sissy drink."  He was almost meet, maybe hoping for aggressive women to make the first move.

It was difficult for Garry to talk about "letting me go."  He finally told me, in that reticent, slow-talking way of his, he "couldn't work with women...unless 'something special' was going on."

I felt disappointed, betrayed, and lost, but not harassed.  He had the right to pick the people he wanted to work with, even if he used the wrong criteria to do it.

Garry's secretary called a successful writer we both knew and left a message for him to call me.  He became a friend and tried to help by arranging meetings for me with agents.  I walked into one office at a big agency where two young men were starting out and looking for clients.  "What did you learn at the Garry Marshall School of Charm?" they asked with salacious grins and chuckles.  I said I learned that I didn't belong there.  Nothing came of that meeting.

I had other encounters with powerful individuals who offered employment--at a price.  But, politely declining their terms just meant rejection, not physical assault.  I guess I got off easy.

But, something terrible happened to women in the '90s.  There was a rapist in the White House--and people--including women--defended him.  I can call him a rapist because I know Juanita Broddrick's account of the crime and I believe her.  I don't know of any denial from the perpetrator; no reporter ever directly asked him, "Is Juanita Broddrick lying?"  The media basically suppressed her story and sanctioned the perp's silence.  I also believed Clinton's other brave accusers who were victims of gross sexual misconduct--and they were vilified, ridiculed, and dismissed.

This major victory over victimized women undoubtedly emboldened misogynists--not "sex addicts" but women haters--like Clinton's friend and donor, Harvey Weinstein, Matt Lauer, Charlie Rose, John Conyers, and Al Franken, who provided graphic evidence of physical assault as a women slept.  How weak and sick and hateful can a man get?  And yet, there are those who defend him, too.

Women who are happily heralding a virtuous new world where all men are decent and respectful need to reconsider their folly.  Abusive men won't generate character and sensitivity just because they learn to apologize in the language of political correctness.  Those who need to control women will find ways to do it.  And they'll find enablers--women who empower them without complaint.  At least while they benefit from their abusers, like Senator Claire McCaskill when she was an intern.  Then, maybe they, like the women at Fox who worked for years and collected big paychecks under the intolerable conditions of sexual harassment, will file lawsuits, pocket massive settlements, and sign non-disclosure contracts prohibiting them from discussing their ordeals.  And it'll be deja vu all over again.

Death, Lies, and Arsenic: The Riddle of Major Armstrong

[If you research history, as my niece and writing partner Lisa does so brilliantly and relentlessly, you inevitably unearth injustice, corruption and cover-up. Fake news is nothing new; it's been with us forever. There have always been those who lie, who falsely accuse their enemies or opponents, who forge documents or suborn perjury to make their case. And, there have always been those who record and disseminate those lies for future generations to accept as history. Discerning the truth is never easy, but a conscientious researcher like Lisa , who is the embodiment of our character Brook Forrest in the Forrest Sister Mysteries, tracks down the anomalies, exposes the fabrications and exonerates the innocent. She does the hard work and shares her results with me. "Read this," she says, "and tell me what you think." I think she could have prevented the beheading of Mary Queen of Scots, prevented so-called Shakespeare's libel of Richard III, prevented the Transcendentalist defamation of Edgar Allan Poe, prevented the execution of Richard Hauptmann, and on and on. Of course I'm biased. Could she have prevented the hanging of Herbert Armstrong? I think the Freemasons had turned on him and wanted to see him framed. It might have been tough even for Lisa. Here's what she has to say about the case of Major Armstrong.]

Herbert Armstrong, circa 1915

It was one of the most publicized poisoning trials in early 20th century England: 53-year-old Major Herbert Rowse Armstrong was accused of delivering fatal doses of arsenic to his wife, and attempting to do the same to a business rival.

Armstrong was a solicitor who lived with his wife and three children in Hay, near the Welsh border. He was a small, very dapper man with a jovial, pleasant demeanor. Most everyone in town liked him. Katharine Armstrong was a very high-strung, fretful woman endlessly obsessed with her health, and a stickler for etiquette that would have done Buckingham Palace proud. On one occasion, she cut short the Major's tennis game because, as she loudly reminded him, it was his "bath night." To all appearances, however, Herbert was devoted to his eccentric spouse.

By 1920, Katharine was showing signs of increasing mental instability. She went into fits of paralyzing depression, and periodically became delusional. In July 1920, Mrs. Armstrong made out a new will--or, rather, her husband did, as it was in his handwriting. In contrast to her old testament, which divided her property between her husband, her children, and other relatives, this new will left everything to the Major.

Mr. Armstrong was in the habit of keeping quantities of arsenic around the house. The dandelions on his lawn were unsightly, he would sigh, and poison was the only thing that seemed to keep them in check. He kept the arsenic in neat little packets. He would fill a tiny squirt gun with arsenic, stick the nozzle against the weed's roots, and fire away. Herbert Armstrong: Dandelion Slayer.

Soon after signing her new will, Katharine's health swiftly declined. Her condition, both mentally and physically, deteriorated so precipitously that she was sent to an insane asylum. By January 1921, she returned home. Although her doctors still considered her mental and physical condition to be precarious, both the Armstrongs insisted that she be released from the hospital. Mrs. Armstrong continued to deteriorate. She was unable to keep down food, and continued suffering from delusions and deep depression. In February, she died, aged only 47. Her physician said she had succumbed to a combination of perfectly natural diseases, and Katharine was given a quiet burial in the local churchyard.

After his wife's death, the Major took a little holiday abroad, and renewed his acquaintance with a widow he had met during the war, Marion Gale. The two discussed the possibility of marriage. The only cloud in the Major's now-sunny sky was an unpleasant business complication. He and Hay's only other solicitor, Oswald Martin, were representing the two parties in a land deal. Various complications arose, and Martin became increasingly impatient. After about a year had passed, he finally declared the contract broken, and insisted that Armstrong's client return the down payment he had received.

Martin received an anonymously sent box of chocolates. The postmark was illegible.   He and his wife appear to have never heard that old truism about never taking candy from strangers. They cheerfully put the chocolates out for guests at a dinner party. One of those guests ate the candy, and she became quite ill afterwards. A few weeks after this incident, the Major invited Martin to tea. Over the meal, Armstrong picked up a buttered scone and placed it on Martin's plate. "Please excuse fingers," he smiled. Martin ate the scone, drank some tea, smoked a cigarette, and, after some innocuous small talk with the Major, went home.

That night, he became extremely ill. After Martin recuperated, he had a talk with his father-in-law, Fred Davies. Davies was a chemist--the same chemist, in fact, who sold the Major arsenic. Although Martin's doctor had diagnosed him as having stomach flu, Davies insisted he had been poisoned. Davies had Martin's vomit analyzed, as well as the remaining chocolates he had received. Both were found to contain arsenic.

Law enforcement was contacted. Scotland Yard agreed that there were grounds for suspicion, but they said they needed to proceed carefully. After all, Major Armstrong was a respected lawyer, a Freemason, a popular pillar of his community. He was not the sort of man one heedlessly accused of being a serial poisoner. They promised to investigate the matter. In the meantime, they advised Martin to decline any more of Armstrong's invitations to tea.

This was easier said than done. No sooner was Martin back on his feet that the Major began bombarding him with invitations to have more of those enticing scones and delicious cups of tea. The more Martin declined these offers, the more persistent Armstrong became. The Martins became so rattled that they took turns keeping awake all night. Presumably, they feared Armstrong might break into their home and feed them scones as they slept.

Ten months after her death, Mrs. Armstrong's body was exhumed. Sir Bernard Spilsbury, England's most famous pathologist, performed an autopsy. He ruled that Katherine had died from a massive dose of arsenic. And the next thing the Major knew, he was standing trial for murder. When he was arrested, one of those little packets of arsenic was found in his pocket.

The evidence against Armstrong seemed overwhelming, particularly after Martin was allowed to testify about the tea party. Martin's story transformed the Major from a possible wife-poisoner to a most probable would-be serial killer. In fact, it was his testimony, more than anything else, that put the noose around Armstrong's neck. The most the defense could do was to suggest that Mrs. Armstrong committed suicide. Armstrong himself stoutly maintained his complete innocence. To no one's surprise, the Major was found guilty, and he was accordingly hanged. He remains the only solicitor in British history to be executed for murder.

All the above is the "accepted history" of the Armstrong case. The tragedy inspired several books, a couple of movies, and innumerable chapters in collections of true-crime tales, all giving precisely the same story: the Major was as transparently guilty as defendants can get, and "the little viper" (in the words of crime historian Edmund Pearson) got precisely what he deserved. This open-and-shut quality was why I never paid much attention to the case. I like a bit of mystery with my villanies, and the arsenic-laden Major seemed as unmysterious as murderers get.

However, I recently saw an excellent TV-movie about the case, "Dandelion Dead." The film followed the usual assumptions about Armstrong's guilt, but I was intrigued enough to read more about him. I soon learned that there are at least some people who argue that the case against him is not nearly as iron-clad as most think. In fact, it has been claimed that the Major was the victim not just of a miscarriage of justice, but of a sinister conspiracy.

The revisionist view of the Armstrong case was laid out by Martin Beales in his 1995 book, "The Hay Poisoner." Beales was a solicitor who settled in Hay--in fact, he bought the Armstrong house. Naturally intrigued by the grim events that had taken place under his new roof, he began his own investigation. He obtained access to the original files of the case, including the defense material and other official documentation which have largely been ignored by previous chroniclers of the case. He soon came to a stunning conclusion: the executed man was very likely completely innocent. More than that, Beales believed Armstrong had been framed. His book looked at every bit of "accepted history" about Armstrong and his alleged crimes, and systematically refuted them.

First of all, there was the matter of Katharine Armstrong's second will, which has often been described as something orchestrated by her husband before he carried out his plans to murder her. In truth, as early as 1919 Katherine herself had expressed to relatives her fears that the will she had made out in 1917--when Herbert was away serving in the war--was no longer satisfactory. She explained to her sister that the will had not left enough to her husband, and now that he was safely back home, it needed to be revised. She wanted to make sure that if anything happened to her, he would have enough money to raise their children. While her 1920 will may have been rather informal, no one was able to prove there was anything irregular about it. In any case, Herbert had no need for Katharine's money. Before her death, his bank accounts were in credit, and his client list had been steadily increasing. At the time of his arrest, Katharine's personal income was completely untouched by him.

As for the secondary murder motive attributed to the Major--the "other woman"--a closer look at the truth casts doubt on that as well. His relationship with Marion Gale--who had also been a friend of Mrs. Armstrong's--was perfectly respectable. She was a pleasant middle-aged lady who, he hoped, might provide a motherly presence for his children (the youngest of whom was only five when Katharine died,) and amiable companionship for himself. His motives in wooing Mrs. Gale appeared to have stemmed from practicality, rather than passion.

The fact that Armstrong kept arsenic in the house is not nearly as damning as it would seem to modern sensibilities. For years past, he had, for reasons of economy, made homemade weed-killer, using a recipe clipped from a magazine. Among gardeners of his day, this practice--as well as the little device he used to poison individual dandelions--was extremely common.

There is even a possibility that Katharine's long history of illness had nothing to do with poison. Beales notes that her symptoms--which had been steadily worsening for years, including when Herbert was away during the war--did not fit the classic symptoms of arsenic. They did, however, precisely tally with a diagnosis of Addison's disease, an ailment that, unfortunately, did not seem to have occurred to her incompetent, and later duplicitous, doctor.

Key to Armstrong's conviction was the claim by the medical experts that Katharine died as the result of taking arsenic within 24 hours of her death. However, the medical literature quoted by Beales proves that this was an overly dogmatic declaration. To make a long story short, Beales argued that nearly a year after her death, it would be impossible to say with certainty how much arsenic Katharine may have taken and when. (Complicating the issue is the fact that she took medicines and homeopathic remedies containing various poisons.) Beales concluded: "Katharine could have taken the arsenic from the study cupboard on 16 February accidentally, believing it to be something other than arsenic. She could have removed some of it and continued to take it during her final illness. She could have taken it intending to take her own life. [Note: Katharine had, during her last months, often spoken of suicide.] Equally, Armstrong could have given it to her. However, there was no evidence that he did...No man should be condemned in this way. There must be proof of guilt and there was no such proof."

It is when Beales turns his attention to Oswald Martin and his chemist father-in-law that the story takes a dark conspiratorial turn. Contrary to "accepted history," Beales asserts that Armstrong had no motive to want Martin dead. Rather, Martin's illness was "a potential nightmare" for him. The Major had finally received the necessary paperwork to allow the disputed land sale to be completed on time, and with Martin incapacitated, there was the danger of something going wrong with the contracts. (Also, contrary to Fred Davies' assertions that Armstrong was "jealous" of Martin's practice, Martin was not taking clients away from Armstrong. If anything, it was the reverse.)

There is reason to believe that the famous tea party between Armstrong and Martin--"excuse fingers," and such--was not what conventional wisdom would have us believe. Martin stated that Armstrong had handed him a scone covered with (presumably arsenic-laced) butter. However, it was established that the scones were all unbuttered. Armstrong himself denied ever handing Martin anything to eat. His story was that Martin was free to help himself from the tea tray. Martin did not become ill until hours after tea, and after he had eaten a hearty meal at home. Beales argued that if Armstrong had poisoned him at tea, Martin would have shown symptoms much earlier. It would also have been a remarkably stupid way to poison someone. What if Martin had suddenly taken ill in Armstrong's home, immediately after eating food provided by his rival? How would Armstrong explain that? Finally, Beales noted that Martin's symptoms, like Katharine's, were not characteristic of a large dose of arsenic, particularly since the solicitor had completely recovered within 24 hours. It could well have been, as Martin's doctor had originally believed, gastric flu.

The box of chocolates sent to the Martins on September 20, 1921 was, in Beales' words, "an enigma." Martin himself testified that he and his wife had eaten a couple of pieces with no bad effects. Apparently at least one other guest at the dinner party had taken some, too, without becoming sick. Only two of the surviving chocolates were found to be poisoned, and that had been done in a laughably crude manner. A large hole had been gouged in the bottom of these chocolates, with a clump of white arsenic messily pushed inside. There had been no effort to even close the hole with more chocolate. It was as if someone wanted the arsenic to be noticed.

Beales believed that someone did: Fred Davies. Davies apparently disliked Armstrong and had taken to voicing dark suspicions about Katharine's death. He was also the first to propose that the chocolates had been poisoned--just as he had been the first to assert that Martin had been poisoned at the tea party. Beales pointed to the interesting fact that Davies had warned the Martins about "anonymous gifts sent through the post such as chocolates"--before anyone had told him they had received such a present. Davies took possession of the remaining chocolates, keeping them for a day before handing them to the doctor for examination. It was only then that it was found that two candies were adulterated. It was Davies who had insisted that Martin's urine be analyzed for poison--even though the doctor was convinced Martin was suffering from an innocent illness. It was Davies who provided the bottle for Martin's urine sample and then sent it and the chocolates off for analysis. Was Beales correct in his belief that Davies, in his eagerness to convince everyone that Armstrong had poisoned Martin (which would lend credibility to his claims that the Major had fatally poisoned his wife) tampered with both the chocolates and the urine sample? (In regards to the urine sample, Beales also notes that during Martin's illness, he had been dosed with bismuth, which contains arsenic. That alone could explain the trace amounts of arsenic in Martin's urine. As a side note, Katharine's autopsy revealed traces of bismuth in her intestine.)

No one was ever able to connect Armstrong with those chocolates. The brand was unavailable in Hay. The serial numbers on the box established where and when the chocolates were boxed. They came from a factory some distance away. Armstrong had not left Hay during the period when those chocolates were manufactured and mailed. As was the case with the tea party, poisoned chocolates would be an incredibly bungling way for Armstrong to poison Martin. How could he be sure his intended victim would eat them, particularly since only a fraction of the candies had been tampered with?

In short, all the evidence that Armstrong poisoned Oswald Martin was either astonishingly feeble or decidedly dodgy. And yet, this was used as vital proof that the accused had murdered his wife. The twin charges against Armstrong validated each other: How do we know Armstrong killed his wife? Because he poisoned Oswald Martin. How do we know Armstrong poisoned Oswald Martin? Because he killed his wife!

Beales convincingly argues that Armstrong did not receive a fair trial. His counsel, Sir Henry Curtis Bennett, put up a startlingly lackadaisical defense, failing to take advantage of the multitude of weaknesses and errors in the prosecution's case, and doing little to promote his client's innocence, other than his diffident suggestion that Mrs. Armstrong had committed suicide. Bennett did not even call any character witnesses, allowing the unfounded slurs made against his client--that Armstrong had syphilis and spent his brief widowerhood in pursuit of hedonistic pleasures--to go largely unchallenged. The advocate for the Crown, Sir Ernest Pollock, conducted a prosecution that in Beales' opinion, "bordered on the unethical."

Beales made a strong case that the crucial evidence of Oswald Martin should never have been admitted. English law normally protects defendants from the introduction of other offences committed or allegedly committed by them. Beales noted that as a result of Martin's testimony, "the jurors were bound to be prejudiced against [Armstrong,] because if they accepted that he had in fact tried to poison Martin, they had to be predisposed to believe that he had administered arsenic to his wife. In effect, this meant that Armstrong had to prove his innocence, not that the prosecution had to prove his guilt, and the basic law of evidence had been turned on its head."

However, nothing about the trial was more biased against the defendant than the judge. Lord Justice Darling had a reputation as a "hanging judge" that was more than justified in his handling of the Armstrong tribunal. Before the trial had even begun, Darling was convinced of Armstrong's guilt, and he set out to do everything in his power to send the accused man to the gallows. He took every opportunity to boost the prosecution's case and disparage the defense. And as for his summing-up to the jury, Beales commented that "in the annals of crime" it would be difficult to find a judge's summation that was "more perverse and damaging to any prisoner." Beales believed that if Armstrong's conviction had been appealed to the House of Lords, the admission of Martin's evidence would alone have assured that the verdict would be overturned. However, only the attorney general could grant permission for this appeal. And the attorney general was...Sir Ernest Pollock, the man who had just won a triumphant victory over the condemned man. It comes as little surprise that he refused the appeal.

The last chance to save Armstrong's life was gone, and he was hanged on May 31, 1922. He steadfastly denied his guilt to the end. According to Beales, many people in Hay believed that Fred Davies had been instrumental in sending an innocent and well-liked man to the gallows, and they never forgave him for it. He was essentially driven out of town soon after Armstrong's execution. Oswald Martin left Hay as well. Martin had been crippled during the war, and the lingering effects of his injuries, coupled with his unpleasant experiences during the Armstrong case, left him broken in body and spirit. He died not long afterwards.

"The Hay Poisoner" makes a plausible case that Fred Davies framed Armstrong for the attempted murder of Oswald Martin, and successfully reclassifies Katharine Armstrong's death as an unsolved mystery. The Major may indeed have poisoned his wife: he had means and opportunity, if no evident motive. However, there is a haunting possibility that he did not.

Garry Marshall, R.I.P.

He's gone? If you knew Garry Marshall, you probably can't believe it.

He had a boundless and enduring energy that seemed to transcend mortal limitations. Although he probed to be merely flesh and blood after all, the legacy he leaves goes beyond the iconic movie "Pretty Woman," or the classic TV shows, "Happy Days," Mork and Mindy," and "Odd Couple." Garry Marshall was more than a writer, producer and director: He was a mentor and inspiration to young people in whom he recognized talent. Ron Howard was one of many who belonged to this anointed group. As an actor on "Happy Days," he told Garry he wanted to watch him and learn how to be a director. It seemed an unlikely career path for the teenager, but it obviously worked for him.

Dennis Klein, creator of several series, including "The Larry Sanders Show," and my boss on "Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman," was also a member of Garry's youth brigade.

And, for a time, so was I.

I met Garry after a U.C. Berkeley school friend got a summer job in Tom Pollock and Jake Bloom's law firm. When she saw they dealt with scripts, I got the call to write one. Fast! As if I knew how. But I did it, somehow, and within a few weeks the silly script had gone from Jake Bloom and Tom Pollock, to Chuck Shyer, to Harvey Miller, and finally, to Garry. Incredibly, they all liked it, and Garry asked me to fly down and have lunch with him. He said--in that unique ninety-year-old-tired-New Yorker voice--he had a plan to make me "rich and famous."

"You're so young," was the first thing he said to me when we met at his Paramount office. I could've said the same thing to him. This was no senior citizen. Garry was a youthful, dynamic force of nature. We sat at the bar while waiting for our table. He said I could have whatever I wanted, but he, "only ordered sissy drinks" for himself. Lunch was spaghetti and meatballs which he, being Italian, especially enjoyed. "But," he groaned, "I always get sauce all over my shirt."

His humor was often boyishly self-deprecating and endearing. He called himself the "King of Cute," and in his mind he probably spelled cute with a K. Garry didn't want to dwell in darkness; he preferred happy people, living in a workd that was "kute." If there was no such place, all he had to do was create one.

An actress who starred in a pilot for Garry was fired by studio executives for being "fat." She wasn't, and I complained to him that the firing was unfair. He shook his head sadly and said, "Sweetheart"--everyone was a "sweetheart" to Garry--"Who said life has to be fair?" Then he stroked his chin and paced a little bit. "I get philosophical like that sometimes," he said, feeling embarrassed, no doubt, for having expressed an unpleasant thought.

One day, he and I went to another studio to view a pilot Garry had done with a major producer whose name was known and respected. When Garry introduced me to him, the man recoiled as he barely extended his hand. The pilot was awful. It didn't sell--which was instantly predictable. On the way back to Paramount, I asked Garry what was wrong with the powerhouse producer. I saw he was almost afraid of me. "You'd be afraid, too," he said, "if you had stepped on as many people as he has."

I never liked show business because fairness was not exactly coin of the realm. It bothered Garry, too, in some ways, but he was able--better than almost anyone--to escape into a world of his own design. Now, he can truly rest in peace.